Book review: Theology

I won't be heading to Fenway Park this evening after all. My roommate broke her ankle yesterday due to a rugby accident, and so we will not be seeing Daisuke Matsuzaka nibble around the strikezone and get pulled before the sixth inning. Sad.

Instead, we gave the tickets to her cousin for the girl's birthday - here's hoping she gets to see a win!

Now, since I have nothing to say about the Red Sox today that can't be summed up with "Dear God, why!?", I've decided to start a series of posts reviewing the baseball books I so avidly devour, both during the summer, and over the offseason (which is looming closer by the day). Full disclosure: I was inspired in this endeavor by this article on the Boston Globe's website. It was less than I expected, presenting a list instead of the synopses the texts deserved.

So without further ado, hopefully the first in a series of reviews, a look at John Frascella's Theology: How a Boy Wonder Led the Red Sox to the Promised Land.


I have to say, I was sadly disappointed in the book. I know Theo Epstein is a notoriously private person, but I was hoping for more insight then I could get from a Wikipedia page.

There were literally no quotations or insights that I hadn't already read in the Boston Globe or Herald, and the book read more like a high schooler's rendition of a biography than a professional's. There were several typographical errors in my copy, which any editor should have caught, and it just made the whole thing seem even more like the project of a fan rather than an actual book.

I'm sorry to say I would not recommend this book to anyone but the most casual of fans; if you're anything close to die hard (as I assume my readers are), you already know that Theo has a small son, that he and Larry Lucchino aren't exactly bosom buddies, and the gorilla suit angle has been beaten to death.


Read the Wikipedia page instead: it's better written, and it's free.

The Most [Terrible] Time of the Year

It's that time of year again. The time when radio stations start playing Christmas music between their weekly NFL predictions, when a forecast for snow is still exciting rather than daunting, and when baseball is rarely in the news. Sure, SportsCenter might spend thirty seconds on trade possibilities and minor pickups, but until a major free agent is signed, people are more worried about touchdowns, power plays, and free throws than home runs and strikeouts.

That being said, I would like to apologize in advance: there won't be lengthy posts every day for a while. I'll try to put something up for you guys daily, but I can't promise anything - especially since the end of semester rush is here, and I think my professors are literally trying to bury me in work.

Needless to say, this is not my favorite time of year, but it brightened up a bit yesterday when I got a package in the mail:


The Teammates by David Halberstam is about Johnny Pesky, Ted Williams, Dom DiMaggio, and Bobby Doerr, and the special relationship they shared as teammates and friends. It was recommended to me by several of my readers, and though I'm just thirty-six pages in, I would like to thank you all, as I can tell it's going to be a mainstay of my baseball library for years to come.

It was Never About the Babe is by Jerry M. Gutlon, and promises to be an interesting read, as it discusses the racism that was inherent in the management of the Sox for many years. There was no "Curse of the Bambino" (though Dan Shaughnessy thanks you for believing in it and buying his books), and this book will explain exactly why and how the Red Sox failed for so long.

As far as curses go, I'd like to take this opportunity to express my belief that there's something to that Billy Goat thing in Chicago... 101 years? Really?

And last but certainly not least is The 2010 Bill James Handbook. You've heard me say this before, and you're sure to hear it again, but I love Bill James. I pulled out the Handbook at lunch on Friday to show my friends (I could barely contain my excitement), and they just stared. I opened it up to show the pages of player stats and equations for fielding prowess, and they remained silent. Finally, one of them asked the ultimate question: "Explain to me again how you hate math?" Oh, if only there was a course on baseball statistics! Even once I explained the genius that is Bill James, they judged me. Sure, they nodded politely at all the right times, but none of them really got it, and that's fine.

Hopefully I'll be getting some more baseball books for Christmas, so I'll make it to Spring Training alive and (reasonably) sane. Until then, I'll carry on my illicit love affair with Bill James and Co., and my friends can judge me all they want.

I Dream of Baseball

Today was one of those rare days that desire and opportunity collide. Yes, I took a nap. And it was an awesome nap, complete with confusing dream fragments that you barely remember when you wake up. However, I remember bits and pieces: Daisuke Matsuzaka was involved, and I distinctly remember something about the logistics of VORP.

The man of my dreams... literally. I think I have a problem.

Normally, I forget my dreams so completely that I would doubt I ever had them, except that I learned in Psychology class that everybody dreams, no exceptions. The only thing I could think of upon waking was that if my dreams are always about baseball, I wish I could remember them better. This got me thinking: most people (specifically 19-year-old girls) don't dream of baseball and all of its statistical glory, and I'm willing to bet that if they did, they wouldn't be nearly as excited about it as I am.

Clearly, my subconscious understands that I thirst for baseball discourse in my everyday life, and though my friends humor me occasionally, I never really get to talk about it in any sort of depth (except on Twitter). You would think it would be easy to find people who want to talk baseball, but alas, that's not the case. Most of my friends don't follow it at all, and the rest know the basics (ERA, batting average, etc.); to them, Bill James might as well be that awkward kid in the dining hall who only eats white food.

From April- October (November this year) I survive this by watching baseball, and reading the copious amounts of material written about it. However, in the winter I mostly rely on baseball books, both fiction and nonfiction, for my daily fix. It's an expensive habit, but much cheaper than hiring a therapist to listen to me wax poetic about the value of WHIP and quality starts versus W-L%. However, I'm running out of things to read, and, much like an animal preparing to hibernate, I'm looking for literary suggestions for the bleak months ahead. What's your favorite baseball book? Do you prefer biographies, fiction, or history? Help!