With summer’s dog days and my father’s illness causing a myriad of thoughts and memories of baseball to percolate up from the depths, I reached for Ron Darling’s book to provide a brief break from a recent spate of novels (and to clear my palate a bit for Colum McCann’s TransAtlantic). For some time now it hasn’t been easy being a Mets fan, so, for protection, one’s thoughts do tend to retreat to those dominant, brashly confident (and yet still somehow underachieving) teams of the late 80s. Ron Darling was one of the more likable players from that era, and as a Yale graduate and, currently, a particularly articulate and incisive color commentator on television, it’s no surprise that he has written a well-constructed, smart, and entertaining book (and one needn’t be a Mets fan, of course, to find it compelling, although this reader still savors the memory of Billy Joel’s “New York State of Mind” filling the night air outside the dorms of Boston College—which was celebratory for some of us but cruel to the majority—after the Mets took Games 6 and 7 from the Red Sox in the ’86 World Series). The best baseball books are surely those that see the metaphorical and human drama dimensions of the game, and that understand, as Darling does, the beauty of a game at almost all moments “shot through with nuance and context.” Noting at the outset that his is “not a traditional baseball memoir,” Darling organizes The Complete Game around representative innings from his career (a 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th inning etc.): some of them are full of situational import and peril, while others, on the surface at least, until Darling reveals their hidden narrative and interpretive richness, are seemingly mundane and nondescript. The focus throughout is on the ambivalent venue of the pitcher’s mound, at once Darling’s castle and his remote island: “a major league pitching mound,” he writes, can be the loneliest place in all of team sports, and it can be the loftiest.”