From Publishers Weekly
Baseball's Texas Rangers were the Washington Senators before they were moved in 1972 by owner and political-insider Bob Short, whom the author describes as "Hubert Humphrey's bagman." In 1973, Shropshire first began covering the Rangers, a group of has-beens and never-weres, for the Fort Worth Star-Telegram. No one could play ball, but everybody could drink, chase women and use "ability pills"-amphetamines. We see the likes of Rico Carty, so slow "you could time him with a sun dial"; bonus baby David Clyde, who would be finished within a year; and Jim Bibby, known for his fastball and his "apparatus of manhood." Manager Whitey Herzog, who did a fine job retooling the team and would go on to success elsewhere, was replaced by Billy Martin in 1974. Between Martin's almost daily fistfights, the rantings of Jimmy "Fear Strikes Out" Piersall and the riot that ensued at 10-Cent Beer Night in Cleveland, the Rangers overachieved and finished second in the American League West. But these guys played over 20 years ago. Only those few fans who actually read books during rain delays will want to transport themselves to the locker-room shenanigans of a lousy team of the 1970s. Photos.
Copyright 1996 Reed Business Information, Inc.
--This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.
The Texas Rangers baseball team is the only nonexpansion club never to appear in the postseason playoffs. Shropshire covered the team for the
Forth Worth Star Telegram from 1973 through 1975, particularly notable years because the Ranger managers were Whitey Herzog and Billy Martin, two of the game's best strategists and most memorable characters. The Herzog season (1973) was awful baseball-wise, but along the way, Shropshire learned a great deal about the game at the hotel bar from Herzog, who survived the Rangers to forge a successful managerial career over the next decade. Replacing Herzog on the hotel bar stool was Billy Martin, a master at quickly resuscitating drowning teams and at starting fights with his booze-fueled tongue. He does some of both here. This is a funny, revealing,
Ball Fourlike romp through mid-seventies baseball, an era whose off-field excesses are best summed up by this Latin player's account of a good day at the park: "Go two-for-two and score big blonde." Shropshire offers the perfect antidote for those weepy-eyed tributes to baseball's pastoral beauty.
Wes Lukowsky
--This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.