1|2|3|4 excerpted from the Introduction
I still see Willie Wilson sometimes, at banquets and reunions and so forth and, do you know, after all these years, that crazy sumbuck is still mad at me? God almighty, people are funny. He would never have made it to the big leagues his way! Well, if nobody talks to Willie now -- I mean if we let baseball stay the way it is -- it's going to keep swinging for the fences, popping up, killing rallies, and looking like hell. With a good manager, the game can be straightened out. But we have to get together, face the facts, and act before it's too late.
My profession is never going to solve its problems by shaking the ballparks with rock 'n' roll, juicing the ball, and bringing the fences in. All the 15-13 scores in the world ain't going to do it, and neither will letting every damn team with a winning record into the postseason. Beyond all the home-run hoopla we've been seeing, something else is going on: Lots of good fans are losing interest in the big leagues because it's a great game being played lousy -- and managed even worse.
Baseball still teaches the same things it always did, when we're smart enough to know the game and manage it right. I say, let's stop handing today's Willie Wilsons millions a year for fouling up their swings, misunderstanding the sport, and driving away the fans. Let's get some of the money out of it and some of the brains back in. Let's motivate people to excel. Let's get the National Pastime back.
I'm not wearing any of those caps anymore, at least for now. For the past few years, I've made do with a khaki fishing hat, but I've seen the game through its biggest changes and from every possible angle. I'm like the good third-base coach on a close play: He knows the game, he can see all the action in front of him, he's in the right place to wave that runner home or hold him up. I can see how the parts all fit. There are other guys out there, too, baseball men who know a line drive from a luxury box, and maybe they'll join the conversation. If the genius lawyers and salesmen and tax collectors running the game now want to listen, they can. If not, let 'em enjoy their swim. It's gonna be cold.
A lot of players, parents, and fans across America have yelled the title of this book at the men in blue. "Hey, ump!" they'll holler, "You're missin' a great game back there!" Well, baseball itself is a little nearsighted right now, and there ain't any harm in riding it some. Maybe we can be the bench jockeys.
So have a beer, if you like, as we talk about what really makes this game the National Pastime. Meet everybody from Casey to the Splendid Splinter, from Tom Seaver to Ozzie Smith. Try on a few caps and see if they fit. Just do me a favor: When we're done, hang 'em back up on the wall. It's too much fun remembering how they got there in the first place.
|
