Review: The Ancient Eight (2024)

By John Feinstein

It could be argued that while the game of college football, as played on the field, has never better than it is now, the business of college football is something of a mess. 

Players and coaches are jumping around in a frantic attempt to accept a better financial offer from other universities, with no one completely sure of what the rules are any more. It's almost as if a player will be benched in a game on an October afternoon, and he's looking at the rules for the transfer portal that night. You really can't tell the players without a program. 

The idea of studying one of the major exceptions to that rule must have appealed to John Feinstein. The veteran sportswriter has tackled a variety of subjects in many different sports over the years, and he's frequently at his best when reviewing a specific length of time - like a season. 

The Ivy League must have seemed like a tempting target for him, then. The eight schools in the Northeast certainly are known for their academics and not their athletes. Realistically, almost anyone on a football team in the Ivy League probably isn't going to advance to a higher level - although there certainly have been exceptions. The players and the coaches tend to stay put, and that creates a level of stability that must leave the Big Ten coaches a little jealous except on paydays. And the people are generally interesting and articulate, which is helpful when it comes to writing.

Combine Feinstein and the Ivy League, and you have "The Ancient Eight." The author traveled up and down Interstate 95 during the summer of 2023 following all eight of the league's teams ... and in search of stability for a new book that doesn't quite come together in spots.  

The Ivys have a cute little set-up when it comes to football. It's only eight teams, so everyone can play everyone once a year. They all have a limited number of potential recruits, thanks to the high academic standards. That tends to level the proverbial playing field a bit. The facilities are a mixed bag but lean toward the sparse side. As a result, the teams go crashing into each other and play close games throughout the season. Some might do better than the others over the long term, but that can change every so often. Harvard and Yale have been doing the winning lately, but others often join them. Remember, there's no bowl game awaiting these teams, so they don't even have playoffs for conference championships. In case of a tie, the League simply manufacturers more trophies.

The coaches are under the spotlight for the most part here. That's because they are in a somewhat unique situation by college football standards, trying to win but in sense doing so with a hand tied behind the back. In 2023, some found out the hard way that there's pressure to win, while a couple of others were affected by unexpected tragedy.

With all that on the plus side, it's a little surprising that this all doesn't come out better in the finished product. Feinstein had a similar idea years ago when he wrote about Patriot League basketball, and that was quite illuminating. The personal stories don't resonate as well here, although it's difficult to say why. The games between the teams tend to grab the spotlight of the book, and a year later, they aren't why we're here. 

In addition, there are some surprising editing problems that come up along the way. I think the Harvard Crimson's headline about the 1968 Harvard-Yale game ("Harvard beats Yale, 29-29) is mentioned three different times along the way. Other passages are repeated as well. A few other typos pop up, such as calling Brown University the Bruins instead of the Bears at times.

This is book number 50 for Feinstein, and he said he enjoyed writing this one more than any other. Maybe so. But take it from someone who has read almost all of them and thus helped put his kids through college. This has some good moments in it, but not quite enough of them to make this a keeper (unless you have Ivy League connections). "The Ancient Eight" is well down my list of Feinstein's best work.

Three stars

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Review: The Wee Ice Mon Cometh (2024)

By Ed Gruver

It's rather easy to argue that Ben Hogan's accomplishment of winning three major golf championships in one calendar year is a little underrated among general sports fans. 

There's been talk of a "grand slam" in golf for about 100 years. Bobby Jones won the U.S. Open and British Open along with the U.S. Amateur and the British Amateur in 1930. Those were the big four events of the day, as the Masters and PGA events did not exist. The closest anyone has come to that is Tiger Woods, who won the modern-day Big Four tournaments within a year, although it spilled over from 2000 to 2001. As he put it, he's the only person to hold all four trophies at the same time. 

But Ben Hogan went three for three, which was rather good under the circumstances. He took the Masters, U.S. Open and British Open in 1953. No one has done that either.

Author Ed Gruver does his best to fill in some gaps for those who don't know that much achievement. He's written a book called "The Wee Ice Mon Cometh" about Hogan's biggest year. It's a tougher assignment that you might think. 

Gruver's job at the start is to tell what made Hogan's year all the more remarkable. He had already established himself as one of the world's best players after World War II. Then Hogan was involved in a horrible auto accident in which he simply lucky to be alive. His legs were damaged quite severely, and it seemed doubtful that he'd ever walk normally again ... let along play golf. But "Bantam Ben" (he wasn't the biggest of players) was as determined as he was good, and he worked hard enough to be back on teh course in November 1949. Hogan returned to the tour in 1950, and lost in a playoff to Sam Snead in his first event back. (A movie was made about Hogan's remarkable comeback called "Follow the Sun.")

Hogan went on to win the 1950 U.S. Open, and he remained a top player even though his legs limited his scheduled greatly. Hogan simply centered his preparation on top events. He peaked at 1953, but never won another major after that. Ben couldn't play in the PGA that year. The match-play format would have been too draining on his legs, and the dates of that event and the British Open essentially conflicted. By the way, the title comes from a nickname that Hogan received while in Scotland from the fans who thought the smallish but determined player's performance was more than admirable.

It is not easy to bring a sporting event back to life after 70+ years, and Gruver has a couple of problems in doing so - one of which couldn't be helped. Those watching pro golf today are familiar with the way the players are sent out on to the course. The leaders on Saturday and Sunday go last. That means the scores are coming in roughly together. 

But back in the "old days," the order was the order. At one point in the final round of the British Open, Hogan had to ask a radio reporter how the rest of the field was doing. The answer, of course, was good news for him. They didn't worry about television in 1953, but the old system certainly took away some of the drama. The round-by-round descriptions go by rather quickly.

The other problem centers on a lack of material. This checks in at a bit more than 200 pages of type, and it feels a bit padded. The sections written about Hogan and his play are fine. But Gruver fills in the rest with hole-by-hole descriptions of each of the three courses hosting championships that year (Augusta, Oakmont and Carnoustie). The major titles on those courses and the major championships they hosted also get a review here, even if they aren't particularly relevant to the story. Then there are mini-biographies of the other contenders. Most have been forgotten, of course, and so have many of the their tournaments scores also don't carry any weight now. (Can't say I knew about a Buffalo Open in the late 1930s, though.)

Under the circumstances, it's not easy to make the story flow too smoothly. There are portions here that don't carry much interest along, and some points are hammered a few too many times. (Yes, I realize that Carnoustie is a tough course, but ...) Certainly some are going to find themselves skimming some portions of the book in search of more lively material. The author does close well with some good opinions on how the three "slams" compare from a modern perspective. Even if the circumstances for Hogan's sweep are a bit different, he receives full credit by all for doing it considering his physical state at the time. 

It's tough to think that "Wee Ice Mon Cometh" is going to lure a great many people into its pages. But it at least should satisfy those who'd like a quick lesson in golf history concerning a great accomplishment in the sport. 

Three stars

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Review: The Racket (2024)

By Conor Niland

There is a basic "problem" with most of the individual sports (tennis, golf, boxing, etc.) on a professional level. The top players receive most of the attention. 

The average golf fan who watches the tour regularly on television might know the top 50 players on the PGA Tour. Tennis even is more limited in terms of publicity. The percentage of "upsets" in the major tournament is rather low, as the top seeds usually move gracefully through the draw to the final round. That leaves much of the field destined to wallow in relatively obscurity.

We know that there are tons of players out there who are really, really good at these sports, but they simply can't compete with the world's very best for one reason or another. For the most part, they compete in what Americans might call "minor league" events, such as the Challenger events in tennis or the Korn Ferry tour in golf. Those players probably are indistinguishable from anyone on the tours above them except for the top 30 in those sports.So they play before small crowds and smaller prizes, hoping for a break that will put them within shouting distance of a bit of glory and money. 

Conor Niland was one of those players. The Pride of Irish Tennis got his world ranking up to 129 at one point, which is quite an accomplishment in the grand scheme of the sport. But he was in a different world than names like Federer, Nadal and Djokovic, and he explains what that world is like very nicely in his book, "The Racket."

Niland grew up in Ireland and became one of the top junior players in the country. Now, to be fair, that's not the same as being one of the top junior players in the United States. There are fewer benefits to having that status in a small country not known for tennis. He competed in some international events, but wasn't dominating. Niland had to decide between turning pro and taking a college scholarship at Cal-Berkeley. He opted for the sure thing of college, since he just didn't know if he'd be good enough. 

Niland had some NCAA success and decided to try his luck on the pro circuit. The difference between him and Federer become pretty obvious. Roger had an entourage around him at all times, so he didn't have to worry about coaching and nutrition and medical treatment and equipment at any point. Conor was lucky to have a coach around him at times. As the young players chase points in order to climb the world rankings and thus earn a chance to play for more money in better tournaments, they must overcome horrible travel, high expenses, and the lack of medical supervision at an instant. In Niland's case, it didn't help that he was behind the eight-ball in a sense because of college; the ones who went straight to the pros were used to the lifestyle at the same age and better equipped to deal with it. 

It's not a spoiler to say Niland slowly climbed up the ladder a bit, and it's not a surprise to say that all the hours on the court took a toll on his body. His hips eventually started to give him problems, and he was out of tennis by 2012. Conor eventually moved into coaching in Ireland, where he still is no doubt admired by his countrymen and countrywomen for showing the world that an Irishman can compete on some big stages. 

It helps quite a bit that Niland is a good writer. He expresses himself quite well, and tells his story with honesty and good humor. That makes the pages go by quickly, and the reader quickly starts hoping for successes for him. 

The obvious unanswered question that might come up here is: what took him? Niland retired in 2012, so it took him about 12 years to finish his tennis autobiography. It's hard to know - and it would be helpful to know - if the landscape has changed at all since he retired. On the other hand, Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal were in their primes during Niland's years on the tour, and Djokovic was making it a Big Three. The amount of contact between Niland and the all-time greats is very limited, but their occasional appearance does grab one's attention. A few photos of those days would have been good too. 

My favorite tennis book of all time is Andre Agassi's autobiography. "The Racket" isn't quite at that level, but it's not far behind on that list. You probably won't find a better description of what it's like to be close but not touching the top of a sport for individuals.

Four stars

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Review: The Year's Best Sports Writing 2024

Edited by Jane McManus

It doesn't take too long to figure out that this edition of "The Year's Best Sports Writing 2024" - the annual series of anthologies on top sports writing - is going to be a little different than some of the predecessors. 

Women have served as the yearly editor of this series (it's had some different publishers over the years) in the past, but Jane McManus has a somewhat different background than those in the past. She's done good work for a variety of publications, but also has some distinguished credits in the academic world. McManus has credits in the study of sports media at Seton Hall and Marist.

Then in the introduction, she comes out firing. McManus correctly points out that women's sports started to reach a turning point in terms of popularity in 2023 (when the book's articles were written). As we know now, that's a trend which if anything accelerated in 2024. I'm not going to suggest we've reached parity by any means, but the landscape is changing. As a result, McManus seems rather determined to make the point that good journalism is following that trend as well. 

It's not surprising, then, that quite a few stories in this book deal with women's sports - probably more on a percentage basis than any other year in series history. For those who might be worried that the selection might not be quite up to the usual standards, well, it doesn't take long to dispel those thoughts. In fact, it takes one story, the first in the book. Sally Jenkins' story on Chris Evert and Martina Navratilova's relationship is called "Bitter Rivals. Beloved Friends. Survivors." I remember how good it was when it first appeared in The Washington Post. It's just as good now, destined to be a classic forever.

Some of the stories obviously fit in nicely with the theme. You might not recognize the name Jenni Hermoso, but you certainly remember that a Spanish soccer player was kissed by a Spanish official after that country won the Women's World Cup. There's a story on Livvy Dunne, a gymnast at LSU who figured out a way to become famous and wealthy through social media. Catlin Clark is the subject from her college days, just as she was becoming one of basketball's greatest gate attractions. The Rapinoe sisters have quite a story to tell.

There are also some stories in the book that only happen to be about women, because the story is universal. The Harvard women's hockey team had a coach whose behavior danced around the line of propriety, while a Boston long-distance running coach went well beyond that line. 

There are plenty of other good stories here of all types. My personal favorite was a profile of baseball writer Peter Gammons, certainly on a short list of candidates for the title of best baseball writer ever. His complete story is quite compelling, as told by Tom Friend. There are good pieces on such subjects as Pele's funeral, Greg Oden's career after playing basketball, some Harvard football teammates from the past try to cope with the problems of one of their own, and the difficulty of a great Saint Joseph's basketball team from 20 years ago as it tried to cope with the problems of one of its own. There are also some unexpected delights, like a follow-up on a man who sank a half-court to win $1 million at a Bulls' game and the unexpectedly fascinating search for a brand of Barbie doll that's missing in action.

Reviewing a book like this always centers on the feelings toward a particular sport, and some of the less "traditional" activities receive coverage here too. It was tough for me to get through a few stories, including ones on surfing and climbing. Another one concerns one of the first women writers to work at Sports Illustrated. Virginia Kraft's professional story certainly is a good one, but the portions about hunting - her beat - left me skimming the text rather quickly. It's probably my loss.

Overall, "The Year's Best Sports Writing 2024" is another solid effort in a series that I've been reading for decades. If someone becomes a little more open-minded about women's sports in the process, all the better. 

Four stars

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Review: A Baseball Gaijin (2024)

By Aaron Fischman

Some years ago, we Americans thought there was little chance that Japanese baseball players could cross the ocean and make an impact on Major League Baseball. 

Some years ago, we were wrong. Really, really wrong. 

It turns out that a good baseball player is a good baseball player, no matter what his birth certificate says. You'd think we would have learned that lesson earlier. The immigration pattern started in 1995, when Hideo Nomo came over and was a successful player. Others followed. We got our first look at Ichiro Suzuki in 2001, and he certainly ranks as one of the great baseball players of all time. Then there's a guy named Shohei Ohtani, who has shown since his arrival in 2019 that he is as exciting a player as we've ever seen in the sport. 

That's fine, but what about the guys going the other way - from North America? Some make the "reverse commute" every year to play in the two main Japanese leagues. The money and competition aren't as good, but it's still professional baseball ... and it beats working for a living in a sense. 

"A Baseball Gaijin" is a book about one of those guys.

Tony Barnette is the subject of the book, and it's a story rarely told. Most of the books on Japanese baseball are histories, or dwell on the players who came here. Barnette is a pitcher who joined the Diamondbacks' organization out of college, and got as high as Triple-A ... but his chances for taking that final step, at least for an extended period of time, seemed relatively small. Meanwhile, the Yakult Swallows came calling before the 2010 season with a contract calling for relatively serious money. Living the dream, or getting financial security? That's a tough call, but Barnette opted to try his luck in Japan. 

At first he thought he'd probably stay a year or two and hopefully do well enough to catch someone's attention back home. That's what happened, although the time span stretched through 2015. His career took some unexpected twists along the way, but he learned to enjoy his time in Japan. 

Where this book shines is explaining what the day-to-day life of a baseball gaijin (foreigner) is like. The language problem is a big one, of course, and translators are assigned to foreign players to ease the transition. Still, it's not easy to change cultures so drastically - especially for an athlete, who is on an odd schedule and has certain requirements such as nutrition. Throw in a new wife and eventually a new baby, and Barnette had a lot to learn. 

What's more, the right-hander is easy to root for here. He tried to fit in with his new team as best he could, and he learned enough new tricks to extend his career for quite a while. Barnette became relatively popular along the way, once he showed that he was a gaijin (each team has up to four) who could help the team win. 

It's easy to wonder about a book about a player from the 2010s that is released in 2024. That's less of a problem than you'd think. Most Americans have no idea what's going on in Japanese baseball, so it's not as if they'll know what's going to happen to the Swallows in a given season. And you'd probably have to live in Texas to have heard the back stories about Barnette's arrival in the big leagues in 2016. 

Based on the epilogue, it sounds as if author Aaron Fischman had some problems getting the book to a manageable length. (I know that feeling well.) But the finished product works out quite well in that sense. I only skimmed some pages that dealt with the Swallows and Japanese baseball after Barnette returned to the United States; the rest held my interest nicely.

Fischman deserves some brownie points for having the dedication for exploring a generally unknown subject fully. "A Baseball Gaijin" mixes sport and culture quite well. It's a book that may not tempt every baseball fan into picking it up, but those who do will find some rewards.

Four stars

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