FOR ANYONE INTERESTED IN SPORTS, THERE COMES A TIME when the blinders come off and a fan realizes that the activity he has fo llowed devotedly fo r years i more than just a game isolated from the problems of the rest of the world. That realization came to me at a Over the years Ball }our ha become a classic, with young age one summer while participating in a bas­ the ew Yo rk Pub I ic Library naming it as one of the top ketball camp in Michigan. To pass the time on hot books of the twentieth century in the popular culture night in my bunk bed, I had snuck into the cabin a and mass entertainment category. At the time of its flashlight to use fo r reading a new and massive book publication, however, Bouton paid a price fo r his hon­ by a player I had never heard of-, esty. ew Yo rk sportswriter Dick Yo ung spoke fo r many who had pitched fo r the powerful ew Yo rk Ya nkee of his profession, upset at being upstaged by an amateur earns of the early 1960s. By the time he had written writer, by calling the fo rmer Ya nkee a "social leper." his book, Ball Four: My Lifeand Hard Times Throwing the Bouton's perceived transgressions-including his dis­ Knuckleball in the Big Leagues, Bouton, nicknamed cus ion of ' alcohol abuse-so outraged "Bulldog" by his teammates, had barely earneda spot his fe llow ballplayers that one team burned a copy of tl1e pitching fo r the expansion 1969 , who book and left the ashes behind in the clubhouse fo r would go on to finish last in their division. the author. Baseball commi sioner even Bouton's book is basically a diary of his 1969 season called Bouton in fo r a private meeting and attempted with the Pilots and later with the , the to make him sign a statement that he had fabricated team to which he was traded near the end of the year. the incidents outlined in his book; Bouton declined. Keeping notes of his experiences on whatever paper What critics missed in all the furor at the time was he could find-hotel stationery, scorecards, cocktail the book's fascinating presentation of the life of an napkins, menus, air-sickness bags, and even toilet average ballplayer and the pressures under which he paper-Bouton pieced together a 650-page tome that had to fu nction on a clay-to-day basis. This aspect of tl1e shocked baseball's establishment with its forthrightness book was brought back to me recently while reading about the people who played the game. As someone Pete Cava's article on the suicide of Hoosier ballplayer brought up on the whole orneatmosphere of such chil­ and Boston Red Sox manager Chick Stahl, who is pro­ dren's portsau thor as Matt Christopher, whose Catcher filed in this issue of Traces. Although the reasons behind with a Glass Arm was a favorite, I marveled at the behind­ Stahl's decision to take his life remain a mystery, tl1ere the-clubhouse-doors view presented by Bouton. is no doubt that the pressures of life can intrude on Although some of the words were unfamiliar to my what happens between the white lines of a ball field. young eyes, I appreciated the honest way he presented EDITORS' N01E: 17zis issue marks the lastfo r George R. how baseball players were not the cardboard heroe so Hanlin, Traces assistant editor: George joined the Indiana often portrayed by sport writer , but real people with HistoricalSoc iety staff in 1993 and since that time has been an the same human failings as the rest of society. Their invaluableall y on behalf of two managing editors in ensuring weaknesses included taking drugs to enhance their per­ that the magazinefu nctioned smoothly and efficiently. His sharp fo rmance on the field, drinking to excess, engaging in editorialeye and nosefo r marginalwriting helped to turn dross extramarital affairs, and kowtowing to management to into gold on numerous occasions. He will be greatly missed. keep playing the game they loved. !KlaJW �- �©llifllII' lk®w.w�

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