234 Aethlon XI:1 /Fall 1993

Ken Levine. It's Gone!. . . No, Wait a M inute. . . Talking My Way into the Big Leagues at 40. New York: Villard, 1993. 295 pp. $20.00.

Gary Carter and Ken Abraham. The Gamer. Chicago: Word, 1993. 288 pp. $19.99.

Lou Boudreau and Russell Schneider. Covering All the Bases. Champaign: Sagamore, 1993. 203 pp. $19.95. Book Reviews 235

Ron Santo and Randy Minkoff. For Love of Ivy. Chicago: Bonus Books, 1993. 224 pp. $20.00.

Leonard Koppett. The Man in the Dugout: 's Top Managers and How They Got that Way. New York: Crown, 1993. 404 pp. $22.50.

Ken Levine, scrip writer of such televison hits as M*A*S*H, Cheers, Wings, and The Simpsons and such movies as Volunteers, decided to beat his mid-life crisis and fulfill a lifelong dream, becoming a radio play-by-play announcer. After a few years in the minors, his ultimate dream came true. He was signed to do the in 1991, their final season at Memorial Stadium. It’s Gone! is his journal of that memorable season. The play-by-play announcer has a unique vantage point from which to view the game. If he is as conscientious as Mr. Levine, he knows the game backwards and forwards, knows the players and management, and has access to every conceivable statistic and measurement. However, he is professionally separate from the game on the field. His career does not hang on how well the team performs but on how well he performs his job and on how much national exposure he receives. So it is no surprise that although the Orioles hopes faded with each additional loss, Levine's star rose. The life of a radio announcer, traveling with the team, is certainly no bed of roses. In the majors the accommodations and transportation tend to be first class, with a few notable exceptions, but the hours are unbelievably wicked. Admirably, the author always placed his family first, arranging time to be with his wife and two small children or agonizing over missing another important family event. Levine's book is a journal and, as journals go, would have been fairly monotonous without the witticisms and one-liners that make television so endearing. All that is missing is a laugh track. His film scripting talent shows through in the occasional, gratuitous profanities and vulgarities that would certainly guarantee a PG rating. The author continually emphasizes that the game was "lonnnnnggggg" or the pitch was "hiiiiigh," probably a script writing technique, helpful when spoken by an actor but irritating to the reader. Levine's description of the final game at Memorial Stadium is really quite moving and ends his journal in a warm, loving fashion. The author traded the Orioles broadcast booth after that one year for one in Seattle so that he could be closer to Los Angeles—to his family and his writing partner. If the measureof a good autobiography is how much the author inadvertently reveals about himself, then 's The Gamer is a good autobiography. Mr. Carter could have played it safe and given us the usual sports pap, but, true to his "gamer" philosophy, he fearlessly bares his soul and allows us to see him warts and all. For a person whose "whole sense of self-worth was inextricably wound together with the seams of a baseball," there are plenty of warts to see. The many moments of brutal honesty in this book stand in sharp contrast to the more frequent moments of self­ deception. Ironically, these self-deceptions become painfully honest, as the discerning reader confronts the self-deceptions within himself. For Carter a "gamer" is a "guy who will give everything he has—body, soul, family, or whatever—just to be out there on the field, playing the game." He gave his body, detailing the numerous operations and innumerable cortisone injections to which he allowed the doctors and trainers to subject him so that he could "play hurt." By playing 236 Aethlon XI:1 /Fall 1993

through the pain, the athlete never allows his body to correctly and fully heal, compounding the damage already done and ultimately diminishing future perfor­ mance. He gave his soul. Throughout the book he professes his Christianity, but it is the shallow Christianity that is so prevalent today, where God is the ultimate sugar daddy to whom one prays for material rewards. When one wins the , one praises God on national television. When one loses, one sullenly returns home, sinking into a well of self-pity and bitterness. Carter gave his family, even leaving the side of his wife, who lay in the hospital with a broken back, just to make it to a Dodger game in which he knew he was physically incapable of playing. He is fortunate to have a wife who understands his obsession and is wise to have sought out counseling. The book is often confusing and contradictory and filled with unmitigated selfish­ ness. It is quite apparent that Carter doesn't see the contradictions or selfishness as such, but bravely plows forward, his eyes looking neither left nor right. We can only hope that he faces his future—a future without baseball—with the same courage and reclaims his body, his soul, and his family with a greater depth of appreciation. was one of the truly great , one of 's great player/ managers (along withNap Lajoie, , and ), and an important participant in baseball history. He was a member of the 1940 Crybaby Indians, a factor in stopping Joe DiMaggio's 1941 hitting streak, and the inventor of the Shift. He managed the Indians during the ownership of , baseball's greatest showman who brought in the 's first black player, , in 1947, and first black , , in 1948. Mr. Boudreau guided and batted the Tribe to a playoff victory over the Red Sox and a World Series victory over the Braves in 1948. An autobiography by such a man couldn't miss, or could it? Setting aside the many factual errors (DiMaggio's batting average during the streak and the year of the first Cleveland pennant), the many grammatical errors, and the short, choppy style of writing by Russell Schneider, the veteran Cleveland sportswriter, the book is lacking in insight, substance, and the sense of humor so important in a game where the greatest hitters fail two out of every three times. Perhaps Boudreau is humorless and extremely reticent. If so, why bother to write an autobiography that neither entertains nor informs? On the other hand, 's autobiography For Love of Ivy is full of humor and gentle truth. Mr. Santo was the National League's best defensive third baseman in the 1960s and an above-average hitter. He was also a diabetic throughout his baseball career, requiring daily insulin injections. Originally, he hid this fact from his employ­ ers, fearful that they would deny him a chance to prove himself, and went on to hold down third base for the Cubs for fourteen years. Santo's career took him through the Cubs' infamous "College of Coaches" in 1961 and 1962 and the collapse of 1969. He played with and against some of the greatest players of all during the true golden age of baseball: , , , , , and the recently departed . It is timely that he affectionately devotes several pages to Drysdale and his ferocious competitiveness, which Santo obviously admired in spite of being on the receiving end. The problems in this book are minor. Contrary to what the author would have you believe, the wind blew out at much more often than in. Accordingly, Santo hit almost two-thirds of his home runs at home. There are some problems with the spelling of some of his teammates' names (Bob Handley for Hendley and Bryan Book Reviews 737

Browne for Byron). These are in part the fault of his co-writer and editors. Certainly this is an above-average autobiography and a must-read for all diabetics. Diabetics are notorious deniers, tending to minimize their affliction and resist treatment. Santo graphically describes his period of denial, its consequences, and his eventual accep­ tance. He goes on to prove that no achievement is beyond the reach of diabetics who are willing to care scrupulously for their health. The Man in the Dugout is a scholarly study of baseball's greatest managers. There is no shortage of scholarly books about baseball, which has a unique attraction for intellectuals. What sets this book apart is that it was written by a sportswriter. Sportswriters are notoriously unscholarly, intellectually lazy and shallow. Leonard Koppett is the exception, combining brilliant scholarship, penetrating insight, and masterful writing. Koppett believes all managerial styles can be traced back to three predecessors. John McGraw was the dictator, completely controlling all segments of the game through fear and intimidation. was the organizer, skillfully setting up a complex, multi-layered organization to recognize talent, develop it, and funnel it up to the majors. Finally, there is , carefully and expertly examining the available pool of talent and constructing a competitive team. These three styles can be found in every with one style predominating. The author traces the history of managing and its rise to importance in the game. In the early years of baseball the manager was a team captain chosen by his fellow players. As the business side of baseball grew, the manager was usually a player who was now accountable to the ownership of the team. As the duties of the manager expanded beyond the playing field, the player-manager became a curiosity, and the position of manager evolved into what it is today. With the history of managing covered, Koppett then profiles more than two dozen of baseball's greatest managers. He doesn't attempt to do a detailed biography of each but furnishes enough background to identify each one's style and to trace that style’s origins. The result is a rare intellectual treat for both the casual and avid baseball reader, guaranteed to enhance their appreciation of the game's subtleties.

Jim Weigand