Afternoon Baseball

I received a copy of "The Last Nine Innings" recently, and although I'm a bit tardy on a review, it's merely because I've been busy with work and trying to give this book the thorough reading it deserves.
Charles Euchner takes Game 7 of the 2001 World Series -- the fall of a giant, Mariano Rivera, and of a dynasty, the New York Yankees, interspersed with gritty pitching from three titans of their time, the last games of Paul O'Neill and Scott Brosius, and a rookie almost-hero -- and extrapolates that into a study of the new game of baseball in the second century of the modern era.
The inning-by-inning approach is a winner, too; accessible to the more-casual fan or someone looking for a narrative, while allowing proper treatment of the analytical and statistical topics that the junkie will want to focus upon.

This is not simply a rehashing of the 2001 World Series or of Buster Olney's work on the subject. Rather, it's a recognition that the players in this game were at the top of their sport for reasons that reflected changes in the game itself. The vastly different workout routines of Steve Finley, Curt Schilling, Roger Clemens and Andy Pettitte, and others are examined, not just to say they work hard (obvious), but why their approaches and methods are so much more successful than traditional methods of training.
The revolution in treating injuries, particularly to pitchers, is entering its fourth decade by the present date. But the new revolution is going to be in preventing such occurrences. The men in this book -- Clemens, Rivera, Schilling and Johnson -- are not only examples of the recovery revolution, but display the mechanics that Dr. James Andrews and those like him will use to train the next generation of pitchers. Yet, all of this is explained and captured within a chapter or two. That's the key -- substance with a respect for the reader's attention span and interest level.

The physics of swinging a bat, of throwing a pitch. The models of statistical analysis to fielding, or to stealing bases, or of game situations -- all are woven into the narrative -- logically, and with relevant context -- of this one particular game. The global revolution, which isn't new but whose intensity is only gaining strength, is also addressed. On the flip side to the statistical revolution, which is given the credit it deserves as a game-changing function, the psychology of the game is also emphasized, for managers as well as players. All of these topics, together with anecdotes from the participants, educate even the knowledgeable baseball fan without sacrificing the telling of the climax to one of the most-thrilling World Series ever played; one that was played in the backdrop of the national tragedy of 9/11.

What are the weaknesses of this book? Very few, if any. The book does, at times, feel like a bio on the pitchers in the game, but there is excellent treatment given to Derek Jeter, Matt Williams, Mark Grace, Shane Spencer, Paul O'Neill, and others.
The fielding analysis of Derek Jeter leaves the reader to make up his or her own mind -- perhaps unavoidable, since this is a book about 2001, not the scope of Jeter's career, but the question lays somewhat unanswered.
The way the book tells the story -- in the present tense during the game, but also in the present tense often when talking about the years after -- is actually not a problem. I didn't see any confusions with the timeline.

To really, really nitpick, there are a couple times where opportunities are missed -- in discussing the legacy of Randy Johnson (his height) on the game, it is not mentioned that nearly every Hall of Fame pitcher has been 6 feet or taller. Tall pitchers have always been the rule. On the other hand, there's an amazing analysis, tucked into a discussion on scoring runs, that puts a number on how great Joe DiMaggio's hitting streak really was.
Also, Tim McCarver is, in my mind, given a little too much credit for his accurate prediction that moving the infield in on the final play would lead to a blooper. Being right once does not a prophet make. Yet the book delves into that very early. I said I didn't like Rivera pitching two innings that game -- said it after the 8th that it was too easy and the announcers too sure of Yankee victory, that if Rivera was ever going to fail, this was it -- and I also said the infield shouldn't play in, but I was in a dorm room at college, so about four people heard me. Doesn't make me a savant of the sport, either. But I also don't like McCarver, and I remember when he used to hate Jeter passionately before he turned a nauseating 180 to hero-worship.

But all in all, it's a book that, even as a Yankee fan, shows you the great light that the game of baseball can bring from the most broad, emotional instincts to the deepest, analytical, abstract levels. It happens to highlight two genuinely great teams packed with Hall of Famers and others that were stars of their day. It also demonstrates the frustrating, glorious unpredictability of the game -- one jammed shot determined the difference when nothing else could.

At the end of the last nine innings of 2001, baseball had been changed. This book captures much of what that change was and how many of those changes had already occurred -- Game 7 just awoke us to them.