Change-Up: Mystery at the World Series is one of the books my son is reading for his Battle of the Books team at school. (I recently read Re-Start, another of the books he's reading for BoB.) I can see why Virginia picked this one for the Battle of the Books tournament--it's about the Washington Nationals, and specifically it's something of an alternate history where the Washington Nationals made it to the World Series in 2009.
The book is about Stevie Thomas and Susan Carol Anderson, two 14-year-olds who work as sports reporters for Washington newspapers. They seem to have made a reputation for themselves as able to ferret out big stories in unexpected places, as they previously uncovered mysteries at the Final Four, the U.S. Open, and the Superbowl. (Apparently Change-Up is the fourth in a series.) In this book, they land an interview with Norbert Doyle, a 30-something journeyman pitcher who learns during the interview that, due to a series of injuries to other pitchers, he'll be pitching the opening game of the World Series for the Washington Nationals that night. Of course, Stevie and Susan Carol were lucky enough to be present so they're able to break this news in the national media.
Doyle lost his wife years before to a drunk driver and has raised his two kids by himself while bouncing around from city to city in the minor leagues. For him, his chance to pitch the big game is a dream come true--and after he wins the game that night, publishers and movie studios want the rights to his inspiring story. The problem is, when Stevie starts digging into Doyle's background, his version of the drunk driving incident doesn't seem to hold up. Meanwhile, Susan Carol meets with Doyle's son, an athletic 14-year old boy who appears to have a romantic interest in her--or is he trying to get between her and her co-reporter/boyfriend, Stevie, so they don't dig up any more on his dad?
This book was a lot fun, moved fast, and kept up a steady beat of snappy dialogue. It was also fun to read about all the players and coaches from a decade ago whose names I remember from attending games, reading newspaper articles, and listening to games on the radio. Only one player from that era remains--Ryan Zimmerman, then-third baseman, now first baseman, but still a pretty good player. (While there are many real people who pop up as characters in this book, all the main characters are fictional.)
Still, there were two things I found hard to accept. One, this maybe more of a quibble, but it's the idea of the 2009 Nationals making it to the World Series. Fun to think about--but it was never going to happen! The team that year simply wasn't good enough. They had Zimmerman and slugger Adam Dunn and... well, that was pretty much it. As much as I enjoyed reading about shortstop Christian Guzman or center fielder Austin Kearns or catcher Wil Nieves, those guys were decent but not great players and that's being generous. In fact, the Nationals won only 59 games that season--this is not a team that was only a hot streak away from the postseason. I believe that was the year I attended seven or eight games at Nationals Park and the team won none of them. (Maybe I was the problem?)
The other thing is that Stevie and Susan Carol do not act like fourteen-year-olds. My son is thirteen, and from observing him and his friends, as well as my own memories, Stevie and Susan Carol are not believable for that age. They are simply too mature in their romantic relationship with each other, their ability to write copy to deadline, their ability to keep their cool in stressful situations. I might have accepted them as sixteen-year-olds. But fourteen just doesn't work, and having them referred to as that age repeatedly broke my suspension of disbelief.
More because of the latter flaw than the former, I find I can't wholeheartedly recommend this book. Nevertheless, Change-Up would likely really appeal to a middle schooler interested in sports, and it has enough of an eye for detail and ear for dialogue that it would be a fun and quick read for a baseball-loving adult as well.
Showing posts with label baseball. Show all posts
Showing posts with label baseball. Show all posts
Thursday, February 7, 2019
Sunday, October 21, 2018
What I'm Reading: A Single Happened Thing
Ack, I'm falling behind! Before I rate some more scary movies, I want to briefly review A Single Happened Thing, by Daniel Paisner. This book follows New York City book publicist David Felb, who has a boring, normal, and kind of disappointing life until one evening at a meaningless late-season Phillies game in Philadelphia. The game happens to have the longest single at bat ever recorded--that's the Single Happened Thing of the title--and somehow that expansion of time, as it were, allows a long-dead player from baseball's distant past to slip through into our time.
The player is Fred "Sure Shot" Dunlap (a real person, by the way), who had one of the greatest seasons in baseball history for the short-lived Union Association League in 1884, was forgotten not long after, and died penniless in 1900. For some reason he takes a liking to David, or at least thinks David can help him, and after a strange encounter at the baseball game, tracks David down to his hotel the next morning, and then meets him again as David takes the train home to New York.
Dunlap disappears after that, but in David's gushing to his wife and family about the bizarre encounter, his wife decides he's delusional and insists he starts seeing a psychiatrist. In fact, Dunlap becomes a wedge in their marriage, as David refuses to back down from the reality of his experience, even as his wife is certain that he could not possibly have met a...what? ghost? Long-dead person resurrected?
However, David's teenage daughter Iona takes his side after a strange man shows up at her softball practice one day and teaches her an unusual side arm throw that makes her the star pitcher of her school league. Who else could the strange man have been but "Sure Shot" Dunlap?
While the baseball forms a framework for the novel, it's in the subtle divisions and alliances of a troubled family that Paisner's novel really resides. It's really beautifully written and pretty fun to read--maybe more so for a baseball fan, but I think any thinking adult would appreciate the careful descriptions of a slowly fraying marriage and the ups and downs of parent-child relationships in light of that. A Single Happened Thing is highly recommended.
The player is Fred "Sure Shot" Dunlap (a real person, by the way), who had one of the greatest seasons in baseball history for the short-lived Union Association League in 1884, was forgotten not long after, and died penniless in 1900. For some reason he takes a liking to David, or at least thinks David can help him, and after a strange encounter at the baseball game, tracks David down to his hotel the next morning, and then meets him again as David takes the train home to New York.
Dunlap disappears after that, but in David's gushing to his wife and family about the bizarre encounter, his wife decides he's delusional and insists he starts seeing a psychiatrist. In fact, Dunlap becomes a wedge in their marriage, as David refuses to back down from the reality of his experience, even as his wife is certain that he could not possibly have met a...what? ghost? Long-dead person resurrected?
However, David's teenage daughter Iona takes his side after a strange man shows up at her softball practice one day and teaches her an unusual side arm throw that makes her the star pitcher of her school league. Who else could the strange man have been but "Sure Shot" Dunlap?
While the baseball forms a framework for the novel, it's in the subtle divisions and alliances of a troubled family that Paisner's novel really resides. It's really beautifully written and pretty fun to read--maybe more so for a baseball fan, but I think any thinking adult would appreciate the careful descriptions of a slowly fraying marriage and the ups and downs of parent-child relationships in light of that. A Single Happened Thing is highly recommended.
Monday, May 28, 2018
What I'm Reading: Where They Ain't
Where They Ain't, by Burt Solomon, is an excellent look at baseball in the immedate pre-modern era, from 1894 to 1902. It observes this era through the lens of the Baltimore Orioles, who invented a new style of baseball that made them the most successful team of the 1890s, and when they broke up, whose key players and manager formed the core of many of the most successful teams of the early 1900s.
Baseball in the 1880s was a leisurely affair of getting a man or two and base and waiting for a big home run to score (a lot like the 1950s--and to an extent, today's game as well). But after the 1892 season, the National League (the only league at the time) moved the pitcher's mound back to 60 feet, six inches, from its previous distance of 50 feet, and also required the pitcher to keep one foot on the pitching rubber when pitching. That may not seem like much of a change, but it was just enough. That extra split second the ball takes to get to the plate was just enough to give a quick player the time to judge what part of the field he could hit the ball to, allowing more precise hitting. It was just enough to make it that much harder for a pitcher to field a bunt. And it was just enough extra time for a sneaky base stealer to successfully make it to second or third before the catcher could throw him out.
The four main players on the Orioles--"Wee" Willie Keeler, John McGraw, Hughie Jennings, and Joe Kelley--along with their manager, "Foxy" Ned Hanlon, were the first to recognize the kind of baseball the change allowed: a scrappy, fast-paced, hitting and running type of game (similar to the 1970s-80s game) they called "scientific baseball." And they rode that recognition to first place finishes from 1894-96, and second place finishes in 1897-98, behind the Boston Beaneaters (later the Boston Braves), who had largely adopted their methods.
Unfortunately, the National League, and after 1901, the American League, used Baltimore as a pawn in fairly baroque baseball politics, and the result was that the Orioles after the 1902 season moved to New York and became the Highlanders (later named the Yankees), with the team's personnel spread across the major leagues. John McGraw, the diminutive but fiercely-willed third baseman for the Orioles, became the manager of the New York Giants in 1902 where he was known as the "Little Napoleon" for his controlling but winning style. He won 10 National League pennants and three World Series with the Giants and still holds the National League record for most wins.
From 1899 to 1905, Ned Hanlon managed the Brooklyn Superbas (later the Dodgers), bringing Willie Keeler, Hughie Jennings, and Joe Kelley with him as the right fielder, shortstop, and pitcher, respectively. Hanlon, Keeler, Jennings, and Kelley led the Superbas to first place finishes in 1899-1900. Jennings also managed the Detroit Tigers from 1907-1920, where he coached Ty Cobb and led the Tigers to three American League champtionships and several other good seasons.
One idiosyncrasy of the book is that it adopts some of the conventions of the language and baseball lingo of the 1890s. For instance, at that time fans were known as "cranks" and pitchers were called "twirlers." Fine. I probably could have done without not capitalizing avenues and streets in street names, i.e. 21st street or Maryland avenue. But after a few pages, you get used to it, and it does help with the effect of placing you in the 1890s.
I really like the way Solomon interwove history and current events into the baseball story. For instance, he describes the way attendance dropped off in the 1898 season because of the Spanish-American War--who worried about baseball when American sons were fighting overseas? Or how in 1902, Willie Keeler went to St. Mary's Hospital in Brooklyn with a suspected shoulder fracture to take advantage of a brand new invention--an X-ray machine, which St. Mary's was one of the first hospitals in the world to possess.
And those are just two examples of many. It is for that reason that Where They Ain't receives one of my coveted Shortcuts to Smartness awards, for books that provide a whole education in and of themselves. (Congratulations, Burt Solomon!) In this book you learn not just about baseball history, but also American history, and the history of the cities of Baltimore and Brooklyn, and 1890s politics, and what makes a team work, and how to achieve success. I highly recommend this book for anyone interested in any of those subjects.
Baseball in the 1880s was a leisurely affair of getting a man or two and base and waiting for a big home run to score (a lot like the 1950s--and to an extent, today's game as well). But after the 1892 season, the National League (the only league at the time) moved the pitcher's mound back to 60 feet, six inches, from its previous distance of 50 feet, and also required the pitcher to keep one foot on the pitching rubber when pitching. That may not seem like much of a change, but it was just enough. That extra split second the ball takes to get to the plate was just enough to give a quick player the time to judge what part of the field he could hit the ball to, allowing more precise hitting. It was just enough to make it that much harder for a pitcher to field a bunt. And it was just enough extra time for a sneaky base stealer to successfully make it to second or third before the catcher could throw him out.
The four main players on the Orioles--"Wee" Willie Keeler, John McGraw, Hughie Jennings, and Joe Kelley--along with their manager, "Foxy" Ned Hanlon, were the first to recognize the kind of baseball the change allowed: a scrappy, fast-paced, hitting and running type of game (similar to the 1970s-80s game) they called "scientific baseball." And they rode that recognition to first place finishes from 1894-96, and second place finishes in 1897-98, behind the Boston Beaneaters (later the Boston Braves), who had largely adopted their methods.
Unfortunately, the National League, and after 1901, the American League, used Baltimore as a pawn in fairly baroque baseball politics, and the result was that the Orioles after the 1902 season moved to New York and became the Highlanders (later named the Yankees), with the team's personnel spread across the major leagues. John McGraw, the diminutive but fiercely-willed third baseman for the Orioles, became the manager of the New York Giants in 1902 where he was known as the "Little Napoleon" for his controlling but winning style. He won 10 National League pennants and three World Series with the Giants and still holds the National League record for most wins.
From 1899 to 1905, Ned Hanlon managed the Brooklyn Superbas (later the Dodgers), bringing Willie Keeler, Hughie Jennings, and Joe Kelley with him as the right fielder, shortstop, and pitcher, respectively. Hanlon, Keeler, Jennings, and Kelley led the Superbas to first place finishes in 1899-1900. Jennings also managed the Detroit Tigers from 1907-1920, where he coached Ty Cobb and led the Tigers to three American League champtionships and several other good seasons.
One idiosyncrasy of the book is that it adopts some of the conventions of the language and baseball lingo of the 1890s. For instance, at that time fans were known as "cranks" and pitchers were called "twirlers." Fine. I probably could have done without not capitalizing avenues and streets in street names, i.e. 21st street or Maryland avenue. But after a few pages, you get used to it, and it does help with the effect of placing you in the 1890s.
I really like the way Solomon interwove history and current events into the baseball story. For instance, he describes the way attendance dropped off in the 1898 season because of the Spanish-American War--who worried about baseball when American sons were fighting overseas? Or how in 1902, Willie Keeler went to St. Mary's Hospital in Brooklyn with a suspected shoulder fracture to take advantage of a brand new invention--an X-ray machine, which St. Mary's was one of the first hospitals in the world to possess.
And those are just two examples of many. It is for that reason that Where They Ain't receives one of my coveted Shortcuts to Smartness awards, for books that provide a whole education in and of themselves. (Congratulations, Burt Solomon!) In this book you learn not just about baseball history, but also American history, and the history of the cities of Baltimore and Brooklyn, and 1890s politics, and what makes a team work, and how to achieve success. I highly recommend this book for anyone interested in any of those subjects.
Saturday, May 6, 2017
What I'm Reading: Roundup
The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly: The Cincinnati Reds Over spring break we went on vacation to Cincinnati. Hey, don't laugh, we had a great time! One of the things we did was take in a Reds game (lost to the Brewers 5-1), and I picked this book up in the great Reds Museum attached to the ballpark. This book was exactly what I was looking for, more or less a primer on the history of Reds baseball, written in a fun, accessible style.
The Reds were the first professional baseball team ever, dating from 1869. Those first couple "seasons" they traveled around the country playing local clubs, factory teams, and so forth, and going more than 80 games without defeat until they lost to the New York Atlantics in June 1870. While they haven't always been the winningest club since then, they've been to the World Series nine times and won five of those visits, most recently in 1990.
I was pretty familiar with the glory days of the Big Red Machine in the 1970s, but other aspects of team history were a surprise. I think I liked best learning about Ted Kluszewski, the Reds mountainous first baseman in the 1950s. Kluszewski was widely considered the strongest man in baseball, but was a gentle giant with a humble disposition. There are numerous stories of his feats, both tape-measure home runs and more irregular occurrences. For instance, a game with St. Louis nearly broke out in a brawl. When St. Louis shortstop Solly Hemus ran out of the dugout to join the developing fight, Kluszewski lifted him off the ground entirely and asked where he was going. "Nowhere, Ted, nowhere," was the answer, cutting the brawl short before it could spread.
Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone We listened to this in the car on the way to and back from Cincy. I had always had the impression that Harry Potter was little more than a mish-mash of well-worn fantasy tropes with the cliche-ridden writing typical of the genre and was not looking forward to hearing this. After actually listening to it, I'll admit I've upgraded my opinion a couple notches, although I still don't think it's nearly as great as its reputation.
As far as writing-style, it does use that high fantasy style, but adds a winking irony and subtle humor. Holy cow, J. K. Rowling is in on the joke! Parts of this book are pretty funny, and on a line-by-line and page-by-page level, the writing has a great deal of charm and is quite listenable/readable. The world-building, too, is remarkable. I think the main thing readers like in this book must be all the various details we see as we accompany Harry on his first visit to Hogwarts, the magical classes and teachers and stores and even candies. Plus, the great sequences with Quidditch, that comically complicated, high-speed broomstick-riding sport Harry excels at.
Once we actually settled into the plot of the book I was somewhat less thrilled, however. As we move on from Harry's initial encounters with a world whose existence he had never suspected, we enter a fairly by-the-numbers adventure in the second half of the book. Oh, trolls, dragons, and a magic mirror. Yawn. Plus, while I won't give away the ending (as if there's anyone besides me who hasn't read this yet), it was very much a deus ex machina-type resolution to the conflict.
Whether I recommend this book is beside the point--every kid who likes reading has already picked it up, I'm sure. It's definitely a fun read, but I don't think Hogwarts is going to join Middle Earth or Narnia as a place that kids will still be visiting in their imaginations decades from now.
The Reds were the first professional baseball team ever, dating from 1869. Those first couple "seasons" they traveled around the country playing local clubs, factory teams, and so forth, and going more than 80 games without defeat until they lost to the New York Atlantics in June 1870. While they haven't always been the winningest club since then, they've been to the World Series nine times and won five of those visits, most recently in 1990.
I was pretty familiar with the glory days of the Big Red Machine in the 1970s, but other aspects of team history were a surprise. I think I liked best learning about Ted Kluszewski, the Reds mountainous first baseman in the 1950s. Kluszewski was widely considered the strongest man in baseball, but was a gentle giant with a humble disposition. There are numerous stories of his feats, both tape-measure home runs and more irregular occurrences. For instance, a game with St. Louis nearly broke out in a brawl. When St. Louis shortstop Solly Hemus ran out of the dugout to join the developing fight, Kluszewski lifted him off the ground entirely and asked where he was going. "Nowhere, Ted, nowhere," was the answer, cutting the brawl short before it could spread.
Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone We listened to this in the car on the way to and back from Cincy. I had always had the impression that Harry Potter was little more than a mish-mash of well-worn fantasy tropes with the cliche-ridden writing typical of the genre and was not looking forward to hearing this. After actually listening to it, I'll admit I've upgraded my opinion a couple notches, although I still don't think it's nearly as great as its reputation.
As far as writing-style, it does use that high fantasy style, but adds a winking irony and subtle humor. Holy cow, J. K. Rowling is in on the joke! Parts of this book are pretty funny, and on a line-by-line and page-by-page level, the writing has a great deal of charm and is quite listenable/readable. The world-building, too, is remarkable. I think the main thing readers like in this book must be all the various details we see as we accompany Harry on his first visit to Hogwarts, the magical classes and teachers and stores and even candies. Plus, the great sequences with Quidditch, that comically complicated, high-speed broomstick-riding sport Harry excels at.
Once we actually settled into the plot of the book I was somewhat less thrilled, however. As we move on from Harry's initial encounters with a world whose existence he had never suspected, we enter a fairly by-the-numbers adventure in the second half of the book. Oh, trolls, dragons, and a magic mirror. Yawn. Plus, while I won't give away the ending (as if there's anyone besides me who hasn't read this yet), it was very much a deus ex machina-type resolution to the conflict.
Whether I recommend this book is beside the point--every kid who likes reading has already picked it up, I'm sure. It's definitely a fun read, but I don't think Hogwarts is going to join Middle Earth or Narnia as a place that kids will still be visiting in their imaginations decades from now.
Saturday, April 30, 2016
What I'm Reading: Game Time: A Baseball Companion
Game Time is a collection of essays by Roger Angell, who covers baseball for The New Yorker magazine. I believe most or all of these essays appeared in that magazine. They range from the very beginning of Angell's career in the early 1960s to 2002.
The essays are uniformly of high, even literary, quality, with an emphasis on personalities, lives, and relationships, rather than action on the field. I notice that even when he does cover action on the field, or over a season, it comes out like a story. It's a joy to read, although when reading a lot of essays back to back certain New-Yorker-ish tics come to the fore. For instance, everything is always fine: it was a fine game, so-and-so is a fine player, it was a fine play at third. And the reflex to get deeper, to figure out what it all means, on one or two occasions in the book becomes almost comical. But all in all, the writing is superb (or fine, even).
I think my favorite essay is one titled "Distance" from 1980, which is mainly about Bob Gibson, a once-fearsome pitcher who had at that point been retired for five years. Gibson was the most dominant pitcher in baseball in the late 1960s, a pitcher for the St. Louis Cardinals who did not hesitate to plunk batters crowding the plate. He was African-American and grew up poor in an era when blacks got little respect, so he carried himself with a certain pride than many interpreted as stand-offishness. Angell caught up with him in Omaha, his hometown, where he had opened up a popular bar-restaurant after retiring but lost none of the old prickliness.You can sense the difficulty Angell had in interviewing such a reticent man, yet he succeeds in giving the reader a detailed and moving look at an athlete past his best years, who never really had a place in life except on top of the baseball mound. He also succeeds in making us sympathize with Gibson, quite a feat for a man who previously had a well-earned image as a cold and emotionally austere man.
My least favorite essay was called "One for the Good Guys," about the New Yankees late-season surge in 1996 that brought them to the World Series against Atlanta for their first Series appearance since 1978, and what a great group of players they had, and how well-deserved it all was, and how the city and country fell for them, and barf barf barf. Fortunately, this appears to be a one-season lapse on Angell's part, and for most of the rest of the book he avoids Yankees boosterism.
Now Angell has a number of books, most of which appear to be collections of already-published essays like this one. I would imagine they are all of similarly high quality. Game Time would be a great read for any baseball fan with literary leanings, though probably any of the others would be just as good.
The essays are uniformly of high, even literary, quality, with an emphasis on personalities, lives, and relationships, rather than action on the field. I notice that even when he does cover action on the field, or over a season, it comes out like a story. It's a joy to read, although when reading a lot of essays back to back certain New-Yorker-ish tics come to the fore. For instance, everything is always fine: it was a fine game, so-and-so is a fine player, it was a fine play at third. And the reflex to get deeper, to figure out what it all means, on one or two occasions in the book becomes almost comical. But all in all, the writing is superb (or fine, even).
I think my favorite essay is one titled "Distance" from 1980, which is mainly about Bob Gibson, a once-fearsome pitcher who had at that point been retired for five years. Gibson was the most dominant pitcher in baseball in the late 1960s, a pitcher for the St. Louis Cardinals who did not hesitate to plunk batters crowding the plate. He was African-American and grew up poor in an era when blacks got little respect, so he carried himself with a certain pride than many interpreted as stand-offishness. Angell caught up with him in Omaha, his hometown, where he had opened up a popular bar-restaurant after retiring but lost none of the old prickliness.You can sense the difficulty Angell had in interviewing such a reticent man, yet he succeeds in giving the reader a detailed and moving look at an athlete past his best years, who never really had a place in life except on top of the baseball mound. He also succeeds in making us sympathize with Gibson, quite a feat for a man who previously had a well-earned image as a cold and emotionally austere man.
My least favorite essay was called "One for the Good Guys," about the New Yankees late-season surge in 1996 that brought them to the World Series against Atlanta for their first Series appearance since 1978, and what a great group of players they had, and how well-deserved it all was, and how the city and country fell for them, and barf barf barf. Fortunately, this appears to be a one-season lapse on Angell's part, and for most of the rest of the book he avoids Yankees boosterism.
Now Angell has a number of books, most of which appear to be collections of already-published essays like this one. I would imagine they are all of similarly high quality. Game Time would be a great read for any baseball fan with literary leanings, though probably any of the others would be just as good.
Tuesday, April 22, 2014
What I'm Reading: Becoming Mr. October
So here's my baseball book for this year: Becoming Mr. October, by Reggie Jackson. I saw it on the New Arrivals stand at the library and picked it right up. Reggie gives us a few chapters on growing up in a small town in Pennsylvania, his college career at Arizona State, and his early professional career with Oakland, but the bulk of the book covers the 1977 and 1978 seasons with the Yankees, when they won the World Series two years in a row.
It actually works pretty well paired with Bill Lee's autobiography, which I read last year. Bill Lee was a pitcher with the Red Sox in 1978, that near-mythical season when the Sox and Yankees ended up tied for first place in the American League East on the last day of the regular season and had to play a tie-breaker. Not surprisingly, Bill Lee makes a few appearances in this book as well, although we're reading now from the other point of view.
One thing that struck me about both books is how badly the pitchers were handled. Bill mentioned Red Sox manager Don Zimmer refusing to adhere to a regular rotation, instead "saving" certain pitchers for key games, only to find they don't produce because they've had too much or too little rest. Similarly, Billy Martin on the Yankees would decide he didn't like a certain player's attitude and bench him (often without explaining why), and then pitch another guy on only three days rest. Or, he might yank a pitcher in trouble in the fourth inning instead of letting him work out of the jam, and send in a closer for the final five innings of the game (or more, in case of extra innings). Favored pitchers he would leave in for all nine innings, fine for one outing but hell on a pitcher over multiple starts. After half a season of this, most of his pitching staff suffered permanently sore arms or worse. Reggie mentions several great pitchers who never pitched the same after working on one of Martin's teams.
I have to wonder--was this typical? I mean, the Yankees and Red Sox were two of the best teams in baseball, and that's how they were treating their pitchers. I have to imagine lesser teams were even worse off. Or were the Yankees and Red Sox special cases, who managed to win despite the way their pitchers were treated? No way a manager could get away with that today.
Then too, Billy Martin comes off terribly in Reggie's book in general. I'm not sure I've ever read a positive account of Billy--even writers trying to be nice use euphemisms like "scrappy" or "feisty." Reggie describes him as downright mean, a drunkard who harbors secret grudges that he satisfies by trying to humiliate his players on the national stage. Apparently he had a special dislike for Reggie from the very first day that Reggie showed up at spring training in 1977. Of course Reggie, an outspoken black man who had to fight for every bit of respect he ever got, simply wouldn't put up with Billy and at times openly defied him.
Of course, Reggie was famous for speaking his mind, even boasting about his talents and accomplishments. It wasn't idle though--he was truly the best power hitter in the game! Four home runs in four consecutive at-bats in the 1977 World Series, and that's just for starters. I didn't realize that Yankees catcher Thurman Munson originally referred to Reggie as "Mr. October" sarcastically, but Reggie quickly picked up the phrase and wore it proudly.
He admits in the book that in retrospect, he wouldn't have said everything he did. He says he was naive about the media when he got to New York, as in Oakland there'd typically been only three sportswriters in the locker room after games and they'd had a strong respect for players who wanted to keep things off the record. In contrast, the Yankees locker room had dozens of sportswriters after a game, each looking for the best quote they could get and not above quoting overheard remarks, private conversations, or even subtly twisting their quotes to make them juicier. Reggie says now if he'd known how many hurt feelings there would be, he would have kept his mouth shut a lot more often. Quite an admission for a player who many thought at the time went out of his way to create controversy.
All in all, I would think this book would be of interest to any baseball fan. It's an entertaining story by one of the more colorful characters to ever play the game, playing on one of the best Yankees teams of all time.
It actually works pretty well paired with Bill Lee's autobiography, which I read last year. Bill Lee was a pitcher with the Red Sox in 1978, that near-mythical season when the Sox and Yankees ended up tied for first place in the American League East on the last day of the regular season and had to play a tie-breaker. Not surprisingly, Bill Lee makes a few appearances in this book as well, although we're reading now from the other point of view.
One thing that struck me about both books is how badly the pitchers were handled. Bill mentioned Red Sox manager Don Zimmer refusing to adhere to a regular rotation, instead "saving" certain pitchers for key games, only to find they don't produce because they've had too much or too little rest. Similarly, Billy Martin on the Yankees would decide he didn't like a certain player's attitude and bench him (often without explaining why), and then pitch another guy on only three days rest. Or, he might yank a pitcher in trouble in the fourth inning instead of letting him work out of the jam, and send in a closer for the final five innings of the game (or more, in case of extra innings). Favored pitchers he would leave in for all nine innings, fine for one outing but hell on a pitcher over multiple starts. After half a season of this, most of his pitching staff suffered permanently sore arms or worse. Reggie mentions several great pitchers who never pitched the same after working on one of Martin's teams.
I have to wonder--was this typical? I mean, the Yankees and Red Sox were two of the best teams in baseball, and that's how they were treating their pitchers. I have to imagine lesser teams were even worse off. Or were the Yankees and Red Sox special cases, who managed to win despite the way their pitchers were treated? No way a manager could get away with that today.
Then too, Billy Martin comes off terribly in Reggie's book in general. I'm not sure I've ever read a positive account of Billy--even writers trying to be nice use euphemisms like "scrappy" or "feisty." Reggie describes him as downright mean, a drunkard who harbors secret grudges that he satisfies by trying to humiliate his players on the national stage. Apparently he had a special dislike for Reggie from the very first day that Reggie showed up at spring training in 1977. Of course Reggie, an outspoken black man who had to fight for every bit of respect he ever got, simply wouldn't put up with Billy and at times openly defied him.
Of course, Reggie was famous for speaking his mind, even boasting about his talents and accomplishments. It wasn't idle though--he was truly the best power hitter in the game! Four home runs in four consecutive at-bats in the 1977 World Series, and that's just for starters. I didn't realize that Yankees catcher Thurman Munson originally referred to Reggie as "Mr. October" sarcastically, but Reggie quickly picked up the phrase and wore it proudly.
He admits in the book that in retrospect, he wouldn't have said everything he did. He says he was naive about the media when he got to New York, as in Oakland there'd typically been only three sportswriters in the locker room after games and they'd had a strong respect for players who wanted to keep things off the record. In contrast, the Yankees locker room had dozens of sportswriters after a game, each looking for the best quote they could get and not above quoting overheard remarks, private conversations, or even subtly twisting their quotes to make them juicier. Reggie says now if he'd known how many hurt feelings there would be, he would have kept his mouth shut a lot more often. Quite an admission for a player who many thought at the time went out of his way to create controversy.
All in all, I would think this book would be of interest to any baseball fan. It's an entertaining story by one of the more colorful characters to ever play the game, playing on one of the best Yankees teams of all time.
Sunday, November 10, 2013
Nick's annual reading goals
Over the years I've established a set of goals, or at least traditions, for my reading. I try to read a selection from each of the following categories every year:
1) Bible. During Lent, I try to read daily from the Bible or a book on a religious topic. Each year I try to read a Bible book I haven't read before, although as I get older there are far fewer that I haven't read and that strike me as something I'd like to read. (The Psalms or Proverbs, for instance, may be great individually but would be a little tedious to read straight through; Leviticus and Deuteronomy are basically unreadable for a casual reader.) I also revisit a few particular favorites every so often--the Acts of the Apostles, the Gospel of John, and Ruth are at the top of my list.
2) Baseball. Sometime during baseball season, I try to read a book on baseball. Most years, I get to it during or April or May when my interest in the subject is at its height (and the Nationals are still in contention). This year, for whatever reason, I didn't get to it until the World Series was almost over. I'm no Yankees fan, but I think the best baseball book I've ever read was a couple years ago when I hit Jonathan Eig's Luckiest Man: The Life and Death of Lou Gehrig. Great book on a man with an almost wholly admirable life, cut tragically short, but with that beautiful "Luckiest Man" speech at Yankee Stadium the summer before he died, when he showed he had no bitterness in his heart for anything that had happened to him.
3) History. Every year I try to read a popular history book. For some reason, I like to read these in late summer while I'm at the beach. This year's book was fun, if not fully satisfying. The best history books I've read, at least in the past five or six years, are Gotham: A History of New York City, a monumental undertaking but endlessly fascinating, and Last Call: A History of Prohibition.
4) YA. My wife says I should read more YA, since I'm trying to write in the genre. She's not wrong! Still, since I write almost every evening, and read a wide variety of books, I really only have time to get to four or five YA books in any given year. The best YA book I read in the past year was John Green's Looking for Alaska. I'm not going to praise it anymore here. In fact, I'm angry at John Green for writing so well and making me realize I'll never live up to the standard he sets for the genre. If you must read a YA novel but don't know what to get, pick one by John Green, doesn't even matter which one. They're funny and heartbreaking and stay with you long after you've finished.
5) Literature. With a capital L. At least once a year I try to read a book that an English major would love. Sometimes I really enjoy them, other times it's more of a trophy to put on the shelf. Earlier this year I finished Boswell's Life of Johnson. It's the second time in my life I've read it and it's well worth revisiting. The one I'm working on now is Moby Dick. I like it so far, but, umm, I'm taking a little break from it. I'm about halfway through. I'll pick it up again in a couple weeks and finish it.
What about my readers? Do you just read whatever catches your attention, or do you have goals in mind and try to stick to them? Or do you have an actual plan? I think the most ambitious reading goal I've ever heard was one that of the husband of one of the librarians at my wife's library, who was trying to read a biography of every American president, in order. He was up to Thomas Jefferson at the time, a couple years ago. I wonder if he ever finished, or where he is now?
Wednesday, November 6, 2013
What I'm Reading: The Wrong Stuff
Bill Lee was a left-handed pitcher for the Boston Red Sox and Montreal Expos in the 1970s and early 1980s. He was well-known for his outspoken views, free-spirited approach to life, and (controversially at the time) unabashed drug use. Oh, and he was a pretty good pitcher as well.
The Wrong Stuff is an autobiography he wrote with ghostwriter Dick Lally. I'm not sure how much of this Bill wrote himself, but he seems pretty intellectual for a ballplayer, and his voice comes through very strongly, so I assume he contributed a lot more than in most of these celebrity ghostwritten books. The book was published in 1985, and I wonder whether it made a splash when it was printed. Bill certainly doesn't hold back in expressing his opinion or in naming names, so I have to think it must have raised quite a few eyebrows.
It's also hilarious, full of anecdotes about baseball life and especially the nightlife after the game is over. He has a skewed view of the universe that imparts a stand-up comic's wit to his observations, sort of a baseball version of George Carlin. Despite the fact that he holds a lot of new-agey beliefs--karma, and Eastern medical practices, and that sort of thing--he nevertheless comes off as saner and more down-to-Earth than most of his teammates and managers, competing hard when the game is on but not worrying too much afterwards if was a win or a loss, nor obsessed with the money, fame, or groupies that so preoccupy those around him.
I checked Amazon and this book recently became available again after years of being out of print (I found my copy on a giveaway table at work). I would definitely recommend it to anyone with an interest in baseball, especially the Red Sox or baseball in the 70s. But I think it would entertain a far broader readership than that, as Bill also peppers his book with his unique views of inter-gender relations, politics, the merits of various US cities, and anything else his curious mind happens to land on.
The Wrong Stuff is an autobiography he wrote with ghostwriter Dick Lally. I'm not sure how much of this Bill wrote himself, but he seems pretty intellectual for a ballplayer, and his voice comes through very strongly, so I assume he contributed a lot more than in most of these celebrity ghostwritten books. The book was published in 1985, and I wonder whether it made a splash when it was printed. Bill certainly doesn't hold back in expressing his opinion or in naming names, so I have to think it must have raised quite a few eyebrows.
It's also hilarious, full of anecdotes about baseball life and especially the nightlife after the game is over. He has a skewed view of the universe that imparts a stand-up comic's wit to his observations, sort of a baseball version of George Carlin. Despite the fact that he holds a lot of new-agey beliefs--karma, and Eastern medical practices, and that sort of thing--he nevertheless comes off as saner and more down-to-Earth than most of his teammates and managers, competing hard when the game is on but not worrying too much afterwards if was a win or a loss, nor obsessed with the money, fame, or groupies that so preoccupy those around him.
I checked Amazon and this book recently became available again after years of being out of print (I found my copy on a giveaway table at work). I would definitely recommend it to anyone with an interest in baseball, especially the Red Sox or baseball in the 70s. But I think it would entertain a far broader readership than that, as Bill also peppers his book with his unique views of inter-gender relations, politics, the merits of various US cities, and anything else his curious mind happens to land on.
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