Beep is the best kind of book. First it entertains: We meet and get to know—to like and maybe dislike but mainly to care about—a cast of characters we’re privileged to follow around for a while. We get to be part of a team, for part of a season. There’s a story to be told, and it’s a good one, and it’s an old one but also a brand new one and that’s where the other best part about the book comes into play: It doesn’t just entertain, it informs.
For me, Beep opened the gates to an unknown world. Specifically, it served as the introduction to a new sport, or at least one I was unfamiliar with. In case you’re coming into this as uninformed as I was, there’s something you might want to know: There’s baseball for the blind! The ball freaking beeps!
That’s where Wanczyk comes in, as the outsider-insider who has been allowed to immerse himself so he can immerse us. He attends game after game. He travels the world with the team. He earns the confidence of coaches, players, even their loved ones. He has it as his goal to “do justice to the players” by not just “dramatizing their triumphs over adversity” but “showing them in all their rough-and-tumble glory.”
Through Wanczak we witness rivalries, brawls, allegations and scandals. We experience injuries and losses and major victories. We get a night on the town with the team. Beep—both the book and the game—amounts to an embodiment of the redemptive possibility of sport, or of “organized frivolity,” as Wanczyk terms it at one point.
“But beep ball was a way out…,” he writes, “and the sport reminded me to hang on to some of my youthful self. When I didn’t try too hard to make it something important, beep was something impractical, and therefore good.”
It might be argued that there’s plenty practical, though, about the effect of this game on some of its players’ lives. One beepballer’s mother confides to Wanczak that “When they presented [her son] with this game, it saved him. From feeling useless.”
As spectator-readers we are granted, through Beep, both the privilege of seeing and the opportunity to consider that privilege and appreciate it anew—all the while considering and appreciating other ways of seeing, of living.
Rich with telling detail, gentle humor, and thoughtful reflection, Beep is the first book of its kind, and Wanczyk proves perfect for the task of delivering this beautiful game to a wider audience. I’ll leave you with a passage that somehow makes a mess of me every time I return to it. It’s a lovely image, rendered in striking prose, but it’s beyond just that. There’s something more. There’s got to be.
“This game had been the time of his life, and though it was getting late in Santo Domingo and the stands were emptying out, he didn’t want to leave just yet.”