Baseball book about Billy Martin is revealing

14 May

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Managing the New York Yankees was everything to Billy Martin. And as author David Falkner describes Martin in The Last Yankee: The Turbulent Life of Billy Martin, holding on to his job as skipper of America’s most celebrated team became the single focus of his always stormy, embattled life in his later life.

Falkner doesn’t paint a pretty picture of Martin in this 1992 biography. If winning games is what drove him, alcohol is what fueled him and ultimately led to his untimely death on Christmas Day 1989. Falkner makes no bones about the fact that the car crash that took his life was an accident waiting to happen. That Martin’s entire life was akin to walking through a minefield is clear.

The barroom brawls, the drunken rages and managerial firings are all chronicled in this book. Falkner has faithfully done his research to recount these stormy episodes. More than anything, Falkner plays the psychologist as so many biographers tend to do. He delves into Martin’s troubled and violent childhood on the streets and playgrounds of Berkeley, Calif. where the future Yankee not only learned about playing baseball but about using his fists.

Fused with his fierce competitiveness and budding leadership qualities as head of a gang in a tough working class environment, Martin seems fated to someday become a Major League manager. As Falkner writes: What was unique about Billy was not his leadership of hundreds but his ability in a street fight. He was tough, violent and willing – as others were not – to do almost anything to win. His reputation was built on his almost crazy, impulsive aggressiveness. In junior high, when he began to be taunted more frequently, the number of fights in which he was involved increased. So did his sense that winning a fight was about winning a place in the world, a way of being seen by others as a leader. Billy may or may not have started fights, but he built his reputation by getting into them.

Falkner doesn’t gloss over the questions regarding Billy’s early life. Martin either did or did not come into the world out of wedlock, and the author raises the possibility that his mother may have earned money as a prostitute. There’s some speculation the infant Billy was often thrust into the very center of furious fights between his mother and a frequently wayward father. Martin’s sister tells of their mother holding a knife to Billy’s throat and threatening to kill the “little bastard” should the father return home. The likelihood is that over time, such painful events are not lost but repressed, so that, never fully recalled nor understood, they reverberate into adulthood and beyond, compelling behavior that all too painfully remains bound to the original trauma. From this environment, Falkner tells us, emerged a two-fisted, hard-drinking man whose self-destructive habits served more as a rage against the world to be accepted rather than as an outlet.

Falkner traces Martin’s playing career, how, despite rather modest talents, he was able to channel his ferocious energy and competitive drive, and in the process, become an integral part of the Yankees teams of the 1950s. As a second baseman on those legendary clubs, Martin’s star was never brighter than in the World Series. In 1953, he set a Series record for a six-game set by banging out twelve hits.

Martin’s reputation as a brawler far surpassed his abilities as a ballplayer. During his playing days, Martin became involved in numerous fights both on the field and in saloons. Among them was the Copacabana Club incident involving several members of the Yankees. Falkner sets the record straight about the fight at the famous New York nightspot, often believed to be the episode that led to Martin’s being traded away from the Yankees to Kansas City. But Falkner reveals that it was likely an on-field fight nearly three weeks earlier involving Martin and Cleveland Indians outfielder Larry Doby that ushered in Martin’s last days as a Yankees player.

Martin’s managerial career began several years later. Here, Falkner does a fine job showing just what kind of a baseball skipper Martin actually was. There’s some interesting stuff about Martin’s game strategy, his almost genius-like ability in reviving poor or mediocre ball clubs before his self-destructive behavior ultimately does him in, and of course, the inevitable circumstances surrounding his celebrated firings.

The Last Yankee is among several books about Martin. Peter Golenbock’s Wild, High and Tight certainly rivals and may even surpass this book. Certainly, for any baseball biography, Falkner’s is one of the better ones to be found.

 

The Curse of Rocky Colavito is a great baseball book

9 May

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Much has been written of the inability of a baseball franchise to lift itself from the depths of despair. Any true Chicago Cubs fan knows that 1945 marked the last year the team made it to the World Series. Cubs fans recall the horror of watching the blown pennant in 1969, the ignominy of 1984 when the San Diego Padres rallied from a 2-0 deficit in the National League playoffs to grab the flag and, of course, the infamous Steve Bartman incident of 2003 that sunk the team’s pennant hopes.

For many years, Boston Red Sox rooters felt they suffered from something akin to shingles – the Curse of the Bambino. But that was finally buried in 2004 with a World Series win.

You want curses? asks Terry Pluto. To live in Cleveland (at least prior to 1995) is to be sentenced to a lifelong devotion to a truly losing cause – the Cleveland Indians. The Tribe finished as high as third just once between 1959 and 1993.

It’s a remarkable record of futility that Pluto, a longtime Cleveland sportswriter, doesn’t dismiss lightly. Pluto, a baby boomer and native son of the Cleveland area, sums it up thusly: “Why would anyone be an Indians fan? There are no rational reasons. In my case, I blame my father. He grew up in Cleveland watching the Indians, loving the Indians. But those Indians were Bob Feller, Bob Lemon, Early Wynn, Larry Doby and Lou Boudreau. Those Indians happened to be Hall of Famers. My Indians were Jack Kralick, Mudcat Grant, Joe Azcue, and Chico Salmon.”

Jack Kralick? Only the most diehard of Indians fans remember Kralick, a truly forgettable pitcher who won a total of 33 games for The Tribe. Many of us grow up with a special place in our hearts for some nondescript utility infielder or backup catcher, and for Pluto it was Kralick.

That’s the beauty of Pluto’s book. Being an Indians fan, he’s able to demonstrate the hold one hapless team had on him through the years. And then there’s the city of Cleveland – the horrible weather, the Cuyahoga River catching fire, the plunge into bankruptcy. Cleveland, an easy target for every comedian.

Pluto puts a humorous spin on it all, but he also chronicles what really went wrong. And when did it all go wrong? The date apparently is marked indelibly in Pluto’s memory: April 17, 1960, the day the Tribe traded away franchise player Rocky Colavito.

“The Rock” was the Indians answer to Mickey Mantle, a power-hitting outfielder who won the hearts of Indians fans. He arrived in Cleveland as if straight out of central casting. Drop dead handsome, modest, clean-living, Colavito was a true hero in every sense of the word. And the 129 home runs he slugged for The Tribe from 1956 to 1959 didn’t hurt any.

Then came the trade of The Rock to Detroit for Harvey Kuenn and the long drought for Indians fans. Colavito would go on to hit 251 more homers in his career. And Kuenn? Already past his prime when he arrived in Cleveland, he’d play just one season there. Indians general manager Frank Lane thought so highly of Kuenn that he sent him packing to the Giants.

Frank Lane. Pluto has plenty to say about him. The name was enough to bring thoughts of murder to Indians fans. “Trader Lane” had not only seen fit to get rid of The Rock but to trade away every decent ballplayer in the Indians organization. Then he fled the franchise for Kansas City after he’d been shrewd enough to cut himself a nice deal.

As Pluto puts it: “If ever there was The Man Who Destroyed the Indians, Lane was it. Fans have suggested hanging, tar-and-feathering, or drawing and quartering Frank Lane. But none of that is bad enough.”

And so it goes. Pluto’s recollection of this sorry franchise reads like a tragic comedy. It’s all here. The villains, the heroes, the mismanagement, the misdeeds of a club strangling in the throes of a 30-year slump. The Indians seemed to operate under Murphy’s Law: If something can go wrong, it will go wrong. The gods have just never smiled on the Cleveland Indians, according to Pluto

“What if” is a phrase often linked to ballplayers Walt Bond, Max Alvis, Ray Fosse, Sam McDowell, and Tony Horton. So much was expected of these extraordinarily talented ballplayers, but each seemed to fall prey to the Indians curse.

A bout with spinal meningitis hindered Alvis. The leukemia that ruined the career of Bonds eventually took his life. Fosse was a rookie and a rising star when he got the worst of a home-plate collision with Pete Rose in the 1970 All-Star game. McDowell, who had one of the game’s best fastballs, struggled with alcohol, and mental problems eventually chased slugging outfielder Horton from the game.

Naturally, one of the most memorable injuries that occurred in any athletic arena happened to an Indian. The night pitcher Herb Score got drilled in the face with a line drive off the bat of Gil Mcdougald stands as one of those tragic moments in all of sports. But for the Indians it meant the loss of a franchise player. Score, perhaps the American League’s best pitcher at the time of the injury, was never again the same player.

There are chapters and sections devoted to various personalities including Score, McDowell, Gaylord Perry, Andre Thorton, and Joe Charboneau.

Charboneau’s colorful personality and raw talent won the fans of Cleveland in 1980. A Hollywood scriptwriter could not have devised a more unbelievable story than that of Charboneau. Like Mark “The Bird” Fidyrich before him, Charboneau was an engaging sort who became a legend on the strength of his seemingly ingenuous love of life and baseball. And like Fidyrich, he was nothing more than a one-year wonder, a fleeting streak of lightning, whose career was soon ruined by injuries.

Pluto admits to becoming as caught up as the most star-struck fan in the Charboneau frenzy of that season. It was Pluto, in fact, who would give the hard-hitting outfielder the nickname of “Super Joe.” 

Perhaps that’s the real charm of “The Curse of Rocky Colavito.” That even though Pluto is a reporter, he remains an Indians fan at heart. But because he is a reporter he’s able to keep his distance and see the team for all it foibles and follies. How many times have we heard someone describe their first Major League ball game as a youth and getting that initial glimpse of one of baseball’s grand palaces such as Yankee Stadium?

Pluto puts a unique spin on this time-honored ritual shared by so many boys. For Pluto and so many others growing up and living in and around Cleveland, going to a Major League game meant watching the Indians in Municipal Stadium. It was, Pluto writes,  “a mausoleum – too big, too damp, too old, and too cold.” He recalls seeing groundskeepers painting the ball park’s grass green to add a lushness to the playing surface. Bug-infested and dilapidated, it stood next to Lake Erie, collecting Canada’s weather.

Bad attendance and numerous changes in ownership plagued the team through the 30-plus years this book covers. Rumors of the team leaving Cleveland for greener pastures were not uncommon. At one point, Donald Trump was poised to buy the team. Eventually, the Jacobs brothers bought the club and slowly the Indians’ fortunes turned for the better. Solid baseball men such as Peter Bavasi and John Hart were brought in to oversee the club’s operations. Instead of falling prey to the capitalistic madness that is baseball free agency, they signed young, talented ballplayers to long-term and lucrative contracts. Carlos Baerga, Albert Belle and Sandy Alomar were key components to the Tribe’s 1995-pennant winning season.

The Curse of Rocky Colavito is one of those rare baseball books, a rich history of a hapless team that is also funny.

 

Willie Mays books

6 May

Happy Birthday to Willie Mays. 

Here are three of the better-known Willie Mays biographies over the years.

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Has anyone read this baseball book?

25 Apr

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via Has anyone read this baseball book?.

Has anyone read this baseball book?

25 Apr

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I’ll bet there’s an awful lot of avid readers and baseball fans out there who’ve never heard of this book

It’s too bad. 

This is one of those books that stay with you long after you finish it, and you promise yourself that one day you’ll read it once again, which is precisely what I decided to do recently. 

Toot-Toot-Tootsie, Good-bye tells the story of L.C. Fanning, a broadcaster for the fictional New York Nats baseball team.

Fanny is ready to pack it in after many years behind the microphone. He’s a bit full of itself, but not a bad guy. He relishes the bit of celebrity his job affords him.

But time has passed him by, and fewer folks are tuning in to his broadcasts of Nats games. To boost ratings, team management decides to bring in a smart and pretty young woman to share the broadcast booth with him and his partner, Turtle Teweles, a former Major League catcher.

Needless to say, the decision does not go down well with the two broadcasters, but it’s just one of the many changes Fanning will have to deal with.

Fanning longs for the old days, when the game was different and times seemed simpler. Mostly, he wants to be remembered. But Fanning is stuck in a time warp. He fondly recalls his broadcast of Bobby Thomson’s “Shot Heard ‘Round the World in 1951, the memorable home run that won the National League pennant. He feels the day some thirty years ago was his signature moment.

This is a bittersweet story of what happens to all of us. There’s plenty of pathos but humor too.  Aside from Fanning, we don’t get to know many of the characters real well. That’s not really a criticism of the book, however.

Seeing how Fanny lives out his life reacting to forces beyond his control is what carries this story and what it’s all about. 

A False Spring is a great baseball book

22 Apr

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This is probably the best baseball book I ever read. Of course, it goes deeper than baseball. Pat Jordan is a big bonus baby in the Milwaukee Braves organization with the blazing fastball and the big future ahead of him. The problem is, Jordan can’t harness that talent to make his dream of reaching the Major Leagues. He’s self-centered, arrogant and distant from everyone. We see Jordan from the time he is a hotshot high school pitcher groomed by an older brother. And then, reality sets in. Jordan is suddenly away from home for the first time – in McCook, Neb., pitching for a Class D team, the lowest rung on the minor league ladder, and not doing so well. And that’s pretty much the way Jordan’s career goes for the next few years – lonely minor league outposts, few pitching triumphs. Jordan’s descriptions of some of the small towns and ballparks of these dots on the map are part of what I like about this book. It’s also fun to read about some of the future Major League stars that Jordan plays with or against. He nearly gets into a fight with Joe Torre. His roommate in McCook is Ron Hunt. Another teammate is Phil Niekro. Some readers have criticized the book because Jordan is not a very likable character. It’s true he exhibits plenty of boorish behavior as his focus to become a Major Leaguer is so all consuming. He screams at his coaches, fights with teammates. He shows no interest in the clubs he plays for. It’s all about him. That said, I like the honesty of the writing. Jordan doesn’t paint himself as a saint. Sure, maybe I wouldn’t have wanted to hang out with the guy back in the late 1950s and early 1960s when he was struggling to control his fastball and fumbling at learning to become a man. Still, there are some real heart-felt sections of this book too. Midway through his minor league struggles, Jordan finds himself in Wisconsin. He’s at the point where he’s lost all confidence, and the team isn’t even letting him pitch. He pleads to be given a chance, and when it doesn’t happen, he jumps the team. He has a fling with a young woman in McCook. She wants to get to know the self-absorbed pitching prodigy a little better. But Jordan pushes her away. Jordan does have a girlfriend back home whom he eventually marries. We learn little if nothing about her, although we see her enduring the life of a baseball wife. Jordan rails at her, moving her to tears, when she doesn’t have his supper ready after a game. Even if you can’t root for this young pitcher, it’s a book worth reading. Let’s face it. We lose more than we win in life, and this story pounds that point home.

Book looks back at 1972 New York Mets

2 Apr

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Joel Oppenheimer once wrote a book called The Wrong Season, a New York Mets fan’s one-year diary of a season rooting for his beloved team.

With the Mets’ opening day win yesterday, I couldn’t help but recall this book, which offered a look at a very different Mets team, the 1972 version. The book is interspersed with Oppenheimer’s day to day life along with this thoughts on politics and other subjects.

The Mets had entered that ’72 season with promise. A big trade had gotten them Rusty Staub from the Montreal Expos, and the team was poised for some big things. But alas, Staub went down with an injury in June. At the time he was among the league leaders in RBIs. Bud Harrelson, the team’s All-Star shortstop, hard-hitting left fielder Cleon Jones and catcher Jerry Grote missed far too many games to injuries as the team sputtered through that year.

The highlight of that season may well have been the Willie Mays home run on Mother’s Day right after the Mets got the Say Hey Kid in a trade with the San Francisco Giants. Mays ended up playing two seasons for the Metropolitans before calling it a career.

Oppenheimer chronicles the highs and lows of this team, while humorously updating us on his own personal struggles living out this thing we call life. Oppenheimer, a poet, was a big fan of the team, which especially makes the book a fun read for Mets rooters.  

I like to think Oppenheimer was smiling from his grave yesterday when these Mets of 2013 – David Wright, Jonathan Neise, John Buck and Collin Cowgill, who hit the opening day grand slam to electrify that Citi Field crowd – brought home a win to their faithful fan base.

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