”He has written ... a book deep in the American vein, so deep in fact that it is by no means a sports book ... As the book is deeply in the American vein, so is the reaction to it. The sportswriters are not judging the accuracy of the book, but Bouton's right to tell (that is, your right to read), which is, again, as American as apple pie ...”
—David Halberstam, writing for Harper's magazine, ca. 1970.
Jim Bouton’s Ball Four is one of the all-time classic baseball books, and it only took until my mid 50s to arrive at reading it. I grew up with this book in our house—my father owned and read it when it originally came out in 1970, and now I know that I couldn't possibly have appreciated it as a kid. This is a book squarely for adults ... although one could question whether it's entirely about adults.
In the spring of 1969, Jim Bouton was a 30-year-old former New York Yankees pitcher whose best years were getting further and further behind him. His fastball was fading, and so was his sore pitching arm. He decided to document his 1969 season while he worked on a knuckle ball that he hoped might resurrect his career in the major leagues.
The book is raucously funny in the early chapters. There are a number of good stories of Bouton's years with the Yankees. It notably lifts the mask from Mickey Mantle's superhero mystique and makes him into one of the guys (one key scene shows Mantle being a deliberate jerk to one of his young fans who sought an autograph). Yankee fans especially howled at the perceived sacrilege, but Mantle's larger than life reputation was unharmed. (Mantle’s drinking would do far more damage to his reputation—and his life—years later.)
I've read a fair number of baseball books, some of them pretty funny, but none of them are as hilarious as this—Bouton has a comic’s sense of timing. And no other baseball book was as brutally honest as this. Bouton tells hard truths—about player behavior, drinking, drug use (greenies, aka amphetamines), chasing women, road life, and about himself, as well.
And perhaps most importantly, it's about organizational behavior and the divisions within American society. This is why David Halberstam was right to say it's not actually about sports. It's about people and the way they treat each other. It's about owners and managers treating their employees like dirt, making kneejerk decisions based on legacy thinking, because baseball is deeply traditionalist. Progressive ideas are bitterly discouraged. You can learn a lot about how not to deal with employees from this book. Bouton and fellow pitcher Mike Marshall are ostracized as weirdos by their teammates because they're perceived as smart. There's a strong anti-intellectual undercurrent to the book—something that continues to persist throughout our country.
The regular season begins, and Bouton lasts only two games with the expansion Seattle Pilots before being sent to the Vancouver minor league team. After a few weeks he returns to the major league club, but the team is reluctant (to put it mildly) to use him as a starter. Bouton is continually frustrated by the team's stubbornness. The knuckle ball is just too weird for the old timers. In this part of the book, the writing reflects Bouton's mood—we see little of the levity of the book's first quarter. He eventually appears in 57 games for the Pilots, exclusively in middle relief, with almost no innings in critical situations—his help to the club is largely off the scoresheets.
And then there's something like a miracle—Bouton is dealt to the Houston Astros, a better team that is fighting for the lead in the National League West. The team's leadership seems more open minded than the dinosaurs in Seattle, and the players are more optimistic about their future. Bouton’s mood improves, and we start to see his humor again in the last third.
The emotional high point of the book occurs when Bouton gets his first start of the season with Houston against the Pittsburgh Pirates. He pitches well, hangs in for ten innings, giving his team a chance at winning, only to lose the game on a seeing eye line shot in the 10th. This is the book's climax, a juxtaposition of a personal victory in the face of defeat. He was finally the warrior in the arena, something he worked all season for. For Bouton it's a triumph, the pinnacle of his season—he is elated that he pitched well, and the loss is negligible by comparison. He called his wife and his siblings to share his joy, and the book achieves the right feeling of closure.
Bouton was effectively excommunicated from the major leagues the following year, due to the revelations shared in Ball Four. It is especially telling that MLB commissioner Bowie Kuhn tried (unsuccessfully) to bully Bouton into signing a statement disavowing the book—something that said more about Kuhn and the baseball establishment than about Jim Bouton.
Ball Four is a peek behind the curtain of the Great and Powerful Oz of major league baseball. I forget who said it, Orwell, I think, but there's an idea about the press that their job is to report things that authorities don't want told. And while I don't entirely agree with that view, Ball Four certainly makes it ring very true. It told uncomfortable truths about baseball that needed to be said. It remains one of the game's enduring works.