I love this book. There, I said it. And I'll probably say it about a lot of books. And I'm fine with that.
So, we have very old fashioned baseball (it's 1912) and a murder entrenched in the not quite so idealistic world of old fashioned baseball. And it's written by a guy who's a member of the Society for American Baseball Research, so it's not like he's pulling his information from the center of left field (pun intended). What is there not to love?!??!
Plus (there's always a plus in my most loved books) there are a few anecdotes scattered throughout the novel that just make a person like me that loves history and especially tracing things through time (and if you've read my other blog "Daily Dose" you've probably heard me complain about a bunch of certain misconceptions used by the media when it comes to history [cough: Fox News/Conservatives]). Anywho. You have to remember that this is historical fiction, but I think I've taken enough history courses to be able to definitively say that your imagination is often better than a history book to explain societal relations. But I digress. Here's a few snap shots of these "pluses" in action:
"The game remained scoreless into the top of the ninth inning. And that's when I figured out how Hal Chase did it.
Jake Stahl hit a grounder to third to open our half of the inning, and I kept my eyes on Chase from the moment the bat made contact. While the ball skipped to the third baseman, Chase stayed anchored well off the first base bag. Then just before the ball was fielded, he broke for the base. When the third baseman's throw arrived, Chase was hustling as hard as he could to take the throw at first--but his initial delay ensured that he wouldn't be in time to catch the ball cleanly. The son of a bitch. He was really throwing the game.
Yesterday, with the sight of a dead man still fresh in my eyes, I would have thought that murder was the most heinous of crimes. But now I'd seen Hal Chase try to throw a baseball game. It was an offense that seemed worse than murder--a crime less gruesome, but a sacrilege more sinister."
"By our second week back in Boston, with Peggy still on Cape Cod, I started to read the newspapers. Any page without box scores on it was unfamiliar territory to me, but I decided to explore the news sections and find out what was going on in the world--not due to any sudden interest in international affairs, but because I thought it would give me more to talk about with Peggy
Since the presidential nominating conventions were coming up, it seemed a good time to start following the campaigns. I read about the opening of the Republican convention in Chicago, expecting it would be straightforward and easy to understand. I assumed that President Taft would automatically be nominated to head the Republican ticket again. But then Teddy Roosevelt's followers got mad at Taft's nomination by what they called "conservatives" and went off to form a "Progressive Party." Great--just when I start to follow politics, they complicate it by forming a third party. Well, at least it's supposed to go smoothly with the Democrats; according to the papers, Champ Clark is an easy winner for the nomination. Not that it mattered--I wouldn't be old enough to vote yet."
Then of course, you can just marvel at the type of man Mickey Rawlings is, to accept his life as a utility player, never destined for stardom. This book is awesome. It's the first in a series of currently, I believe, 5 such mystery books. I've read 2 or 3 others and loved them just as much. It's fun since this is the 1st in the series to see where he started out at, because here he meets his long time friends (when I met them) (and oh what a meeting that was), and when I read his books he was quite a few years older and no longer the "rookie" player. Of course I'll link up to as many as I can find, hopefully in order.
I hope you enjoy these as much as I've enjoyed them. And maybe you'll be like me and REALLY want to read the biography of a certain Ty Cobb, haha.
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