Outsider Baseball by Scott Simkus

Before a combination of World War II, television, and integration forged the giant monolith known as Major League Baseball into the country-spanning organization we know today, thousands of players across hundreds of teams played America's pastime in various leagues that had no official standing, but were often more popular--if not higher quality--than those preserved in the record books of history.

From the obvious (Negro Leagues) to the lesser-known (a series of barnstorming, bearded men called the House of David) to the strong semi-pro teams in baseball hot spots like Brooklyn and Chicago, there's a lot of baseball history that's been unaccounted for--until now.

Men and women like Scott Simkus, who have a love of the game that dwarfs mine and the desire to research everything from box scores to census records, are putting together an admittedly incomplete (so far) look at these players and their role in baseball history.

You see, these players and teams don't just exist at the fringe of the established clubs. For decades, they interacted, both directly and indirectly. Some players, like Babe Ruth, made tons of money taking his baseball friends around the country, playing minor league teams (which were not bound in an unfair agreement to the majors at this time), Negro League teams, and going off to countries such as Cuba and Japan. Others, like Rogers Hornsby, began their professional careers in these places, and then moved to the majors. Hornsby's first paid baseball work found him in drag, playing for an "all-girls" team, which often used 2-3 men to balance out the team.

This is absolutely fascinating stuff if you love old baseball. Some of these I already knew about, but Simkus leaves no stone unturned, and unearths many little slices of baseball history of which I was previously unaware, such as the attempts to get black players onto the field well before Jackie Robinson. (In one case, they looked to pass off a talented African American as an American Indian, because that was okay. Gotta love the varying degrees of racism in the early 20th Century. No wait, gotta hate them.)

When speaking of the Negro Leagues, Simkus grows a bit apologetic. Because so many are so horrified by the separation of baseball talent for so many years, there's a reverence placed on the games played in the Negro National League and elsewhere. Unfortunately, when you get the actual box scores from these games, it's a bit more sobering. Like modern Japanese baseball, the Negro Leagues, while featuring players who were unquestionably as good or better than their white counterparts, did not have enough overall talent to be a major league. Using a measurement system and head to head records, Simkus shows that while certain teams (say, the Pittsburgh Crawfords) would have been world beaters, about half the Negro League teams were minor-league quality of varying range, ranking more closely to the Pacific Coast League at best or a modern A-ball team at worst.

But before you get too far on his case, understand that using the same guidelines, Simkus shows the Union Association was in no way, shape, or form a Major League, despite its current designation. For that matter, he's of the opinion that the case for the Federal League is sparse as well. Statistics and increased information, while anathema to some long-time baseball fans (Do you know there are people who still think "wins" is the best way to judge a pitcher?), serve to help give us context.

Now stats can do a lot of things, but they do give us ways to discuss things from logic rather than emotion, such as Josh Gibson's probable home run total or whether the "woman who struck out Babe Ruth" really was any good as a pitcher (Spoiler Alert: Nope!). You can argue a bit with the methodology, but seeing how certain minor league teams could dismantle a National League line-up or how the NL's quicker embrace of integration gave it an edge in competition are part of the joy of this book.

But the best parts, without a doubt, are when Semkis takes us into Rube Waddell's marital problems or the crazy schemes of a religious nut who managed to con his way into a financial empire and a baseball franchise that wasn't quite as good as advertised. When you read about how certain players stayed in semi-pro ball because *it payed better* the reality of what life was like before Free Agency, no matter how much trouble it causes now, hits home like a player sliding spikes-up.

This book is a total joy to read, and is breezy in tone despite the focus on stats. Simkus clearly loves his subject and it shows. If you have any interest in old-time baseball at all, run, don't walk to get this book, and start reading about the time John McGraw flipped out because his team was losing to Cubans. This one gets my highest possible recommendation.

The Victory Season by Robert Weintraub

1946 was a year of transition for America, the world, and baseball, as this engaging book by Robert Weintraub, published just in time for the 2013 season, shows.

Part baseball history, part cultural background, Weintraub weaves a narrative of how baseball dealt with returning war veterans, the changing nature of the post-war America, and a challenge to its complete control of baseball players in an era of labor strife.  Placing the reserve clause in context of paralyzing strikes across the country, along with fighting with those who risked their lives for freedom over a few thousand dollars, really shows that the owners of baseball could be horrible people when it comes to money.

And that's before we get into their attempts to block the Dodgers from signing Jackie Robinson.

Weintraub also looks at how Rickey's integration of the game factors into this cultural maelstrom, using interviews with Mrs. Robinson to aid in bringing the trials of Robinson to the fore, even though he was "only" in the minors in '46.  Little anecdotes that are both tragic and heartwarming show not only the bald racism of the South (including a really bad show by Baltimore) but the quiet racism of defacto segregation in Canada and elsewhere.  I really enjoyed hearing about African American players involved in Armed Forces games in Europe, something I had no idea existed.

I would argue this book's greatest value is not in its retelling of the 1946 season (which focuses on the biggest names, teams, and events) but in bringing in background information that even a dedicated fan of the game may be unaware.  For instance, I had no idea there was an Armed Forces World Series or that they played baseball in German prison camps.  Weintraub goes into carefully researched detail about the major league players who lost their lives in WW2 or who made sacrifices nearly so great.  There's an awesome story about Larry MacPhail trying to capture the Kaiser in WW1 and we also get to see the wildly varying reactions of star players to fighting during their prime earning years.  It's a tribute to their greatness that some volunteered or tried to get out from cushy jobs to see action.

Because they were the two teams in the 1946 World Series, the book focuses a lot on the St. Louis Cardinals (an early adopter of the "build from the farm" strategy) and the Boston Red Sox (whose first real taste of the "Curse of the Bambino" begins here).  We also see the Dodgers, Yankees, and Cubs a fair amount, which is one of the few failings of Weintraub's writing--there's a definite focus on the bigger market teams. However, in fairness, in a book already boosted out over 400 pages, it would be hard to include more details.

The other issue the book has does relate to Weintraub's writing style, however.  He tries to mix a style that incorporates the breezy slang of both 1946 and 2012, and they often clash awkwardly.  While it may be true, I'm not sure hearing about Leo the Lip getting in someone's grille is the best way to phrase something.  I got used to this merging after awhile, but it may throw a few readers for a curve.

That's a minor complaint in a book that does so many things well.  While hailing the "Greatest Generation", Weintraub rightly doesn't treat them like gods.  He talks openly about the flaws of the owners (completely destroying the "baseball was better then" myth by showing just how awful the owners could be, including one story that leads to deaths), the players of the time, and the American people who did things like create false scarcity.  He's hard on Truman as a leader when referenced, and notes just how bad things were if you were a player, openly boggling at how the players allowed the owners to get away with so much.  I particularly liked his point about how we call people like Musial and DiMaggio "boys" but don't use the term nearly so often for the players before or since.  This was a unique group, operating in a different time, and Weintraub shows that to the reader.

Bringing the story of the 1946 season to life could have been a dull historical piece that retreaded ground covered by others.  Instead, Weintraub works hard to bring lesser-known factors to light, such as the attempt to get players to move to Mexico, an ill-starred idea that I think might have been the last major challenge to the supremacy of Major League Baseball.  Picking the best moments to highlight, we see players  fighting through injury, pivotal choices that may have changed history (making the Red Sox play 3 exhibition games before the World Series, of all things!), and ground-breaking moments (the first NL playoff).  The book is a real page-turner, because instead of a blow-by-blow, we see the things most interesting recounted, often on a more personal level than other histories have managed.

The Victory Season is not for the casual fan, clocking in at over 400 pages and covering territory that only those addicted to the game from an early age (like me) can appreciate.  For the person who counts down to pitchers and catchers reporting who wants to learn more about the game's history, this is a great present for them to read between innings of rooting for their favorite teams.

My thanks to Little, Brown, and Co. for providing me with a copy of this book.

The Original Curse by Sean Deveney

When I mentioned to a friend of mine, a person with strong Chicago ties, that I was reading this book, he asked an interesting question: Why write this book now? Why read it?

Obviously, no book really needs justification, and no reader needs to explain their reason for reading it, though I suppose I do that every time I get in front of my computer and start a review. However, I think he had an excellent point.

We all know about the Black Sox scandal. Most baseball fans even know that gambling was a bigger deal than just one World Series. A few might go further and name crooked players, starting with the 1919 White Sox team and going all the way to Pete Rose. It's not a proud time for the sport, but in a game with a history going back before the Civil War, there's going to be some blemishes that look terrible at the time but fade in impact as the game moves on.

For me, the thing that makes this book a recommended read for any sports fan is not just the great details about playing baseball in the early twentieth century, when 11 home runs was an amazing feat and a pitcher could throw all eighteen innings of a double header. No, it's the fact that no matter who the men running the leagues are at the time, baseball always has had a problem dealing with trouble.

See if this sounds familiar: In a changing United States economy, the sport of baseball grows more popular than ever, with fans packing the seats of both major and minor league stadiums. Some of these fans don't care much about how they are entertained, and players start to do things they shouldn't in the name of higher monetary gain. Baseball is informed of this problem, but opts to do nothing, shuffling problem players quietly out of the game and doing all they can to quietly discredit (or ignore) those who sound a warning cry.

Only when things are so bad that the court system is involved does baseball make a move, picking certain players to cast to the winds and declaring the game clean, trying to keep the problem as quiet as possible and keep fans in the seats. It's only a few isolated incidents, after all, no need to police the game better or admit there is a wide-ranging problem.

Steroids Era?

Nope, try the early 1920s, when baseball's problem was gambling. Players felt they needed to make more money, and therefore, some (perhaps a lot) turned to bookies, offering to subtly alter the course of a game in exchange for a piece of the action. In The Original Curse, Sean Deveney argues that the year before the Black Sox scandal, angry and disillusioned Cubs players tossed the series to the less-talented Red Sox, giving the 1919 cross-town rivals the idea to do the same thing.

Using sensational ideas, such as that controversial premise and planting Babe Ruth's name on the cover, Deveney hopes to draw the reader into a story that has the real purpose of serving as an allegory for the steroids problem, the drug trials of the 1980s, and baseball's rather weak acknowledgement of its decades-long racism that continued long after Jackie Robinson. It's a cheap tactic, but it worked, because I probably would never have picked this book up if it didn't have Babe Ruth's name at the head of the cover.

What does not work very well, is Deveney's claim that the 1918 shenanigans, promulgated in the shadow of World War I (and this making them even more shameful, as players draft dodged in order to keep making hundreds of times more money than the men--including relatives of mine--who fought and got gassed in the trenches), created the 1919 scandal. His evidence is extremely shaky, and while I think there's a good case that the 1918 series was rigged by the Cubs (thus meaning the aspersion cast on Ruth by the cover is borderline libelous), I do not see how this incident influenced the 1919 White Sox any more than all the other cheating that was going on at a brisk clip.

Ironically, it's the fact that Deveney makes a compelling case that *lots* of games were fixed that undermines what he's trying to prove. It makes me wish he'd changed his focus a bit, but then we'd lose the sexy and marketable title. In this era of competition for shelf space and attention, having a daring cover was more important than matching it to the facts inside, I guess.

Normally when an author misses their primary point, I'd tell you to steer clear of the book. This is an exception, however. The story itself is a strong condemnation of just about everyone involved, from the United States Government, which dithered over baseball's role and caused player uncertainty, to the players who cheated and tried to get out of serving to the owners, who apparently have to sign a "greed" clause when taking over a team. It's the only explanation for the stupidity that dates back at least to World War I and still continues to this say. Think Bud Selig is bad? Despite being a former owner of the Brewers, at least he's never been drunk during a labor negotiation!

While the majority of the book shows that there never was a "good old days" for America's Former Pastime, we can feel for a few players. Grover Cleveland Alexander did the honorable thing and went to war, effectively killing himself in the process. Other players had families and back in 1918, the US didn't care and would still make you serve. Their anxiety makes cheating almost--repeat, *almost*--justifiable.

Filled with little vignettes about important players in this drama, tales of two teams that made the World Series more by attrition than anything else, and some details that are only now coming to light, The Original Curse has a lot going for it, despite the not-very-appropriate title. It won't make Barry Bonds and company any less of a jerk, but at least you'll know they're in good company in the baseball Hall of Shame. At least these 1918 villains are about as far away from Cooperstown as Hawaii. Hopefully, they'll all stay there in the land of infamy where they belong and not move into a different Hall. That would be the biggest shame of all, one that not even years of good baseball could erase.

If you want a good read that proves the more things change, the more they stay the same, this book is for you. I enjoyed it a lot, but be warned: Reading it might make you like professional sports even less than you do now. Sometimes learning the truth does ruin the fun. It's what keeps baseball covering up for its players and owners, both in the history books and in the public eye. That's an original curse I don't think the game will ever shake.

Everything Happens in Chillicothe by Mike Shannon

[It's almost time for the Frontier League season to start again, so what better thing to post than this?]

Subtitled "A Summer in the Frontier League with Max McLeary, the One-Eyed Umpire", this book somewhat haphazardly follows McLeary around some of his Frontier League games in the 2000 season, from opening day through the first level of the playoffs. Shannon was originally just looking for some fun quotes when he met McLeary but the focus soon changed as he realized that not only was McLeary an interesting person beyond the obvious (a one-eyed ump?) but the Frontier League had a lot going on for it if you were a person who liked watching people who have no guarantees play the sport hard.

Soon, they were on the road together, drinking after games, following the two teams Max umpired most regularly (Chillicothe and Richmond), and getting a feel for this baseball league that got nothing from the Major Leagues except the occasional signing or former player coming in as a manger.

This book's high points are reading the periodic game summaries and quotes from things that have either happened to Max or to players in the Frontier League. Max handing his eye to an outraged coach and offering to let him call the game is just one of fun ones. The story of trying to make it as an unaffiliated minor league team is also a very compelling read. One owner-manager slowly cracks as the season progresses while another manager complains of incompetent umpiring at the same time Max and his friends say the league treats the umpires poorly (only 2 take the field each game to save money, for instance, and raises for playoff games are a pittance).

Players come and go throughout the season and injuring yourself is probably fatal to your career. A player who struggles just doesn't get any time to right himself, with so many people jumping at the chance to play ball and when they do play well, their teams suffer because they are signed to a big league's squad instead. (This actually harms one team's chances quite a bit over the course of the book. It's both a happy moment and a sad one--exactly the type of thing Bill James was arguing about when he said baseball's minor league system is unfair to the cities that house them.)

I really enjoyed reading about all of the above, and not just because I've gone to a few Washington Wild Things games, a team that is now in the Frontier League that was not when the book was written. I prefer watching people play hard to watching people get a paycheck and I actually prefer going to see a minor league game nowadays for that reason. Had this book solely been those topics, it would have an unconditional recommendation.

But Shannon, for reasons I don't understand, has to talk for pages at a time about what *he* was doing over the course of the year--a getaway with his wife, his relationship to his father, the need to go to church every day, etc.--and they stop the book cold every time. It's one thing to mention going to the baseball hall of fame and cornering Carlton Fisk about an umpiring accident. It's quite another to relate how you went mountain climbing with your wife in a book about struggling baseball teams and a cyclopsian umpire. The frequent insertions of the author into the text hurt the book in my opinion. Between that and the overt religious references, this book could have been about 50 pages shorter and more cohesive overall with the digressions removed.

Max is a very interesting fellow--he made some mistakes over his life, and a more religious person than I would say he was humbled by the experience of losing an eye and either way has worked hard to overcome that disability. He doesn't get every call right, but we do get inside the minds of the umpires in this book--why they might call a close play a certain way, for instance, or that they really are hurt when people don't think of them as human. I wish Shannon had tried to get inside Max's head a bit more and left some of the religion-based commentary to himself, but I'd still recommend this to any baseball fan as a great read for the off-season, when you need your baseball fix.