Review: Selling Baseball (2025)

By Jeffrey Orens

There was a certain symmetry in the timing of when baseball started to take its present form as a business enterprise. The American League started operations in 1901, right at the beginning of the 20th century. It joined the established National League (founded in 1876) at that point, and eventually came together under one business umbrella - although it took longer than you might think to make it a full integration.

We tend to ignore what happened in the 19th century on some level, partly out of convenience. We're used to having the two leagues in business, and it's easy to head back to when that model began. But obviously, the game, the sport and the business needed time to develop. It's been up to some baseball historians to come up with a variety of books and articles to answer the age-old question, "How did we get here?"

In this case, author Jeffrey Orens has focused in on a couple of the major figures of 19th century base ball (as it was called in the day): George Wright and Al Spalding. Both are in the Baseball Hall of Fame. The reason that these two men were picked for biographies of sort in "Selling Baseball" only has some connection to their abilities on the field, which were admittedly considerable. They also had quite an influence on the game off the field - in essence, baseball's first marketing success stories. 

Wright was one of the best players of the 19th century. He was the star of the 1869 Cincinnati Red Stockings, the first professional team in the sport. When the National Association was formed in 1871 - the first true pro baseball league as we know it - Wright landed in Boston and helped establish a dynasty there. He was accompanied in both spots by older brother Harry, who served as the player/manager of the teams. 

But soon after his arrival in Boston, the light bulb in George Wright's brain went off. If baseball was such a great game, more people should be playing it. They would need equipment to do so, and such items as baseballs, bats, gloves, safety equipment, etc. were becoming standardized. Why not get in on the financial ground floor in the 1870s? Which he did.

Spalding was a teammate of George Wright in Boston in the first half of the 1870s. He moved to Chicago in 1876, played three years there and then retired. Al finished with a career record of 252-65, numbers that were helped by leading his league in pitching wins for six straight years. In 1877, Spalding starting wearing a glove as his appearances on the field started to diminish. Gloves were unusual at that point - you probably could pick out a baseball player by his mangled hands at this point in history - but he liked the concept and convinced some others to use one. And once gloves became universal, the game changed for good and for the better. 

Upon his return to his native Chicago area, Spalding had the same idea as Wright. Why not start a sporting goods business? The idea worked well in the Midwest too. Soon Al had a chain of stores, and started working on other elements of the business. For example, he helped produce an annual guide for baseball that became the top reference source in the country on such matters. 

Orens makes it clear that Wright is more of a good guy in the story. Spalding wasn't above exaggerating or even lying about matters. The best example was when baseball formed a commission on how to figure out how baseball was created. Even though it clearly evolved from other games that came over from Europe, Spalding helped ram through a conclusion on very shaky evidence that Abner Doubleday invented baseball in Cooperstown, New York - even though Doubleday was elsewhere at the time. 

Orens' book has some interesting information between its covers. In hindsight, the concept of a professional sport developed quite quickly. It was something of a regional specialty when the Civil War helped spread it to new areas around the country. Once teams started forming, it was almost inevitable that one city would play a team from its neighbor. It was also inevitable that eligibility and financial rules would get bent along the way ... in other words, teams would figure out a way to lure the best players with under-the-table cash. The cure for that was professionalism. 

The last few chapters aren't quite as gripping. Spalding led an around-the-world tour one offseason in an effort to promote the game. There is a book out there written about that entire experience. But it's still difficult to make a series of exhibition games from long ago dramatic. We hear about Wright's involvement in the eventual growth of golf and lawn tennis as well as something called roller polo (as Orens writes, it's indoor hockey on roller skates). George sold some merchandise in the latter even if the game's 19th-century popularity was short-lived. Some loose ends are tied together in the final main chapter, including the players' attempt at starting their own league in 1890 in order to make negotiations with owners much less one-sided. Spoiler alert: It didn't work. 

"Selling Baseball" accomplishes its goal of illuminating the story about how Wright and Spalding leveraged their on-field success to earn themselves some money and promote baseball and other sports in the process, and does it quickly and professionally. It's hard to say if such a book will find a good-sized audience, but it's nice to have such a publication out there for those interested in the subject.

Three stars

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Review: The Last of His Kind (2024)

By Andy McCullough

It took about until, oh, Page 7 for me to realize that reading this book was going to be a treat. 

"The Last of His Kind" is a biography of baseball standout Clayton Kershaw, and the text opens about Kershaw's preparation for each start on the pitching mound. It's a five-day ritual, more or less. Kershaw probably would be admit to be something of a prisoner of routine in such matters, but he feels that he must go through certain steps along the way in order to be ready for each game. Who can argue? It has worked for him almost all the time, so it is repeated over and over again. 

The opening carries plenty of detail, and it reveals much about the subject's personality. Kershaw is a friendly, interesting person during the four days leading up to the start. But once Work Day arrives, he turns grumpy and sullen. He might as well have a sign around his neck saying "Don't Bother Trying to Talk to Me." There are many ways to be great in sports, and this is the method that Kershaw has used. 

I sometimes wonder if biographies about current athletes work, mostly because their story is unfinished. But that issue doesn't come up in this book by Andy McCullough, who writes for The Athletic. There's plenty to talk about here, thanks to what went into it. Not only did McCullough talk to a ridiculous number of people - 215 - he also had the full cooperation of Kershaw himself and his family. That allows the book to author present a full portrait. 

Kershaw's story is strong enough to carry the reader through his entire life, including childhood. You'd have to stay he started things as a long shot, since his parents separated and divorced before he reached teenager status. With Dad out of the picture and Mom trying to scrape up enough money to keep the family fed and housed, Clayton learned to realize on himself if he wanted to get somewhere. 

It turned out he was good at athletics - can you believe he was actually a center on the high school football team for a while? - but baseball was his strong point. Kershaw received some coaching near the end of his prep days, and some tweaks in mechanics helped turn him into a top prospect. The Dodgers were thrilled to see him available at No. 7 in the amateur draft; Andrew Miller, by the way, went No. 6. Most importantly, the bonus check helped wipe out all of his mother's existing debts and then some. 

Kershaw's rise in the Dodger system was swift. He signed at age 18, and two years later in 2008 he was starting for Los Angeles. Clayton arrived for good in 2009, and improved for a couple of years until he reached stardom levels in 2011. How does 21-5, 2.28 ERA sound for statistics? It sounds like a Cy Young Award winner, and he was. Kershaw stayed among the game's best throughout the 2010s, winning two more Cys and a Most Valuable Player trophy along the way.

But no matter how hard Kershaw worked in his five-day routine, he couldn't single-handedly raise the Dodgers into World Series champs. Baseball fans in the East didn't have that many chances to see him pitch in those years, unless they stayed up late. When Kershaw did have the nation watching him in that era, for example in playoff games, things had a habit of going wrong. It was frustrating for everyone connected with Kershaw, even if he wasn't at fault strictly speaking much of the team. His career record in the postseason entering 2025 is 13-13 with a 4.49 ERA. 

Happily all concerned, the breaks changed in 2020. That was the year of the pandemic, of course, when games were played in mostly empty stadiums. The Dodgers won their first world title in more than three decades, and Kershaw went 2-0/2.31 in the World Series. No one could say he wasn't a winner after that. Clayton has been quite good since then, although injuries limited him to only seven games in 2024. He had to sit and watch his teammates win another title. We'll see what happens next, even if most of his baseball story is written.

What's more, Kershaw has a house full of kids (four) these days, and he apparently discovered what he was missing in terms of stability in his childhood. Kershaw has doted on the kids whenever possible, making special arrangements to spend quality time with them. Maybe the transition to retirement from the game will be easier than this driven athlete ever thought it might be. 

McCullough found plenty of great stories about Kershaw and the Dodgers along the way. We learn about what drives a future Hall of Famer like this. As McCullough writes in the prologue, "He understood that he could never stay satisfied. But he could also never lose what made him special." 

It's rare that a sports biography about someone who is still play can grab the reader immediately and hold on to him through the acknowledgements. "The Last of His Kind" does exactly that. Buy it now, thank me later.

Five stars

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Review: The Basketball 100 (2024)

By David Aldridge and John Hollinger

It's time for another sports history lesson from your friends at The Athletic.

The "publication" (mostly on line, although the New York Times uses its work too) came  up with a list of the top 100 football players a while back. It was all right, although I wasn't as enthusiastic as some other readers.

Now it's time to try the formula on pro basketball players. Thus "The Basketball 100" followed its football counterparts into the bookstores. I found the execution of this one a little bit better than its pigskin associate.

The idea, of course, is timeless. Look over the history of a particular sport or team, come up with the list of the top 10/25/100/500 players, and rank them in order. Then biographies are assigned of the players involved, and you are on your way toward a book. 

David Aldridge and John Hollinger, two familiar names in the basketball media, came up with a rather complicated way of coming up with an initial ranking. It's explained near the back of the book, and the numbers merely serves as a guide for further work. Considerations include championships, individual awards and achievements, all-time statistics, etc. The pair also uses some individual advanced metrics in their rankings. While they no doubt have a good deal of value, I'm on the outside looking in on such matters since I don't follow such things in basketball very closely. 

At that point they had a list of around 100 names, and then the internal debates began. Who goes where? There are two obvious problem areas in this sort of game. The first centers on how how to rank today's players. It's not too early to consider someone like Steph Curry as one of the greatest guards of all time - perhaps in the top five, depends on where you might position such players as LeBron James and Kobe Bryant. Others with shorter careers, such as Nikola Jokic (29 years old at this writing), are harder to rate in terms of history. Someone like Jokic is bound to move up in the near future in many eyes, since durability is a valuable asset. But where to place him now is difficult.

Then there are those who had a shortened or modified career for one reason of another. Grant Hill looked like he was on his way to super-stardom when injuries slowed him down considerably. He still played for a long time, but his march toward the top 20 took an unforced detour. Someone like Bill Walton had his career shortened by chronic injuries. You'd probably say he had a very high one-season peak value but not a particularly long career value, if you get the difference. It's tough to compare that career to one such as Robert Parish's, who had a much longer period of effective play but certainly didn't match Walton's play at his best.

There are also a few players on the list who are hard to put in a category. Spencer Haywood certainly had top 100 talent, but some of it was unfulfilled. He gets credit here for challenging the age-restriction on the NBA draft - something that was important but had nothing to do with his play on the court. Then there's Dennis Rodman, certainly one of the great rebounders in NBA history on an inch-for-inch basis and someone who played on a lot of winning teams. Is that enough to crack the top 100? I can see some logic in that argument, but I'm decidedly not sure. And as far as trying to figure out if George Mikan was a better player than Kawhi Leonard, well, good luck with that. (They are placed next to each other here.)

Once all of that is done, the authors go through the players with good-sized biographies. Here's where the book takes a step up. Most of the stories are quite well done, and some of them leave the reader almost disappointed when they are over because they are so well researched and written. They were a bit better than the ones in the football version of the top 100. I'm a little curious as to why Steve Nash was No. 39 on the hoops list and fellow point guard Bob Cousy was No. 40 - even if I admire both players. But in the long run, I guess it doesn't matter too much.

The point is that "The Basketball 100" offers a good, solid history lesson about the game of pro basketball. For those looking for some information on the all-time greats, it's a reasonable place to start.

Four stars

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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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