I’m so far behind in books I want to read and that are staring mockingly at me on my shelf that the last place I should go to kill 20 minutes before my train is the Borders on 34th St. by Penn Station (with the possible exception of the rest room on the 8th Ave. side). But here I am — the bookstore, not the john — and no sooner do I get in the door that three baseball books make their presence felt immediately, front and center on the New Hardcovers display rack.
I didn’t even know about two of them, which makes my visit even more enlightening. The Steinbrenner biography by Bill Madden has gotten some play, and the arc of the Boss’s Yankees ownership begins just before my fandom, so that’s a must read for me. Bios on Hank Aaron and Reggie Jackson were right next to Big Stein’s — Aaron has always been a huge favorite of mine, so there’s a must. Reggie will have to wait.
I think it’s interesting that these three would have such prominent spots among the many books of all types — political, humor, cookbooks — that are featured in the most important real estate in the store. All are famous baseball characters for sure, who transcended sports to everyday life in their time to one degree or another, probably Aaron (the Last Hero, says the subtitle) the most, although I wasn’t aware of his accomplishments and their cultural significance until later, followed by Steinbrenner (the Last Lion), by whom all sports owners are now measured. But Jackson (the First Hot Dog?), whose impact was inextricably connected to that of the Boss, also changed the way sports stars and celebrities connected with press and the fans, hitting the nascent free agency era while in his prime.
There were actually two other baseball books on the same display, though on the back side, facing into the store. Satch, Dizzy and Rapid Robert about those 1930s-50s star pitchers looks right up my alley, and a volume about baseball’s unwritten rules that seems well-timed with all the recent silliness regarding A-Rod’s unfortunate path back to first base on future perfect game artist Dallas Braden’s mound in Oakland.
So the Steinbrenner and Aaron tomes made it into my collection. If I ever actually get through them both before I’ve forgotten how to write, I’ll post some thoughts… I’ve been midway through a quite good biography of Harry Houdini for a couple of months, the beginning of the baseball season and other factors conspiring in its gathering bedside dust.
I could use a Yankees rainout or two, like tonight in Detroit, and perhaps a game ending before midnight to get these cracking.