Book Review -- New Bill James Historical Abstract

Reading the New Bill James Historical Abstract from cover to cover was my New Year’s resolution for 2014. Growing up in the 1980s, I certainly read my fair share of Bill James. Until recently, however, I had never taken the plunge and endeavored to read every word of his 1,000 page masterpiece.

Now that I’m done, I feel more enriched by this Abstract than any other baseball book I have ever read. Page for page, nothing else compares. 

Since the Historical Abstract has been universally praised, I thought it would be more interesting to summarize its surprising qualities as well as its deficiencies.

Five deficiencies:

• Baseball is half offense, half defense. Yet, among the positional rankings, 475 pages are devoted to hitters and only 75 pages are devoted to pitchers. Lumping starters and closers together could also be reevaluated.
• The Abstract leans heavily on a statistic James devised called Win Shares. If you reject the methodology of Win Shares, you thus reject the premise of the rankings.
• Bill James is from Kansas. Players who are from Kansas or who played for Kansas City get more ink than others do. References to Joe Tinker abound. And brace yourself for George Brett to be mentioned in the same breath as the legends.
• There are some head-scratchers in the positional rankings in that the treatment seems uneven. Among catchers, James devoted 10 pages to Ernie Lombardi while Terry Steinbach got one sentence. At first base, Jeff Bagwell received a one word tribute -- “Pass”.
• The author seems to take strange delight in calling players fat or racist. Sometimes both!

Five surprises:

• I would not have anticipated that the Abstract is a treasure trove of baseball book recommendations.
• At most positions, after the first 40 or so players ranked out of 100, the difference among them seems irrelevant.
• Most positions are shockingly thin among the all-time rankings. Two examples: Even at a key position like center field, Ray Lankford clocks in at #49 all time. Juan Samuel, mostly thought of as a dud, is also a Top 100 player.
• James freely acknowledges the quirks of his Win Shares system. This is very fair of him. I have never read a book with a tone so authoritative yet so modest.

The fifth surprising element is that there are dozens of terrific essays buried among the player rankings. For example, the passage about Ryne Sandberg essentially has nothing to do with the Hall of Fame second baseman. Meanwhile, the passage about Steve Sax is almost entirely about Ryne Sandberg. (Instead of discussing Sax in the Sax bio, James examines how likely a player with Sandberg’s rookie statistics will end up enshrined in Cooperstown.) The downside of this surprise-and-delight approach is that if you find an essay that you want to revisit at a later date, it’s almost impossible to ever find it again.

Some of the best entries include those for Willie Wilson, Ernie Lombardi, Dummy Hoy, Pete Rose and Steve Carlton. My favorite hitter and pitcher entries are Richie Ashburn’s and Tommy John’s.

Overall, the analysis is brilliant. Is there anyone else on the planet who has better dexterity than James with both words and numbers?

Book Review -- The Bronx Zoo

The Bronx Zoo is a poor man’s Ball Four. The books share many attributes, yet the key difference is that Jim Bouton’s Ball Four is a much better memoir than Sparky Lyle’s Bronx Zoo.

Obligatory comparisons between Bronx Zoo and Ball Four are essentially unavoidable because of the abundant similarities: Both authors adopted a season-long diary format. Both authors were former New York Yankees relief pitchers. Both authors clung to less-than-ideal roles on their respective pitching staffs. In both cases, the books proved inflammatory and reached the New York Times best-seller list.

The best moments of The Bronx Zoo occur when Sparky Lyle neglects to pull his punches. In fact, in what seems like a calculated move, Lyle fires a huge shot over the bow on page one: “No one can blow his own horn like Jim Palmer can”. Later, in regards to Reggie Jackson:

Reggie has always said, “If Reggie Jackson doesn’t hit, the Yankees don’t win.” Well, no kidding. When he’s in the f---ing number four spot and he’s striking out all the time, that’s the truth...

In fact, my inspiration to read The Bronx Zoo came not from Ball Four, but instead from 2010’s Steinbrenner: The Last Lion of Baseball. In the latter, I took an almost strange delight in reading Bill Madden’s account of the dysfunctional, late 1970s Yankees. The next book I turned to was Bronx Zoo. At the end of it, I was left with a feeling of disappointment.

Overall, Bronx Zoo is an overrated memoir about Sparky Lyle losing his closer role over the course of the season. If the book succeeds, it’s because the subject matter -- Reggie, Billy and George -- is so rich. Looking back, it turns out that Lyle was the superior pitcher and Bouton was the superior author.

Favorite Line
Ted Williams was a coach there, and it was he who changed my life. He watched me pitch one afternoon, and afterward he asked me what I thought was the best pitch in baseball. I told him I didn’t know. “The slider. You know why?” I said no. He said, “Because it was the only pitch I couldn’t hit consistently even when I knew it was coming.” I was in awe of Williams.

Book Review -- Summer of '49

The sports media’s fawning over the rivalry between the Yankees and Red Sox has never been much of a pet peeve of mine. For whatever reason, all the uneven adulation heaped upon those two franchises does not bother me the way it bothers so many other people.

As even-tempered as I am about the subject matter, I nevertheless found it difficult to enjoy David Halberstam’s Summer of ‘49.

My first problem is the premise. Halberstam was not a baseball man, yet his opinionated book was published in 1989, forty years after the events it describes took place. Given the revisionist nature of old ballplayers and old managers, I question the stories and stats that the author presents as fact.

My second problem with the book is the author’s questionable analysis. A perfect example is Halberstam’s take the Red Sox’s shortstop controversy. Regarding Boston’s two options at short -- Johnny Pesky and Junior Stephens -- Halberstam writes that:

"At this most critical position, Boston was deficient. Junior Stephens played adequate shortstop, although in no sense was he one...Pesky had played shortstop before the trade, but McCarthy had moved him to third because he had better hands and was quicker."

As the great baseball writer Bill James has pointed out, “This is an amazing interpretation of the transaction. Nobody in the history of baseball was ever moved off of shortstop because he had good hands and quick feet.”

Yet another problem with the book -- the third and final issue that I will note -- is that Summer in ‘49 feels more like hero-worship than journalism. Rather than de-mistify Ted Williams and Joe DiMaggio, the author seems to actively contribute to building up the mystique.

Summer of ‘49 sometimes appears on lists of the top ten baseball books of all time, however, I didn’t care much for it. I formed my own opinion independent of others, and it’s felt very reaffirming to read other writers later discredit the book, too. In lieu of Summer in ‘49, James refers his readers to Robert Creamer’s Baseball in ‘41 instead.

Favorite Line:
Williams would never, no matter what the situation, go for a pitch that was even a shade outside the strike zone. DiMaggio was different: He believed that, as a power hitter on the team, he sometimes had an obligation to swing at imperfect pitches. On certain occasions a walk was not enough; it was a victory for the pitcher.

Book Review -- Whatever Happened to the Hall of Fame?

Bill James is overflowing with genius in this great analysis of Cooperstown inductees. So much so that it’s not clear to me why Whatever Happened to the Hall of Fame? never seems to appear on lists of the best baseball books of all time. Perhaps renaming it “Everything You Wanted to Know about Phil Rizzuto (But Were Afraid to Ask)” would help it gain more notoriety among fans?

If you boil it down, James finds two key problems with the Hall: (i) there are players inside Cooperstown who should not have cleared the hurdle; and (ii) there are players outside Cooperstown who continue to wait for the call.

The biggest let down of the book was that James dwelled on the first category of players.

In fact, finding serious flaws with honorees is not that difficult, especially among Veterans Committee selections. Bill James, however, stands out among his peers because he is skillful not only with words, but also with numbers. 

Published in 1994, when he was at his peak as an author, James provides readers with a culmination of his methodologies:

• Similarity Scores
• The Hall of Fame Standards List
• The Black Ink Test
• The Hall of Fame Career Monitor
• Fibonacci Win Scores

Despite its age, Whatever Happened to the Hall? holds up well for two reasons: First, the “mistake” inductions will always be mistakes and they are just as relevant to read about today as they were in 1994. Second, James's persuasive arguments in this book have clearly nudged voters in the right direction since its publication.

Perhaps this book -- which has already been published under two different titles -- receives less adulation because it’s overshadowed by the ongoing Historical Baseball Abstract, Bill James’s life work. Twenty years have passed since Whatever Happened to the Hall? was released. I believe the timing is right for a major update.

Favorite Line

If I were in control of the Hall of Fame’s selections, the first player I would choose would be Ron Santo.

Book Review -- The Card by Michael O'Keefe and Teri Thompson

“The Card” is a deep dive into the history of the world’s most valuable baseball card -- a T206 Honus Wagner produced from 1909 to 1911. New York Daily News staffers Michael O’Keefe and Teri Thompson coauthored “The Card” in 2007, the same year that the finest example of the Wagner card sold for $2.8 million.

The authors do a fine job at producing a very readable book that can appeal to a broad audience. At first blush, people who are interested in reading books about baseball cards may seem like a niche audience. But this particular baseball card has received enormous publicity for decades, making it culturally and historically relevant. A T206 Wagner is not only held at the New York Metropolitan Museum of Art, but also at the New York Public Library. Less surprisingly, another version of the card has been on display at the National Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, New York.

A bit of background is in order. Honus Wagner -- alongside Babe Ruth and Ty Cobb -- was one of only five former players inducted into baseball’s inaugural Hall of Fame class in 1936. The T206 Honus Wagner has been the most valuable baseball card on the planet since 1933, when it was first listed in price guides at $50.

The high value stems largely from a limited print run. Production estimates range from 60 to 200. The reason for the limited circulation has never been entirely agreed upon. Most likely, Wagner objected to the compensation offered by American Tobacco Company or he objected to his affiliation with the sale of cigarettes.

In the mid-1980s -- 50 years after the initial $50 estimated price guide value -- one specific version of the T206 Wagner emerged mysteriously into the hobby at a Long Island memorabilia shop. This discovery became the finest and most valuable Wagner in existence and would later sell at auction for the aforementioned $2.8 million.

The coming out party for this version -- essentially the Mona Lisa of baseball cards -- was a 1991 auction. At that time, NHL legend Wayne Gretzky and Los Angeles Kings owner Bruce McNall bought the card for $451,000. Because of the jaw-dropping purchase price and the high profile of the buyers, the popular press ran wild with the story. Media coverage amplified the card’s mystique, credibility and value. Ever since, it has commonly been referred to as the Gretzky T206 Wagner.

The two key questions that the book seeks to answer is whether the Gretzky T206 Wagner was altered, and if so, by whom? It’s not a spoiler to mention here that the book’s authors surmise that the Gretzky T206 Wagner was modified into its pristine condition, an act which is strictly forbidden in the hobby. The number one suspect is Bill Mastro, who not surprisingly has had the most financial incentive to do so. Mastro has owned or auctioned the card many times.

Suspicions about the Gretzky T206 Wagner card include:

• Its progeny. Why is the lineage of something so valuable so unclear prior to 1985?
• Its condition. How are the edges and corners of a 100-year-old tobacco card so crisp?
• Its rating (8 out of 10) from a widely respected authenticator. Does a conflict of interests exist between professional authenticators and sellers?

With this many red flags, why have people been content to look away?

The book explores this, but here’s my take: A rising tide lifts all boats. When the Gretzky T206 Wagner sets a record at auction, the rest of the hobby goes along for the ride. Everyone’s assets increase in value. There’s a “Party on!” mentality.

Another problem is that markets of all kinds are difficult to regulate. Just as corporate bonds are graded by S&P’s and Moody’s, the condition of baseball cards are graded by PSA and Beckett. In both examples, the seller pays the rating agency. Conflicts of interest abound when the seller pays for a rating.

What I like most about “The Card” is that it forces the reader to think critically while covering a topic I found to be pretty fascinating. Even if you don’t think a book about a baseball card sounds very appealing, you still might like a book about the hobby’s darker underbelly. This is a nice piece of investigative work.

Favorite Line:

Beckett doesn't take any ----. Jim Beckett has been honest his entire life. He could have manipulated the market with his price guides and made a fortune, but he never did. He's one of the few honest guys in this business.

Book Review -- Francona: The Red Sox Years

Baseball players seem to approach the biography in two very different ways.

On one end of the spectrum, there is the squeaky-clean approach. This method was chosen recently by former outfielders Doug Glanville and Andre Dawson. As authors, both players pulled their punches and largely bypassed controversial topics that might prove to be inflammatory (steroids, team executives, Sammy Sosa). Bios like these encourage kids to work hard, get a good night’s sleep, eat a hearty breakfast, and so on. No bridge is burned.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, we have what Terry Francona and Dan Shaughnessy delivered. The Red Sox Years -- especially the second half -- airs dirty laundry. To be fair, this is not a vindictive tell-all of the Jose Canseco variety. But calling it a fire-bombing, as others have done, is pretty fair. 

The key targets of said fire-bombing are Red Sox owner John Henry’s business partners Larry Lucchino and Tom Werner. Bill Madden’s terrific biography of the late George Steinbrenner notably recounts Steinbrenner’s advice to Henry regarding Lucchino and Werner: “Those are two treacherous, phony backstabbers you’ve got there, John. You’re a pal, but I’ve got no use for those two bastards.” 

Turns out that Terry Francona is no fan of Lucchino and Werner, either. The back end of the book is a detailed account of ownership incompetence and Francona’s take on his bizarre departure from the Red Sox. It still seems unclear to him or to the reader if he was fired as Red Sox manager or not. 

Overall, the only challenges I encountered with the bio were a few in-game sequences that were a bit too detailed relative to my interest level. In addition, despite the book’s title, the content drifts early on to cover preceding managerial experiences.

Naturally, The Red Sox Years will appeal most to Red Sox fans. The second most likely audience for this book are Yankees fans due to the rivalry. Unexpectedly, I think Cubs fans would enjoy this behind-the-scenes look into Theo Epstein’s management style. Through Francona’s story, we learn how Epstein aspires to build and operate a franchise.  

It’s extremely difficult to write a tell-all book without coming across like a creep, but Francona pulls it off. Francona puts a lot of things in print that he probably shouldn’t, but the result feels authentic and that’s admirable. Perhaps “Francona: The Indian Years” will be the next book? If so, I look forward to it.

Favorite Line:

Epstein bristled at the notion he was Lucchino’s creation and was uncomfortable with the number of Sox employees who’d migrated from San Diego with Lucchino.

Book Review -- Fifty-nine in '84

Fifty-nine in ‘84 reminded me of a favorite George Costanza quote from Seinfeld: “If you took everything I’ve accomplished in my entire life -- and condensed it into a day -- it looks decent.”

In this case, if you took everything “Old Hoss” Radbourn accomplished during the 1884 season -- and condensed it into a magazine article -- it would look decent. But inflating Radbourn’s 1884 season into a 300-page book, as author Edward Achorn did, stretches the one-dimensional storyline too thin.

This conclusion is not meant to diminish Radbourn’s tenacity that season: 59 wins, 678 innings pitched, 73 complete games, and so on. The statics are jaw-dropping. Problem is, these numbers did not translate into a page-turner. Fifty-nine in ‘84 has some nice moments, but I never found myself absorbed in it.

Perhaps this is because Radbourn’s feats are the byproduct of the baseball environment at the time. Two key factors were at work:

First, a larger macho culture existed among players in 1884 than today. Second, owners and managers in baseball’s early days rode players like a ten-cent horse.

In 1884, starting pitchers were expected to finish games. Pitchers expected it of themselves, and owners expected it of their players. Both groups were co-conspirators at setting this high, even dangerous, level of expectations. Complete games were a barometer of manhood and success.

I wish Radbourn’s journey throughout the 1884 season was more complex. Reading about his grueling workload details game after game throughout 300 pages, at times, felt equally gruelling. Even the author concedes that the mercurial Radbourn likely had no idea how many games he was winning. Wins, as a statistic attributed to pitchers, were not closely tracked at the time.

The book’s largest tangent is a tenuous storyline about a love interest named Carrie Stanhope who may or may not have been in attendance at some of Radbourn’s games. As suggested by the previous sentence, there is little concrete information about this relationship. In addition, the storyline felt forced. For both reasons, it’s tough as a reader to invest in it.

I feel satisfaction for having read all 300 pages, but cannot recommend doing so enthusiastically. Nevertheless, I look forward to reading Achorn’s next book which is available now. I enjoy reading about baseball’s early days and I see some promise from the author for next time. 

Favorite Line
“While I may not live to see it, I predict that it will not be many years before the world’s championship will be between the two champions of America, Cuba and Japan and other foreign countries, where baseball is getting a firm hold.” 
-- Frank Bancroft, Manager, Providence Grays