Tuesday, May 31, 2016

Review: 14 Minutes (2012)

By Alberto Salazar and John Brant

There aren't a great many magical names when it comes to marathon running among Americans. Frank Shorter and Bill Rodgers come to mind, and so does Alberto Salazar. The latter had a rather odd career, leaving a variety of questions behind.

Here, then, are some answers. Salazar's autobiography, "14 Minutes," covers the high and low points in his life, and it's all relatively dynamic.

For our purposes, let's start with the title. Ask a runner about 14 minutes, and the response probably will be along the lines that it's a really, really good time for the 5,000 meters on a track. As of this writing, the world record is 12:37 for men and 14:11 for women. So 14 minutes is a quite good time for the men, and a goal for women.

But that's not what Salazar means by the title, even though he ran the distance well in his career. It refers to how long his heart was stopped during a heart attack in 2007. If you are thinking that 14 minutes is a long time for a heart to stop, you are exactly right - most never revive from such a stoppage. Yet Salazar had few after-effects of the incident, and has continued his coaching career.

As you'd expect, the heart attack makes for dramatic reading. But there's other drama along the way. Salazar was born in Cuba and moved to the United States at a very early age. His father knew Fidel Castro during the Revolution, and suffered a falling out with the Cuban leader over Castro's rejection of religion - specifically, cancelling the construction of a new church - shortly after the change in government leadership. Salazar's father, a fiery personality and then some according to his son, remained angry at Castro and was part of anti-Castro groups for years to come.

Alberto, though, pushed his passion into other areas - mostly running. He ran in high school and college. It's tough to know how much pure talent was involved - certainly some - but Salazar's blessing and curse at the same time was his fanatic drive for success. No one outworked him, and no one outtrained him. Eventually, that translated to a world record although the course was shown to be short. Salazar won three straight New York City marathons, and one Boston marathon; the latter was the famous "Duel in the Sun," beating Dick Beardsley in one of the great marathons in history.

Then, the winning essentially stopped. No more wins in New York, no Olympic medals. As Salazar recounts his time here, it seems pretty obvious that he wasn't too good at listening to his body and was a little too willing to ignore pain when it popped up. Salazar was never the same, although he did climax his career with an ultra-marathon win in South Africa. He also had a religious awakening along the way, which he discusses here in a sincere manner.

After leaving competitive running, Salazar moved on to coaching. He took on a job with Nike and has tried to help runners. Salazar has had some successes, although Americans still aren't catching up to the East Africans very often in the distance events.

Salazar moves the story along pretty quickly. Credit probably should go to John Brant for some of that. It's only 260 pages of text, and there's enough drama to hold your interest.

It's tough to look at Salazar and wonder about what might have been. Still, it's interesting to know that the same qualities that made him such a good runner probably contributed to his somewhat sudden downfall. It's an interesting story, particularly to runners, and that makes "14 Minutes" a worthwhile effort.

Four stars

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Monday, May 23, 2016

Review: The Rise and Fall of Olympic Amateurism (2016)

By Matthew P. Llewellyn and John Gleaves

I once read a handy definition of "amateurism" when it came to sports. It was along the lines that amateurism was a way of keeping money out of the hands of those who actually earned it. That's oversimplified a bit, but you get the idea.

The event most closely associated with amateur athletics over the course of relatively recent history is the Olympic Games. Organizers have struggled over the years with coming up with a definition that works for all, until they more or less gave up about 25 years ago and let anyone in the door. You still hear complaints that the purity of the Games was spoiled a bit by that decision, even though there's never been much purity associated with the subject.

Now comes along a book on the amateurism by Matthew P. Llewellyn and John Gleaves, two associate professors of kinesiology at California State University at Fullerton.
"The Rise and Fall of Olympic Amateurism" fills in some gaps in our knowledge of this particular subject nicely if perhaps not neatly.

Speaking of oversimplifications, I've always thought that amateurism essentially started a way for organizers of sport to keep the lower classes out of their fun and games. The idea mostly was associated with Great Britain. The theory was that only rich people could afford to take up a game and practice it enough to become really good at it without compensation. Lower classes had to eat and didn't have the time to devote to pastimes.

There is some truth to that. However, the authors point out that some sports, such as soccer, had a professional aspect to them dating back to the 19th century. That's in part why soccer's big event is the World Cup and not the Olympics, although the story took some twists along the way.

Pierre de Coubertin usually gets the credit for playing the lead role in bringing the Olympics back as a world festival in 1896. It had been a Greek competition a couple of thousand years before that. De Coubertin was something of a romantic and probably didn't have his history straight, but the Games did get going. The problem when it came to amateurism is that standards were all over the place. For example, Jim Thorpe was ordered to give back his medals from the 1912 Games because he had taken a few dollars to play baseball before those Games, which was perfectly legal in some cases. The action was taken so quickly that Thorpe wasn't allowed a hearing. (Note: he was put back in the record book about 70 years later.)

But if there's a central figure to the story presented by the authors, it's Avery Brundage. The head of the International Olympic Committee was a strong believer in the concept of amateurism, to the point where athletes couldn't serve as coaches or commentators on their sports even after they had competed. As the Games grew in popularity, Brundage kept one foot in the past.

However, he was smart enough to change his views on some of the eligibility rules as world conditions changed. When the Soviet Union and its associated nations decided to make a huge effort to become athletic powers, suddenly Brundage forgot about rules designed to prevent government sponsorship and support of the athletes. And when television and endorsements became part of the situation and money was starting to get serious, well, it was fine for the IOC to take it in - but not the athletes themselves. You might call someone who acts that way a hypocrite, and you'd be right.

Once Brundage left the IOC in 1972, the Olympics fell into deep problems for a while. Eligibility issues were on people's mind, but boycotts, doping scandals and concerns on how to split up a growing financial pie among organizers caused problems. But the 1984 Los Angeles Games revitalized the competition in almost all ways, and in 1988 pro tennis players took part in the Games in Seoul. In 1992, the Dream Team showed up in Barcelona for basketball, essentially knocking the barriers down.

Llewellyn and Gleaves are obviously smart people, and they've done their homework. The University of Illinois, which published this book, is the home of Brundage's archives, and certainly the two authors spent lots of time there and well as going back through all sorts of other records and transcripts. They come to some sharp conclusions that appear to be right on target.

However, this is not a book for the beach. The story is mostly told from an administrative viewpoint, and it's a little too easy to get lost along the way. Meanwhile, Llewellyn and Gleaves use plenty of words that may add to your vocabulary; even my Kindle didn't have the definitions of some of them.

"The Rise and Fall of Olympic Amateurism" is an interesting story that fills in several gaps in the subject, and it's not entirely fair to judge a book designed more for an academic audience than for the general public. But it's easy to come away wishing that it was a little more down-to-earth in its storytelling. If you are willing to get through the dry spots and have an interest in the subject, then take a look and give it an extra star. Otherwise, some may not find it worth the effort.

Three stars

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Sunday, May 22, 2016

Review: I'd Know That Voice Anywhere (2016)

By Frank Deford

The Buffalo News gets the entire review, which you can access by going here. The shorter version would be that this is a collection of work of Deford's from National Public Radio. It is made up of commentaries about two pages long (three minutes or so of air time). Deford is considered the finest feature writer in sportswriting history, but he's pretty good at this too. Fans of Deford - which should include everyone - should like this.

Four stars

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Wednesday, May 18, 2016

Review: I'm Fascinated by Sacrifice Flies (2016)

By Tim Kurkjian

It doesn't take long to know what you're going to read when you look at the cover of this book. "I'm Fascinated by Sacrifice Flies" tells you right away that the author is a man who loves, loves, loves baseball and all its quirks.

Then Tim Kurkjian goes about proving it over the 232 pages in the book.

It's baseball book No. 2 for Kurkjian, the fine baseball reporter for ESPN. The first was "Is This a Great Game, or What?" That was an easy read with stories and facts about the game.

Now he's back, about nine years later, with a repeat performance. Kurkjian goes through the notebooks once again in search of stories and information.

The title of the book comes from a remark Kurkjian made in 2007 on "Baseball Tonight" on ESPN. Carlos Lee had his 13th sacrifice fly of the season. That broke the club record, and it looked as if Lee was headed to break the major league record of 19 set by Gil Hodges. That's a launching point for a series of facts about this narrow part of baseball history. Chili Davis once drove in 112 runs in 1993 without a sacrifice fly, while 10 players have hit three of them in a game. By the way, Lee didn't have another sacrifice fly for the rest of the season.

For part of the book, Kurkjian names a subject and devotes the rest of the chapter on stories on that particular area from a series of people. What's it like to get hit by a pitch? What do players think of superstitions? What sounds are made during a game that the players notice? There are a few chapters devoted to some statistical oddities of the sport, and even one on the fascination of box scores. If you haven't figured out that this book is designed for BIG baseball fans, you probably are on the wrong website.

Kurkjian's best work in the book comes at unexpected times. The first chapter is about how difficult the game is to play. Anyone who has been cut from a Little League team or gave up the sport in frustration knows something about that, but it's tough for the big leaguers too. Then there's a tribute to baseball personalities like Earl Weaver, Tony Gwynn and Don Zimmer who are no longer with us. It's a nice contrast to the three paragraphs and out approach of much of the rest of the book, and Kurkjian's feelings come across nicely.

One more key point - this might be the first review in this space to criticize the foreword. George Will is the author in question, and his approach is to quote several of the items contained in the book. This has the effect of making the reader ask the question, "Haven't I read that already?" when it comes up in the actual text. At least Will read the book, but it's an annoying technique.

"I'm Fascinated by Sacrifice Flies" comes off as a bit unfocused, but there's enough good information there to keep the reader going through it at a brisk pace. Kurkjian's good nature and his admissions about how he's a true "baseball nerd" help as well. His latest book might not be a keeper forever, but it will leave fans entertained.

Three stars

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Tuesday, May 3, 2016

Review: The Secret Race (2013)

By Tyler Hamilton and Daniel Coyle

Once upon a time, it was easy to love cycling in general and the Tour de France in particular.

It's difficult to imagine a more difficult sporting event, with its climbs up mountains and its sprints on level terrain - day after day, until three weeks go by. Then a few Americans started popping up near the top, giving people on this side of the Atlantic a rooting interest. And then a few Americans won, including Lance Armstrong - who kept winning and winning and winning (repeat word seven times in all).

But, there was a catch - a big one. It turned out that practically every single one of the contenders was using special drugs and other means to get faster. It was their idea of making it a level playing field. Eventually, even Armstrong was implicated and confessed.

That made it easy to hating cycling in general, at least on the competitive level, and the Tour de France in particular.

How did the drug era take place in cycling? Tyler Hamilton wrote his account of the story a few years ago, "The Secret Race." It's still quite fascinating, even if we know how it turns out.

Hamilton was a very good bike rider at a relatively early point in his career. He moved over to Europe in order to face the world's best and see how he measured up. Hamilton eventually joined the U.S. Postal Service team, which had Armstrong as its star and leader. Hamilton was an opening act on the team, to put it in show business terms, and had to prove that he had a chance of competing with big dogs.

Hamilton did that eventually, which earned him some fringe benefits - such as the chance to have EPO injected and receive blood transfusions. As the cyclist put it, it was either take dope or go home. Thus the elaborate schemes began, where he would have doctors meet him in secret places so that injections and transfusions could take place. As for conversations on the subject, remember the line from the movie "Fight Club": The first rule of Fight Club is that you do not talk about Fight Club.

Eventually, Hamilton got caught. They all did in one way or another, even though by the sound of it the testing by the sport's authorities was relatively simple to pass. It just takes a little slip-up to test positive. Hamilton still isn't sure what happened the first time around, and denied the charges at first since he wasn't technically guilty of using someone else's blood. But he was guilty of plenty of other things, and eventually decided to tell his story in court and in this book. 

It's certainly interesting to read how the nuts and bolts of the operation worked during the doping era. Still, the attraction of this book is a reasonably close look at Armstrong. He was an American icon for a while when he was winning tour titles. Armstrong had given up cycling while undergoing cancer treatments, and his return better than ever was embraced by all. He set up Livestrong, a cancer foundation that raised millions and millions.

It was, of course, too good to be true. The Armstrong shown here is not a pretty picture. He's consumed with himself and his image, treating people horribly along the way. Hamilton eventually fell into that class. A description of a confrontation between the two in a Colorado restaurant is pretty shocking. Even Hamilton calls him a bully a few times, and that seems to fit. We wanted really hard to believe in the myth, and it's still evident in the reaction that lingers to today. Armstrong set new records for defiance before finally confessing (to Oprah, no less) in public.

After reading "The Secret Race" and going through the news reports about the episodes, it will be tough for anyone to feel the same way about cycling for a long time. But, a purging probably was necessary, and Hamilton helped supply it. "Thank you" might not be the right words, but in the end Hamilton probably did the right thing.

Five stars

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