I’ll be honest, I wasn’t aware of Thomas Boswell at all before grabbing this book of of my father’s shelf because I needed something small to have on me to read while taking the subway. Like a lot of baseball writers of this time that weren’t Rogers Angell and Kahn, among others, he seems to have faded a bit from what popularity he had. In large part, I’d imagine, the reason can be found in the pages of this collection, which ranges from truly amazing profiles and on-the-ground, jovial reporting to some intensely dull and overwrought game stories (including the title piece). And a piece of early sabermetrics thrown in (and it’s not half bad!).
First, the good: the profiles scattered throughout this book. Boswell does an amazing job fleshing out the true characters of a sport full of them, from Earl Weaver to Reggie Jackson to Pete Rose (in a piece that reads much funnier now than intended given what was to befall his career) to the last Opening Day lineup of the 1971 Washington Senators to Bill Veeck to, in the funniest piece in the book, some of the cheatingest pitchers in baseball like Gaylord Perry.
He has a remarkable grasp of character and on getting amazing quotes out of the players, despite also getting in digs of his own. My favorite (discussing Reggie Jackson’s ability to take so much that he could even make his true accomplishments annoying by never shutting up about them): If Jackson discussed the Bill of Rights long enough, he’d make you want to repeal it.”
Another of his best pieces was a look at winter baseball in Puerto Rico, which explores both how the white players experience the culture, but also spends lots of times with the Puerto Rican players. He also writes similarly about Cuban baseball, a heartfelt story about players who never got the chance to face major leaguers.
The bad: man am I happy this style of game story went out of vogue. Boswell makes too much use of his space to expound on what are really some exciting games, but you wouldn’t know if because of how many non-sequiturs and tangents he goes on. Some of them are frankly skippable.
And the sabermetrics! Boswell devises a stat he calls Total Average, which seems in part like a very rudimentary precursor of WAR in that it looks to take a total value of a player by weighting his various contributions. It’s obviously lacking, but it’s also a very clear explanation of how he derived the number and what he intends to show, which is fascinating.
Should Boswell be remembered in the pantheon of baseball writing greats? That’s hard to say. But there’s a lot to enjoy here.