String Theory

Wallace, David Foster. String Theory. New York: Library of America. 2016. Print.

First Sentences:

When I left my boxed township of Illinois farmland to attend my dad's alma mater in the lurid jutting Berkshires of western Massachusetts, I all of a sudden developed a jones for mathematics. 

Description:

I didn't know that David Foster Wallace, the brilliant, witty, troubled writer of essays (Consider the Lobster) and complex novels (Infinite Jest) was once a successful tennis player in his teen years. His limited talent curtailed that career but his interest in the sport lives today in his insightful essays on modern tennis and its players. These writings are gathered together in String Theory. Together, they offer Wallace's insightful, often snarky look at the sport, its history, and the players who make it, in Wallace's opinion, the most difficult and beautiful of all sport competition, particularly when watched in person.

TV tennis is to live tennis pretty much as video porn is to the felt reality of human love.

Wallace opening essay is on his own personal history with tennis, his rise to fame in his junior years (due to his love of playing in terrible conditions), and his ultimate realization that his skills would never carry him on to a professional career. His writing displays complete understanding of the game as an insider to junior level tennis in Midwest America.

"How Tracy Austin Broke My Heart" documents Wallace's bitter disappointment with the lackluster autobiography of Tracy Austin, one of the players he admires. He scathingly criticizes her ghost-written book (Beyond Center Court) for its bland writing and unforgivable lack of personal insights from Austin, such as her feelings about appearing on the cover of World Tennis at age four, on becoming the youngest woman to win a professional tournament at fourteen, the reasons behind her inner drive, and her thoughts about the unlucky events that ended her career while she was only in her early twenties. 

There's a cruel paradox involved. It may well be that we spectators, who are not divinely gifted as athletes, are the only ones able truly to see, articulate, and animate the experience of the give we are denied.And that those who receive and act out the gift of athletic genius must, perforce, be blind and dumb about it--and not because blindness and dumbness are the price of the gift, but because they are its essence.

So it is left to tennis outsider Wallace to write such an in-depth biographical essay and he chooses Michael Joyce as his subject. Joyce, the 79th best player in the world, is competing in the qualifying rounds of the Canadian Open. As a lower-ranked player, winning three matches in this "Qualies" tourney allows Joyce entrance into the major tournament with the opportunity to improve his ranking, gain the attention of sponsors, and of course win some bigger money. Wallace follows Joyce throughout this important tourney and records the player's thoughts about the present, future, and opponents. Wallace's penetrating writing and observation skills reveal the hopes and realities for this one player in his everyday struggles.

If you've played tennis a least a little, you probably think you have some idea of how hard a game it is to play really well. I submit to you that you really have no idea at all. I know I didn't. [Michael Joyce], at a full run, can hit a fast-moving tennis ball into a one-foot square area 78 feet away over a yard-high net, hard. He can do this something over 90% of the time. And this is the world's 79th-best player, one who has to play the Montreal Qualies.

Then comes "Federer Both Flesh and Not," Wallace's (and anyone else's) definitive essay on the greatest player of our generation, Roger Federer. For Wallace, everyone who has watched this man play has experienced a "Federer Moment" when Federer makes an impossible shot that changes the course of the rally/game/match. This is done so effortlessly that even though you have seen it you cannot believe what just happened:

.... jaws drop and eyes protrude and sounds are made that bring spouses in from other rooms to see if you're  OK ....The metaphysical explanation is that Roger Federer is one of those rare, preternatural athletes who appear to be exempt, at least in part, from certain physical laws.

String Theory is full of equal parts brilliant writing and passion for players, matches, and strategies. There also is plenty of commentary on related tennis issues from equipment and clothing, to strategy, player rituals, concession prices, ticket-takers, stadium design, and commentators. Even players' girlfriends get a mention:

Players [at the Qualies] ... have girlfriends in tow, sloppily beautiful European girls with sandals and patched jeans and leather backpacks, girlfriends who set up cloth lawn chairs and sun themselves next to their players' practice courts...Most have something indefinable about them that suggest extremely wealthy parents whom the girls are trying to piss off by hooking up with an obscure professional tennis player.

Who can resist this type of insightful, all-encompassing writing about all aspects of tennis? Certainly not me. I loved these essays and highly recommend them to anyone who loves the tennis, great writing, and highly intelligent (and often extremely funny) comments.

Happy reading. 


Fred

www.firstsentencereader.blogspot.com

____________________

If this book interests you, be sure to check out:

McPhee, John. Levels of the Game

Detailed analysis of a 1968 U.S. Open tennis match at Forest Hills between Arthur Ashe and Clark Graebner, revealing their thoughts, ambitions, history, and personalities in this, the best tennis writing ever. 

Handful of Summers

Forbes, Gordon. Handful of Summers. New York: Simon & Schuster. 1978. Print

First Sentences:

Staircase number one at the All England Club leads you into a section of the stadium just above the members enclosure.

Climb the stairs on finals days and there, suddenly, in the sun, the soft old centre court, ling waiting, all green; waiting; for two o'clock. It is venerable, that court, and it lives.

Description:

Remember when sports were played for the love of the game, the comradery, the adventure of travel, and just the freedom to live the life of the young and talented? Was there ever such a time? The answer is a joyous "Yes" from Gordon Forbes, author of Handful of Summers where he chronicles his experiences and the free-spirited men and women playing the international amateur tennis circuit during the 1950s and early 1960s.

Forbes, an 18-year-old South African, grew up hitting tennis balls as a punishment for whatever shenanigans he and his brother and sisters got into on their isolated ranch (stealing eagle eggs, blowing up their homemade cannon, etc.). Gradually, he became good enough to be sponsored to play in international tournaments. 

He kept a diary (which became the basis for this book) throughout those early trips to English and other international tournaments which opened his eyes to the world, fellow competitors ("colorful lunatics"), and of course, women. Even the tournaments themselves offered unique experiences.

They were so simple, those little English tournaments, so utterly artless. Home-made, if you like. They were funny things ... but they were open-hearted, and they allowed ordinary people to play them. Everything was absolutely fair and square -- and the "conditions" that the players were offered, though infinitesimal, were conditions, nonetheless.

Players received a return train fare from London, cold lunches each day, accommodations with a local family, and 50 shillings for "expenses." Tournament winners received prize vouchers of 5 pounds which players could spend only on "white apparel." 

But this book does not linger on the game itself. Rather, the tournaments and matches serve as a backdrop to best feature the idiosyncrasies of the players, their conversations, and their antics when loosened on the world at a young age. For example:

• Torben Ulrich, the Danish philosopher player who played jazz clarinet, but when Forbes when to see him play, Ulrich just stood silently at the mike in front of his band because "I could not think of a single note to play";

• Don Candy who once argued a call with an empty official's chair;

• Roy Emerson who took showers with his clothes on to wash them, singing his song of the week off-key over and over;

• The anonymous player who, at match point, went to the sideline and took out his special racquet painted black which he used only for the final point;

• Abe Segal who loved food and ate a steak in three gulps, meatballs whole, and plates of spaghetti in only a few tennis-ball sized bites without chewing, "like hay being loaded"; 

• Forbes himself who saw visions at night of a wall falling on his roommate or a hand grenade tossed under his bed among dreams that require jumping out of bed, screaming warnings, and waking everyone except himself.

No detail of that era goes unnoticed by Forbes. Whether food or accommodations or playing surfaces or local girls, all are subtly, dryly recorded and commented on:

The [English] toilets themselves had long chains and used to flush like tidal waves, before dying to throaty gurgles and other internal rumblings, so that one finally returned to bed shaken and guilt-stricken after a perfectly ordinary widdle.

"Widdle"? Who uses that term anymore (ever)? Leave it to Forbes to perfectly preserve that innocent, slightly naughty description and capture the essence of that era. It's what makes this book so delightful, so real, and just so fun to linger over. Plus, I had met and hit with (briefly) several of these players, like Rod Laver, Carl Earn, and Allen Fox, so it was fun to read about their early exploits.

Yes, there certainly was an amateur age of tennis that will never be repeated. But thankfully, Gordon Forbes was there to tell us about it and the white-clad characters who made played for the love of the game and the adventures of the world around them.

Happy reading. 

Fred

www.firstsentencereader.blogspot.com

____________________

If this book interests you, be sure to check out:

Forbes, Gordon. Too Soon to Panic: A Memoir  

Follow up to Handful of Summers which covers an insider's view of the world of the early professional tennis circuit from the late sixties to the nineties, with stories of Ashe, Borg, Vilas, Graf, Agassi, and many more. Humorous, personable, and honest in its portrayal of this blossoming age of professional tennis.

The Year of the Dunk

Price, Asher. The Year of the Dunk: A Modest Defiance of Gravity. New York: Crown. 2015. Print.

First Sentences:

On a late winter afternoon in New York at some basketball courts by the Great Lawn in Central Park, my hands jammed into my hoodie pockets, I waited for my pal Nathaniel.

It was crisp, still cold enough to see the breath puff in front of your face, especially if you were winded. An old Spalding street ball, circa 1988, dug out from my childhood closet, sat on the ground between my feet. 

Description:

It's a dream probably most men have: to be able to dunk a basketball into a 10' (regulation- height) hoop. Oh, sure, we can slam it into our kid's plastic mini-hoops, toss Nerf balls into office back-of-the-door rings, or even occasionally stuff a tennis ball over the rim. But putting a real basketball into a real hoop is always the holy grail. Even Barack Obama has this dream:

In 2008, candidate Barack Obama was asked whether he'd rather be the president of Julius Erving, the great dunker of the 1970s and early 1980s, in his prime. "The Doctor," he said like a shot. "I think any kid growing up, if you got a chance to throw down the ball from the free-throw line, that's better than just about anything." [Obama first dunked when he was 16]

Asher Price, author of The Year of the Dunk: A Modest Defiance of Gravity, does more than just think about dunking. He pledges to pursue every means possible to get his 33-year-old, 6' 2", 21% body fat body up high enough to actually stuff the basketball on a regulation goal. He gives himself one year to train using any means possible except using "medical-grade material to make myself jump higher."

The book follows his months of preparation, from being measured and evaluated by the Performance Lab of the Hospital for Special Surgery to identify "capabilities" and "deficiencies," to formulating diet and exercise plans to lose 25 pounds, to lowering his body fat to 10%, and finally adding five inches to his vertical jump.

And he is dogged in his commitment to do this. Page after page describe his pursuit of this goal in a variety of ways, including interviews with experts in physical and dietary fields, working out with former athletes, and generally turning over every stone to improve his body. He writes of the exploits of noted jumpers like Dick Fosbury (high jumping Olympic gold medalist), Spud Webb (5"8" NBA dunk champion), Michael Jordan (NBA all-time great dunker), and Brittney Griner (6'8" WNBA player, the first woman to dunk in a college game). 

Along the way, he makes several discoveries about himself, training, and the dunk itself. He describes the history of the dunked basketball, the silly NCAA rule banning the dunk from the college game for 10 years, and the creativity and power behind the dunks perfected by Black players. He tries shoes which are banned by the NBA for giving a jumping advantage to their wearers (they didn't work for the author). He eliminated carbs, alcohol, and sweets from his diet, and made his drink of choice "Hell's water" (non-fat milk). 

Price is a personable, everyman sort of writer who draws you into his quest with his skilled writing and complete honesty in sharing both his hopes and frustrations. He paints a clear picture of each new endeavor, each new technique that might bring him closer to his goal, and of course each frustration with his own age, body, and gravity. 

Mentally Price has no doubts he will succeed, although the improvements are slow in coming. But they do come. But will they be enough to finally, after 365 days of work, to slam dunk a basketball? You'll have to wait until the final pages to read the results of his dunk test - I won't tell).

Happy reading. 

Fred

www.firstsentencereader.blogspot.com

____________________

If this book interests you, be sure to check out:

Jacobs, A.J. Drop Dead Healthy: One Man's Quest for Bodily Perfection

Very serious, very humorous account of the author's attempt to pursue all fitness trends and find out what diets, mental training, and exercise actually make him healthy and fit, and which ones don't. (previously reviewed here)

Road Swing

Rushin, Steve. Road Swing: One Fan's Journey into the Soul of America's Sports. New York: Doubleday. 1998. Print.

First Sentences:

"'Working press?'" a Pittsburgh Pirate once said to me with a sneer. "That's sorta like 'jumbo shrimp.'".

"My favorite oxymoron is 'guest host,'" I replied chummily....But he didn't know. And he didn't care. In fact, he thought I was calling him a moron, so he calmly alit from his clubhouse stool and chloroformed me with his game socks.

Description:

Maybe  not everyone is into sports, but great sports writing is something to be included on all reading lists. Humor, passion, history, statistics, and human interest abound in most sports writing and this week's book is no exception.

Steve Rushin, a writer for Sports Illustrated, on the eve of his 30th birthday decides to take a 22,000-mile road trip to visit the famous (in his mind) sports venues in America. His resulting chronicle is Road Swing: One Fan's Journey into the Soul of America's Sports, a wickedly funny, personal look at the oddities that make up the culture of athletic contests in America. 

I had not fixed itinerary, except to travel the nation in two grand loops, like the grand loops of the lowercase l's that punctuate the $995 card-show signature of Bill Russell.

Traveling to Cooperstown, the Field of Dreams, Churchill Downs, Lambeau Field, and the Talladega race track, his meandering tour also stops at Mr. Rushmore, Yellowstone, Graceland, and the Grand Canyon. He visits such luminous stops as the Richard Petty Museum, the Celebrity Softball Blowout at Yale Field, the Louisville Slugger plant, and a National Inline Basketball League game. And he finds a man named "Cleveland Brown" in the phone book and calls him to discuss the Browns sudden move to Baltimore.

I bet you are saying to yourself, "Boy, all that sounds intriguing and is probably very funny," and you would be exactly right. To further entice you, here are some excerpts to give you a feel for his observations and dry wit style:

When India looked to be hopelessly out of the [cricket] match, despondent fans set fire to the stadium. The match was called on account of arson. 

Because of the state's singular lack of diversions for young millionaire athletes, Wisconsin is the home of four NFL training camps.

The [Green Bay] Packers were nicknamed the Packers because their first uniforms were donated by the Acme Meat-Packing Company, the same outfit that still supplies arms to Wile E. Coyote.

Passing through Bluffton, South Carolina, in a horizontal rain, I considered stopping at the Squat 'N' Gobble, but feared its name might be more accurate the other way around.

I fetched a sandwich at Sophie's Deli [in Birmingham, Alabama]: ... I wasn't sure what it was made of -- to judge by the taste, I'd guess the chrome bumpers of American automobiles manufactured between 1949 and 1976 -- but it didn't really matter.

[Florence, Kentucky call to hotel room service]: "I'd like a cheeseburger, please -- medium." And the most pleasant voice on the other end of the line replied with great regret: "I'm very sorry, sir, but we only have one size cheeseburger.

At one time, St. Louis was "The soccer capital of the United States..." Granted, this is a bit like being called "the entertainment capital of Switzerland" or "the fashion capital of North Korea."

I booked a room [in Irving, Texas] at the La Quinta Inn -- La Quinta being Spanish for "next to Denny's."

I-35 [from Lorado, TX to Duluth, MN] has been called "the nation's spinal cord," and given the road's conditions, America has come serious neurological disorders. The road had more rutting than most National Geographic documentaries.

In thirty minutes, the [Grand Canyon sunset] sky exhibited every shade of eye shadow worn by waitresses in the Southwest.

It isn't true that you can blink and miss Idaho while driving across the state's panhandle, though I strongly recommend that you try.

You get the idea. I loved it and hope you will too. His goals were clear and his dogged pursuit of them hilarious. 

I wanted all of my lunches to be racing-striped in ballpark mustard, noisily dispensed from a flatulent squeeze bottle. I wanted to eat all of my dinners from a Styrofoam fast-food clambox that yawned in my lap while I drove seventy miles an hours and steered with my knees. I wanted all of my afternoons to dwindle down in the backward-marching time of a scoreboard -- :10, :09, :08 ... -- that physics-defying device that allows a person lucky enough to mark his or her time by it to grow younger. 

Happy reading. 

Fred

www.firstsentencereader.blogspot.com

____________________

If this book interests you, be sure to check out:

Bouton, Jim. Ball Four

The first and best insider look at baseball, players, and games as told by irreverent pitcher Jim Bouton. Called one of the best sports book written.

Chill Factor

Paitson, David. Chill Factor: How a Minor-League Hockey Team Change a City Forever. New York: Sports Publishing. 2015. Print.

First Sentences:

The numbers on the scoreboard were breathtaking, a sight to behold:

Columbus 3, Chicago 0

We're a mere ten minutes into the first period of our regular-season National Hockey League debut and we're pouring it on the Blackhawks -- one of the league's Original Six franchises -- blistering the nets with three goals in a span of just over two minutes. The scoring spree sends the stunned fans into pandemonium. I am exhilarated beyond belief.

"Welcome to the NHL, Columbus!"

Description:

Maybe a book about ice hockey, especially a minor league team that lasted only a brief time in Columbus, Ohio, will have a limited audience. How many people even want to read a review about this small franchise, much less dive into the book? Those who brush off this book make a sad mistake because this is a fun, interesting, and enlightening history about both this quirky team and more importantly the unique marketing plan and innovative promotions that made the team a success.

David Paitson in 1991 was the President and General Manager (at age 31) of the newly-formed Columbus Chill in the minor league East Coast Hockey League. The team was described as "a brilliant meteor flashing across the northern sky, spectacular and beautiful and then gone in an instant. But its impact will last forever." How this team came into being, achieved immediate success, and then moved away are related in Paitson's fascinating Chill Factor: How a Minor-League Hockey Team Changed a City Forever.

Formed in August 1991, the Chill had two months before their opening night's game to change the public's disinterest in a pro team, much less an ice hockey team. Paitson and Marc LeClerc from Concepts Marketing Group decided to go big with in-your-face ads targeted at the 50,000 Ohio State students nearby, as well at the any young hipsters looking for some new excitement. 

Early ads placed in the OSU student newspaper and a Columbus independent weekly definitely gained attention:

• Sure, you may think hockey is a violent, perverted example of male machismo. But for only $5, what's your point?

• Assault somebody, in life you get five years, in hockey you get five minutes. Is this a great game or what?

• A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do. And if that means busting some chops once in a while, so be it.

From the start the Chill were marketed as a fan experience. It was reasoned that the committed hockey fans would come out no matter what, but people who knew little about the sport needed something exciting to attend the games, enjoy the experience, tell others about it, and ideally want to return. 

So the Chill marketers used Bill Veeck (owner of the St. Louis Browns, Cleveland Indians, and Chicago White Sox) as their irreverent guide to off-beat promotional activities. This was the man who let a 3' 7" player go to bat, dynamited disco records, created exploding scoreboards, and brought Satchel Paige in to majors at age 42. In short, Veeck did anything to provide entertainment, and the Chill followed his footsteps.

What did Paitson do? Well, anything and everything, including:

• Have fans use giant slingshots to propel frozen Cornish  game hens into the goals on the opposite end of the rink for a cash prize;

• Offer "Low Dough Carload Night" and charge $10 per carload of fans (one group had 11 people packed into a Chevette);

• Bring in the Laker Girls dance team for an intermission show, which coincidentally happened on the day of Magic Johnson's HIV announcement, giving a huge spike to media interest in the cheerleaders and the Chill;

• Hire white limousines to drive up on the ice to deliver the Chill players;

• Buy a Zamboni ice-smoothing machine that was so old and unmanageable that the first time it was used the operator was booed off the ice and quit on the spot;

• Run a contest to find a singing fat lady, then let her stand behind the opponent's bench to sing when the game was out of the opposing team's reach (i.e., "It's ain't over 'til the fat lady sings").

• Make a one-night team name change to "The Mad Cows," complete with a giant inflatable cow, spotted uniforms, and a rink nicknamed of "The Meadow of Death;"

It helped that the first coach of the Chill, Terry "Rosco" Ruskowski, was himself a colorful former player and coach. Always highly quotable, he was on record for saying:

• [regarding one Chill player] Is he tough?....He couldn't lick his own lips;

• [to a referee] Sir, can I get a penalty for thinking?...No? Good, because I think you stink tonight;

• [on one of his inept players] He'd foul up a two-car funeral procession down a one-way street;

• My wife asked me if I loved her more than hockey....I said no, but I like you better than baseball

Paitson also reveals the historic behind-the-scenes environment and forces that opposed the Chill. From the Columbus Fairgrounds management which continually double-booked the ancient rink (an action which prevented the Chill from playing playoff games at home), to Ohio State University officials who built their own arena and refused to partner with any downtown facility to share sporting events, Paitson often found his team just minutes away from failure. 

But the Chill did succeed. Paitson and the team showed there was a tremendous interest in hockey as the franchise built two additional rinks in Columbus (the first minor league hockey team to own and operate its own arena) and created one of the largest amateur learn-to-skate programs in the country.

And the team did not disappoint on all fronts, getting to the playoffs in their third year despite averaging 43 penalty minutes per game in a 64-game season. Paitson offers a boatload of fascinating stories about this team. 

• A Chill game was dubbed by a local newspaper as "Mardi Gras meets high sticking." 

• The Chill once scored a goal when a broken stick blade went into the net rather than the puck, but the referee mistakenly called it a goal which gave them the game. 

• Jason Taylor was suspended 41 games for hitting an opposing player in the face with his stick - while the opponent was on the bench!

• Once, the coach was so disgusted with his team's poor play that he put the entire team on waivers (trading block) after the game. 

• The Chill goalie made 69 saves in a 9-8  double overtime loss. 

• Two players got into a fight - during the warm-up prior to the referees even being on the ice.

Such unexpected excitement led the Chill to sell out an incredible 83 games in a row, a record that may never be broken in minor league hockey. Eventually, based on the Chill's success, Columbus landed an expansion National Hockey League team, the Columbus Blue Jackets. In nine short years, the Chill paved the way for the formation of the Blue Jackets, building a new downtown arena, and fostering the "billion dollar, 75-acre mixed use development" in the Columbus Arena District.

It's a great story, fun to read, and historically fascinating. This real life Slap Shot team provided plenty of entertainment in the 90's and Paitson keeps that same pell-mell excitement alive in Chill Factor. Great for any hockey, marketing, and history fan.


Happy reading. 

Fred

www.firstsentencereader.blogspot.com

____________________

If this book interests you, be sure to check out:

Falla, Jack. Home Ice

True stores about one man's love for home ice skating, rinks, and the people who make and skate on them, from Gretzky's family to a completely enclosed professional backyard rink with scoreboard, Zamboni, and boards. Delightful writing and look into the world of informal pleasure skating. (previously reviewed here)

The Glory of Their Times

Ritter, Lawrence. The Glory of Their Times: The Story of the Early Days of Baseball Told by the Men Who Played It. New York: Macmillan. 1984. Print.

First Sentences:

This is a book about the early days of baseball

It is a book about what it was like and how it felt to be a baseball player at the turn of the century and tin the decades shortly thereafter.

At least that way my intent when I bean working on the book five years and 75,000 miles ago. But now that it has been completed, I am not so sure..

Description:

I grew up collecting baseball cards, listening to my hometown team on the radio, and reading biographies of the great players from past ages: Babe Ruth, Ty Cobb, Christy Mathewson, Lou Gehrig, Yogi Berra, and many, many more. 

I seemed to be fascinated by baseball historic figures, especially in the eras in the glory days of the early 1900s through the 1930s. I particularly loved trivia books with oddities that occurred during games as recounted by the players themselves: the batter who held a match over his head in a darkening game "so Bob Feller could see him;" the pitcher who tossed a complete nine inning no-hitter, then lost; Ted Williams when he hit a home run in his very last at bat; Home Run Baker who hit a high of 12 homers in one season; etc, etc. etc.

You can imagine my joy when I discovered Lawrence Ritter's  The Glory of Their Times: The Story of the Early Days of Baseball Told by the Men Who Played It. Here is a book with narratives from the greatest players from the late 1800s and early 1900s: Wahoo Sam Crawford, Rube Marquard, Smokey Joe Wood, Chief  Meyers, Wee Willie Keeler, Three-Fingered Brown, Dummy Taylor, Greasy Neale, Specs Toporcer, Babe Herman (I had his son as my high school math teacher!), Goose Goslin, Hank Greenberg, and Big Poison Paul Waner.

Just the nicknames alone are enough to tickle the curiosity of even a passing fan. To read their recollections in their own uniquely-colored words is breath-taking,. Their descriptive language range from college graduate diction to forgotten colloquialisms offered by those who left school before the sixth grade. 

They tell of a wide range of topics: the dead ball era where all homer were inside-the-park; trying to hit spit balls, licorice balls, shine and emery balls which became almost immediately blackened and difficult to see (only 6 or 7 balls were used in a game compared with 60-70 balls nowadays). No wonder they choked way up on huge 48 oz. bats, just trying to make contact and poke out hits rather than trying to swing from their heels.

Here's just a random sampling of the personalities and the stories:

• Rube Marquard (pitcher) - after jumping trains, walking, and hitching rides to get to a tryout at age 16, he told his father he signed a contract to become a professional ball player (a disreputable profession in 1907). His father said "You're breaking my heart, and I don't ever want to see you again;"

• Specs Toporcer (second base) - Earned 50 cents a week in 1912 posting running scores on a chalkboard at a corner saloon using the Western Union ticker tape and a blackboard. He later had four operations on his eyes that made him lay completely still in bed for 30 days after each operation, but all failed and he went completely blind.

• Big Ed Delahanty (outfield) - first player to hit four homers in a game and also 6 hits in another game. He stepped off his team train that had stopped before crossing a suspension bridge over Niagara Falls and somehow fell to his death into the water;

• Walter Johnson (pitcher) - threw 56 consecutive scoreless innings and was virtually unhittable with his fastball, the best pitch ever thrown according to these players;

• Fred Snodgrass (outfield) - the truth behind the famous play where he neglected to touch second base and lost a World Series game;

• Luther "Dummy" Taylor (pitcher) - taught everyone on his team sign language so he could become a full-fledged member of the team. Also caused umpires to physically signal balls and strikes and safe/out with their arms so he could understand the calls;

• Harry "Giant Killer" Coveleski (pitcher) - spitball-pitcher who won three games in a single week to knock the Giants out of the 1908 pennant race;

• Smokey Joe Wood (pitcher) - started his career as a Bloomer Girl masquerading as a woman on an "all-female" traveling team, as did several other male players (in wigs and skirts);

• Lefty O'Doul (pitcher, outfield) - hit a lifetime.349, fourth best all time, but when he led the National League in hitting in 1932 with a .368 average, his salary was cut $1,000 from his original $8,000;

• Christy Mathewson  (pitcher) - pitched 68 consecutive innings without walking a man in 1913 and only walked 25 for the entire year;

• Grover Cleveland Alexander (pitcher) - pitched 16 shutouts in 1916 and won 30 games three years in a row - and probably would have won more had he not been an alcoholic;

• Bob Feller (pitcher) - one of the greatest fastballers ever, was so wild early in his career that batters feared to step up to the plate, especially after Feller, a righty, accidentally threw a smoking pitch behind a left-handed batter;

• Paul Waner (outfield) - got 6 hits in one game using six different, randomly selected bats just on a whim that seemed to be lucky for that day (it didn't work the next game, though)..

I could go on and on. Here are primary source stories of playing with balls of tape, gas lamps and cinders in team train cars, taking up collections from fans to meet expenses, riding to the ballpark in a horse-drawn bus. These men comfortably narrate their memories in their unique voices, the ups and downs they experienced trying to make a living playing the game they love next to respected teammates and hated rivals. 

There is a deep-felt passion for the game, the players and managers, and intricacies of daily life on and off the field that comes across on every page of their narratives. For any lover of baseball or a bygone era of the turn of the century sports, The Glory of Their Times is a peak into this world by the men who lived it. Highly recommended.

Happy reading. 

Fred

www.firstsentencereader.blogspot.com

____________________

If this book interests you, be sure to check out:

Parry, Danny. We Played the Game: Memoirs of Baseball's Greatest Era

More wonderful recollections from Hall of Fame baseball players from the years 1947 - 1964, including Joe DiMaggio, Ted Williams,  Roger Maris, Yogi Berra, and many, many more.

Tye, Larry. Satchel: The Life and Times of an American Legend

One of the best, most painstakingly researched biographies of a baseball player ever. Paige, the irrepressible fast-ball pitcher lived during the Negro League days, jumping from team to team, year after year, living the flamboyant life, naming his different fastballs with peculiar monikers, and striking out everyone who faced him. Fantastically entertaining reading. 

Home Ice

Falla, Jack. Home Ice: Reflections on Backyard Rinks and Frozen Ponds. New York: Viking. 2001. Print

First Sentences:

My backyard skating rink is important because it connects me with people I love.

Since I first built it seventeen winters ago, the rink has been a bridge to family and friends, a road back to the frozen ponds of my New England childhood, a lens through which I've watched my children and their friends grow up, and an arena wherein I've battled the encroachments of middle age.

Middle age is winning.

Description:

[This review is dedicated to my son who took up ice skating early and needed a place to practice. Without him, there would be no backyard rink at our house or late-night, 14-degree maintenance by me. Also, it is dedicated to my wife who put up with skated feet tromping through bushes and gardens looking for lost pucks, as well as my constant fretting about weather reports as I waited for the necessary 4+ days of freezing weather to flood the rink. Believe me, I can be a real bore about that!]

I know, I know, it's only September. Summer is still in its waning days, the colors of fall are on their way, and winter's cold is a distant, looming nightmare for many people. But September makes me dream happily of freezing days, bitter nights, and glorious ice. 

I am dreaming of my backyard ice rink. Only 32' x 16', it was located for seven years in our small backyard in temperate central Ohio. It was a rink too small for great skating, with house windows temptingly close for easy breaking, and located in a climate zone with madding weather that freezes late in the winter and thaws way too early.

But like Jack Falla in his wonderful memories, Home Ice: Reflections on Backyard Rinks and Frozen Ponds, during those short years I heard the siren call of the cold and tried to answer it by creating an icy microcosm for our son and his friends. Why does a Los Angeles native like me do this? Because there is nothing better than hearing kids skate, shoot pucks into the boards, collide, laugh, and then warm up by our fire pit with hot chocolate. I can think of no better way for children, preteens, and everyone else to interact with their fellow humans in the spirit of fun without worrying about appearance, sex, coolness, or rivalries. Backyard rinks rule!

Jack Falla in Home Ice explains this joy and personal fulfillment that comes with creating, maintaining, and using a backyard rink. He describes his early efforts, often flooding the neighbor's yard and his own basement. A sportswriters for Sports Illustrated, Falla wrote a short piece for SI in the 1980s about his home ice rink. Surprisingly, he received more comments and letters from readers about that tiny item than his feature article on the Stanley Cup playoffs.

He began to write more articles and reflections on home ice rinks, memories of skating on frozen ponds, and the people who enjoyed these spots. These articles and a few new ones are now compiled in Home Ice. 

Falla interviews pro skaters who grew up on ponds or small outdoor community rinks. These pros conclude that today's players all have more powerful slap shots because they grew up using inside rinks with boards. Pond hockey players had to chase errant pucks for long distances on the lake or buried in snowbanks. Controlled passing and shooting, albeit softer, was the trademark of the old pond hockey pro.

Home Ice also takes us along on a road trip with Falla as he explores the rink built by Walter Gretzky, Wayne's father, in a climate so cold he merely had to pile snow into barriers, then turn on a lawn sprinkler all night to fill in the depression. (Every other rink requires solid boards to hold the water/ice in place.) Gretzky remembers curing Wayne of leaving his hockey sticks, pucks and other stuff on the ice at night. He just turned on the rink sprinkler all night until the equipment was covered with water and frozen onto the surface.

Falla's family is deeply involved with the rink. His wife Barbara, who he met while skating, feels "anyone can love summer, but to love winter you have to carry your sunshine around with you." His family skates together, with friends, and alone, each helping maintain the ice by shoveling te ice clear of snow. The most dishonorable act is to come to the ice to skate without first helping shovel the rink.

Falla himself feels the calming strength of skating and shooting pucks when under stress or after the death of his mother. He finds it is a "good  and blameless thing to do when the world fills with confusion and goodbye."

Episode after episode revolves around relationships with the ice, the quiet nights, checking the local pond for ice strength (and falling in), the perfection of black ice, the frenzied pick-up games (including Barbara who goes into the boards hard with her stick up), and the sadness of the dismantling of the rink at the end of the too-short season.

It is fabulous book to bring back childhood and family memories of cold, ice, and skating. For those like me growing up in warm LA, it brings me back the pleasure of my own small rink. For others, it will show a world of cold that is welcoming, not threatening. Falla's goal for the book was to provide for his readers what my rink has so long provided for me -- joy, warmth, and light."

For me, he has succeeded. But I sincerely hope you read this small book for yourself and get a sense of this wonderful world of rinks, ponds, and outdoor skating. It is a delight you must at least read about. Who knows? Maybe you will be building you own rink someday, or at least taking the opportunity to skate outdoors on black ice.

Happy reading.

Fred

www.firstsentencereader.blogspot.com

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If this book interests you, be sure to check out:

Falla, Jack. Open Ice: Reflections and Confessions of a Hockey Lifer

More wonderful stories of Falla's experience playing, writing about, and otherwise experiencing hockey, including his 25 year quest to build the perfect backyard ice rink.

Orr, Bobby. Orr: My Story

With an honest voice, Bobby Orr narrates his life story and passion for hockey at every level. Not a tell-all book nor a vanity project to promote himself. Orr is a solid storyteller with in-depth reflections about the people and thrill of playing hockey at the highest level.

King of the World

Remnick, David. King of the World: Muhammad Ali and the Rise of an American Hero. New York: Random House. 1998. Print

First Sentences:

Cassius entered the ring in Miami Beach wearing a sort white robe, "The Lip" stitched on the back.

He was beautiful again. He was fast, sleek, and twenty-two. But, for the first and last time in his life, he was afraid.

Description:

I am not a boxing fan, but the figure of Cassius Clay/Muhammad Ali and the radically-changing era in which he lived is well worth reading about. And David Remnick delivers a lively, in-depth, often sad picture of both the man and his world in his King of the World: Muhammad Ali and the Rise of an American Hero.

Remnick focuses on the early years of 1960 - 1965 when Ali first burst onto the boxing scene as the Olympic gold medal winner, and then moves through his heavyweight championship bouts with Sonny Liston and Floyd Patterson. His history concludes just as Ali decides to serve five years in jail rather than fight in Vietnam. An Epilogue brings Ali and all other characters up to date as of the late 1990s.

Cassius Clay was internationally famous at 18 after winning the US gold medal in the 1960 Olympics in Rome, but at the time boxing promoters considered him to be just a light-hitting kid and were unwilling to promote a match for him with a contender like Liston or Patterson. 

So Clay creates a new persona as a loud-mouthed, insulting, self-promoting braggart to gain public attention for himself. He begins to taunt Liston unceasingly to rile him, posturing, ranting, and insulting the reigning champion. To the boxing world, this is unacceptable behavior from a newcomer. Liston, his pride and manhood at stake, finally agrees to a title fight, fully confident of victory over this punk, but it is Cassius Clay who is victorious. 

Immediately, the new champion declares to the world his conversion to the Nation of Islam and his new name, a polarizing revelation to the public facing racial tensions and riots throughout the country. Immediately, Ali becomes a hated figure, someone not worthy of the heavyweight title. 

But this book is more than a biography of Ali. It shows the history and the people of the boxing world in the 1960s. Remnick, through interviews, articles, and other transcripts, brings to light the major people and influences, both good and bad, that shaped Ali's life. Sonny Liston, Floyd Patterson, Jack Johnson, Joe Louis, and even Mike Tyson are given thorough treatments, depicting their personal lives, ambitions, and failures with episodes often narrated in their own painful words. 

Remnick also portrays the rise of Elijah Muhammad and his Nation of Islam at this time, as well as Malcolm X and his Black Panthers spin-off movement. Under the influence of Malcolm X and Elijah Muhammad, Ali became more than just a good boxer; he became an aware and radicalized Black man. 

While this is Ali's story, Remnick also carefully describes the fighters he faced. Sonny Liston and Floyd Patterson, the reigning champions, are portrayed in detail, contrasting Liston's illiterate, criminal, brutal appearance with Patterson, the docile, passive, more "acceptable" Negro to white fans. 

The book also offers a shocking insider look into the organization behind boxing. Historically, boxing had always been under the total control of the Mob and a few powerful White men who put boxers under contract, arranged fights (and sometimes controlled the outcomes), then took all the money for themselves, giving only pocket change to the boxers. It is Ali who breaks this dependence of boxers to the Mob by placing himself under the control of the Nation of Islam, an equally powerful, dangerous group.  

The book soars in its details. There are fantastic front row descriptions of Ali's fights with Liston, Patterson, and others. The training, threats from Muslims and mobsters, the front-row celebrities like Sinatra and Elizabeth Taylor, the boxing reporters, the Phantom punch that stopped Patterson in the first round (fix or genuine?), the beatings of Liston... all are described in detail. Readers experience the hoopla that leads up to individual fight, the battles themselves, the thoughts of participants, and the repercussions. Remnick even includes interviews with opponents which show their interpretation of their fights with Ali, their overwhelming desire for victory, and their devastating sadness after a loss. 

The Epilogue in King of the World brings readers to the present day with very brief references to Ali's prison sentencing; his later bouts with Frazier, Foreman, Norton, Shavers, Holmes, and Spinks; Ali's Parkinson's Disease; and his acceptance as the international figure holding the Olympic torch in 1996 in Atlanta. Remnick also brings us up to date with the tragic lives of Liston, Patterson, as well as Mike Tyson talking about his similarities and respect for the tragic Sonny Liston.

It is an era of upheaval between Whites and Blacks, between Hawks and Doves, and the mobster and the boxing world. Remnick weaves these people and social elements together into a compelling snapshot of this time. Even Floyd Patterson, once battered by Ali in a title fight, in later life came to understand this man, this heavyweight champion, and his unique impact on his era. Patterson remarked,

"I came to love Ali...I came to see that I was a fighter and he was history."

For boxing fans and those who hate fighting but are interested in the forces and people who create an utterly unique era, King of the World is highly recommended.

Happy reading. 

Fred

www.firstsentencereader.blogspot.com

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If this book interests you, be sure to check out:

Brunt, Stephen. Facing Ali: 15 Fighters / 15 Stories  

Interviews with 15 fighters who faced Muhammad Ali, including Frazier, Norton, Foreman, Wepner, Shavers, and Holmes.