New York Nine

What a hypocrite I am I start this site saying oh I'll post everyday, at least and here I've let so many days pass and now its Thursday, for shame. But oh, there was a reason for my brief hiatus, a book by the late, great David Halberstam, Summer of 49'. If you haven't heard of him, Halberstam since the early 60s has been regarded as one of the preeminent journalists in America, covering topics all over the cultural landscape, from politics, war, culture, and my favorite, sports. He has since died in the last year very suddenly and it is truly a great loss for journalists everwhere of every ilk. Indeed, even blogger-extraordinaire Bill Simmons credits him as one of him as one of his greatest influences as a writer. Covering the epic 1949 pennant race between the joe dimaggio's yankees and ted williams' red sox, Halberstam not only tells a story of a great summer of baseball, but gives the reader a glimse of a very different America, altogether simpler and yet simulateously perplexing.

Better than any other writer, Halberstam truly gives remarkable insight into the players and how the game was played all those years ago. It was a time where the media was far less omniprecent but still managed to shape how America viewed some of its greatest stars. The Yankee Clipper, Joltin' Joe was as Halberstam notes a Hemingway Hero come to life, unbelievably powerful and talented, seemingly everything looking positively elegant and regal. He captured the hearts and minds of fans everywhere as the embodiment of the American dream, born of a poor immigrant fisherman, Joe ascended to the heights of fame and fortune through his stoic and and soldierly demeanor. But yet beneath the public view was a man tortured by demons, smoking and drinking coffee to the point of giving him uclers and a penchant for being a hermit, he was as a teammate remaks, leading the league in room service.



In contrast you have the great Ted Williams, a player with seemingly boundless talent and ability to disapoint in the eyes of many Bostonians. Indeed, he was a brash and extroverted man, unwilling to take criticism lying down he fought every battle and in turn lost a nation of fans's hearts. He would curse them out, flip them the bird, and famously never tipped his cap, never giving an inch, never comprimising. And yet he was a player who dedicated his entire being to his craft, hitting. He praticed it everywhere in the outfield on trains, wherever and whenever, constantly worrying about bat speed pitch selection and everything under the sun. But this was a side many never saw, and instead people focused on the negative, his "un-clutch" ness, his surly demeanor, and anything else to gloss over his greatness.



What also struck me about this book was how very different the lives of these players were. Long before the days of Scott Boras and mega TV deals players fought for every dollar because they were at the mercy of owners who could buy them and sell them as slaves. Indeed, it is said the yankee teams of this era were so ferocious because the veterans depended on those world series checks to live as they were accustomed to, and as a result they rode rookies, even the great yogi berra, especially hard. There was no margin for error, their goal must be met. but this simultaneously made them all the more human, none of them playing for millions upon millions of dollars like the current players do, and lived "normal" lives. They had part time jobs in the offseason, they worked for every penny they got.


But with the simplicity, also came the prejudices of the time. Indeed, Jackie Robinson had already broken the color barrier, but the race wars were hardly over. Perticuarly with established clubs like the yankees and red sox, ownership felt it was beneath them to have to stoop to the level of needing african-americans to make them better. In truth, both clubs had first cracks at signing the great Willie Mays, then with a Negro league club, but both said no! Steeped in prejudice ownership by both teams deemed the Say Hey Kid "Not Yankee material" or "Not Red Sox material." It is easy to make this era into a perfect storytale, but as Halberstam so defty demonstrates, this was a time like any other, possessing both good and bad.


For anyone looking for a great read about an exciting time in baseball history, or just history in general I highly reccommend picking this up. With unconvential candor and elegance, Halberstam gives the reader a convincing and enticing portrait of a game and a nation in transition. From his exciting play-by-play description of big games, to even the simplest anecdote, Halberstam keeps the reader riveted throughout. Like no other book about baseball, this one shows us how things have changed so much, the game of baseball, remains constant, as engaging and thrilling since the days Joltin Joe and Teddy Ballgame stepped into the box.