Pretty great book that's now 40-plus years old. It's amazing how many things hadn't happened at the time of the writing, but also which things were starting to happen and which Roger Angell picked up on. If you can get beyond the somewhat repetitive odes to spring training that occur five times ("Five Seasons"), then pretty much everything else is spot-on.
The format of the book is basically the following. Each of 5 seasons (1977-81), Roger Angell starts at spring training with a discussion of what that's like and his love for the timeless rituals of baseball and his fears that the increased emphasis on money and TV revenue is killing the game. Then he has a couple of chapters that summarize the season that follows, with an emphasis on the playoffs and World Series and the accomplishments of star players. Then rinse and repeat. I think these pieces were originally in "The New Yorker" magazine, of which he was an editor for decades, though it seems they were lengthened and updated with information that occurred after they originally appeared.
For anyone who remembers those baseball years, this is a great nostalgia trip. Baseball's appeal includes a lot of nostalgia, so this is a great formula, and Angell is one of the masters of it. He loves sitting in the sun watching a spring game in Arizona, shooting the breeze with a manager or player, and musing about everything from how to hold a curveball to the optimism of the next promising star on a team's horizon. The patience he must have had to sit there, day after day, watching game after game. I have always wondered how the ballplayers can do it, especially the ones who don't play or pitch very often. I go to 5-15 games per year (majors and lower levels), and that's more than enough for me. To go to 200 games a year (regular season and spring training) is unimaginable.
There's way too much in this book to give it even a cursory review, but I'll list a few things that I recall:
I love his descriptions of how Pete Rose comes to the plate, eager and confident he will get a hit, and then how he holds his helmet with his right hand as he rounds first base. Angell gets the description just right of Rose's stance, attitude, intelligence, and so on. And he gives you just a taste of the insane competitiveness of Rose that led him to gamble away his place in the game a decade later. Similarly, Angell reflects the awe that everyone had at the time about Steve Garvey, the Dodgers star first baseman with the looks (and forearms) of Superman; we know that Garvey had some serious flaws as a human being, and we'll soon be reminded as he now embarks on an attempt for the U.S. Senate.
Reggie Jackson's profile comes out with more subtlety than most writers were giving him at the time, as Angell makes a point of letting Jackson show his intelligence and give his specific reasons for being a proud Black man. This is a reminder, by the way, of how Black players dominated the game in the 1960s and 1970s, as so many of the stars who are profiled or prominently mentioned are Black: Willie Stargell, Bob Gibson, Eddie Murray, Lou Brock, and so on. The game has lost its Black stars today, a prospect that probably didn't occur to Angell at the time.
One fascinating point made is that the game was at its peak of popularity during those years. Attendance set records each of the first three years of his writing and dipped a tiny bit in Year 4. But then Year 5 (1981) was the year that players struck in June. This led to a two-tier playoff system of the "winner" of the pre-strike half-season vs. the winner of the post-strike half-season. It was a solution that satisfied no one, and Angell pinpoints it as the start of a decline. He states more than once that the big loser in the strike was baseball because it angered the fans. And, frankly, the game has never recovered from that blow, even though obviously TV revenue and salaries and team values are way up from those days. But a sort of innocence that surrounded the game was shattered for the final time.
One minor dispute with Angell. He says repeatedly that baseball is the hardest sport to play, nothing is harder in sports than hitting a baseball, etc. Yes, it's very hard to hit a baseball and even harder to get a base hit. I get it that the pitchers throw fast and can curve the ball and that they're only 60 feet, 6 inches away. But Angell ascribes the greatest difficulty to baseball numerous times in this book, and I simply don't see it. Just from my days of playing every sport as a kid (and none of them well!), I think it's much harder to coordinate the blocking of a football team for a simple sweep play than it is to stand by yourself and try to hit a baseball. It's incredibly hard to run across a tennis court over and over, and return the ball on the court, compared to fielding a couple of batted balls in an afternoon. And so on. Baseball takes extraordinary hand-eye coordination, but that's only one type of skill that's hard to achieve. Brute force or agility or a dozen other things are equally hard, and I wouldn't put baseball at the top of the pantheon.
Here's a couple other cool things in the book. The Red Sox were pretty good in the late 70s, but they fell short to the big-spending Yankees and the ultra-smart Orioles. For decades, they were seen as a slugging team with no speed, defense or pitching. They broke up that team around 1980, as Angell acts as if there's no chance for a turnaround on the horizon. But there was, as they reached the 1986 World Series with this guy named Roger Clemens as their ace -- a mere 5 seasons after the last one chronicled in this book. Meanwhile, the NY Mets were perhaps the worst team in baseball during the 5 seasons of this book, and because Angell was writing for a New York-oriented audience he spends more time lamenting them than he would otherwise. He gives no hint that they will turn things around either, but that's who the Red Sox played in the '86 Series, and the Mets were clearly the best team in baseball at that time. Angell notes that the Mets had drafted the wonderfully named Darryl Strawberry in 1981, but he didn't know that The Straw was the start of a resurgent team.
Here's another one that sneaks in. Angell goes to watch the Kansas City-Philadelphia World Series in 1980. He has dinner with a couple of friends, and they bring a friend named Bill James. Yes, that Bill James who was in the process of revolutionizing how the game is understood and played. What a cool thing to imagine Roger Angell, the bard of baseball, sitting with Bill James, who both loves the history of the game but also had a clear-eyed view about many of the myths that Angell happily absorbed and retold. To cite one juicy example in the game, Angell tells a story about some hapless free swinging hitter who went more than 300 at-bats in the 1980 or '81 season without a walk. In the last game of the year, he got a walk, and not only did both teams cheer, but the ump gave him the ball as a keepsake. That guy wouldn't get out of the low minors today, and Bill James probably knew in 1980 (definitely knew!) that this guy was a disaster.
Anyway, this is a lovely book. It was nostalgic even when it was written, but it feels even more sepia-toned now. This book is pre-steroids, pre- idiots like Jose Canseco and Roger Clemens, pre- several more labor interruptions. Spring training games were popular even then, Angell reminds us when he sits in sold-out stadiums, but they weren't the mass-marketed events they are now. There was still a slow pace to the game, but it wasn't so bad that we needed the pitch clock initiated in 2023; we could still indulge a pitcher like Steve Carlton in a walk behind the mound when he was handed a new baseball, or a series of toe taps and bat taps from Amos Otis before he set himself in the batters' box. Our world has quickened, and we are demanding faster baseball. But Roger Angell reminds us that there's value still in slowing down and enjoying the ride.