William B. Mead’s Two
Spectacular Seasons is the story of baseball’s 1930
and 1968 seasons. He chose them because
they were antithetical and extreme: 1930 was dominated by hitters and 1968
by pitchers. Unfortunately, the seasons do not lend themselves to
comparison (or contrast) quite as easily as one might think. The result is
that Mead’s book is a loose collection of anecdotes, quotes, and
statistics having to do with those two seasons, but which do not cohere in
any way.
The chapters are organized thematically around a quote from someone who
coached or managed in the season in question. A chapter on Hack
Wilson is titled, “He ain’t got no neck”; one that has something
to do with the 1930
Dodgers is titled, “The wind caught the ball... and it conked me. It
could have happened to anybody.” Another that treats Bob
Gibson is titled, “Gibson’s got some kind of vicious desire….
Hell, he’d challenge Michael the Archangel, if he had to.” The quirky
titles are appropriate for the equally quirky writing in the chapters,
which is discursive to the point of being distracting. These chapters
possess little thematic unity, leading the reader to wonder what the point
was by the end of each one.
For the record, Donie
Bush had 1 stolen base in 1922 (though
he finished with 404).
The book’s saving grace ought to have been the interviews, which Mead
did with players from both seasons. But even these turn out flat, with
droning clichés about how so-and-so “really could play” and repeated
variations of, “Boy, I’ll tell ya, he was a good one.” A chance to
interview people who played with Babe
Ruth, Lou
Gehrig, Lefty
Grove, Jimmie
Foxx, Rogers
Hornsby, Mel
Ott, and Dizzy
Dean should guarantee interest. I am sorry to say that Mead simply
blew his opportunity to capture numerous potentially fascinating
experiences.
It may seem strange that I chose to review a stinky out-of-print book,
but I have my reasons. First, I want to remind my serious readers of their
potential as researchers and writers to create valuable baseball history
and analysis. Quite frankly, anyone could have written this book and most
anyone could have done a better job. Second, I want to suggest that
researchers and writers cooperate more to produce quality books. No writer
working with someone else would have said that Al Simmons played in the
Baker Bowl, or that Roger Maris hit 61 home runs in 1962 because someone
in a team of writers would have caught the mistakes. And surely several
people working together would have figured out that interviewing Al
Lopez or Sparky
Adams was a chance of a lifetime.
Most of all, baseball historians and analysts ought to remember that
the goal of creating a book is not to get published, but to advance
knowledge. It might be exciting and tempting to think of a neat title
above your name, but the glory comes when others adopt your ideas because
those ideas provide insight into previously misunderstood phenomena. A
book should emerge from effortless determination to understand and not
from the image of a finished product. Set your ego aside, learn all you
can, and make your ideas public. We are, after all, still trying to
identify dozens of books by William
James Sidis.
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