Here's the Pitch

Fenway 1912 was just awarded the 2012 Seymour Medal by the Society for American Baseball Research as the best baseballbook of biography or history of 2011.

Below, from January 2008, is my pitch that sold the book, which came to me while I was driving to the dump one Saturday morning:

" . . .As you well know, Fenway Park opened in 1912 and the 2011 season represents the ballpark’s 100th season. There are certain to be a great number of book titles that will be published tied to this anniversary, primarily illustrative in nature. But I think I have a winner.

I propose to do a book called “1912: Fenway’s First Season and the First Great World Series.” The book would primarily be a narrative covering Boston’s 1912 season and the subsequent World Series versus the New York Giants, a best-of-seven affair that lasted eight games due to a tied game, amid charges of fixes and frauds, featuring pitchers Smoky Joe Wood and Christy Mathewson, New York Giants manager John McGraw and characters like Nuf Ced McGreevey of the Royal Rooters, Mayor John Fitzgerald, and Sport Sullivan, who would later become notorious for his involvement in the Black Sox scandal. The Series was a nail-biter that wasn’t decided until the tenth inning of the final (eighth) game, an absolute classic between two baseball behemoths.

But inside this narrative I will also tell the story – and stories – of Fenway Park. For example, when, on April 26, 1912, Red Sox first baseman High Bradley hit the first home run over what will one day be called the Green Monster, that will be a takeoff point for an in-depth look at the history of that feature. The famous pitching match-up of September 6, 1912 between Smoky Joe Wood and Walter Johnson, that featured both pitchers warming up just in front of the dugout, surrounded by fans, would serve as a take off point to discuss the history of Fenway’s bullpens. In this way I can simultaneously tell the story of the season and the World Series and the story of Fenway Park.

Timing will be everything for this book. Just as Red Sox Century took advantage of the Red Sox 100th season and beat other “anniversary” books to the punch by 6 months to a year, so will 1912. I envision a pub date of either Fall 2010 or Spring 2011 so the book is available during season 100 of Fenway, the start of the celebration – and in advance of the glut of Fenway titles.

That would mean a manuscript deadline of somewhere between Fall 2009 and Spring 2010. Factoring in the time for research and writing, I think this book needs to be pitched in the next few months.

What do you think?

"Out of the Rack and Ruin"

Let America Be America Again
by Langston Hughes


Let America be America again.
Let it be the dream it used to be.
Let it be the pioneer on the plain
Seeking a home where he himself is free.

(America never was America to me.)

Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed--
Let it be that great strong land of love
Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme
That any man be crushed by one above.

(It never was America to me.)

O, let my land be a land where Liberty
Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,
But opportunity is real, and life is free,
Equality is in the air we breathe.

(There's never been equality for me,
Nor freedom in this "homeland of the free.")

Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark?
And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?

I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,
I am the Negro bearing slavery's scars.
I am the red man driven from the land,
I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek--
And finding only the same old stupid plan
Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.

I am the young man, full of strength and hope,
Tangled in that ancient endless chain
Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land!
Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need!
Of work the men! Of take the pay!
Of owning everything for one's own greed!

I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil.
I am the worker sold to the machine.
I am the Negro, servant to you all.
I am the people, humble, hungry, mean--
Hungry yet today despite the dream.
Beaten yet today--O, Pioneers!
I am the man who never got ahead,
The poorest worker bartered through the years.

Yet I'm the one who dreamt our basic dream
In the Old World while still a serf of kings,
Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true,
That even yet its mighty daring sings
In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned
That's made America the land it has become.
O, I'm the man who sailed those early seas
In search of what I meant to be my home--
For I'm the one who left dark Ireland's shore,
And Poland's plain, and England's grassy lea,
And torn from Black Africa's strand I came
To build a "homeland of the free."

The free?

Who said the free? Not me?
Surely not me? The millions on relief today?
The millions shot down when we strike?
The millions who have nothing for our pay?
For all the dreams we've dreamed
And all the songs we've sung
And all the hopes we've held
And all the flags we've hung,
The millions who have nothing for our pay--
Except the dream that's almost dead today.

O, let America be America again--
The land that never has been yet--
And yet must be--the land where every man is free.
The land that's mine--the poor man's, Indian's, Negro's, ME--
Who made America,
Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,
Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,
Must bring back our mighty dream again.

Sure, call me any ugly name you choose--
The steel of freedom does not stain.
From those who live like leeches on the people's lives,
We must take back our land again,
America!


O, yes,
I say it plain,
America never was America to me,
And yet I swear this oath--
America will be!

Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,
The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,
We, the people, must redeem
The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.
The mountains and the endless plain--
All, all the stretch of these great green states--
And make America again!

Coming Soon? The Residences at Fenway Park

On my recent book tour for the bestselling Fenway 1912, when people ask me what I think the future holds for Fenway Park, I answer “real estate.”

As I note in Fenway 1912, part of the reason Fenway Park was built where it was built in the first place was to spur real estate development. And when Fenway Park is replaced, real estate development will also be the issue.

Once the economic benefits of the Sox 100th anniversary are fully exploited by the Red Sox, and every last $250 brick and $75 book is sold [Note: my Fenway 1912 is about 1/3 the price . . . just sayin’], I expect that, ever so slowly, and likely in a whisper campaign to start, we will soon start hearing how Fenway Park, regrettably, is no longer “economically viable,” and that changing economic conditions in the game have rendered the park “economically obsolete” The Red Sox will announce, with regret, that they are reluctantly “exploring alternatives.”

This will take years, but if – or when - the team slips back into “also-ran” status and uses Fenway Park as the reason they can no longer afford to hire high-priced free agents, the inexorable move will have begun. It will not be quick and it will not be easy, because, exclusive of needed infrastructure, building a new ballpark in Boston will be a billion dollar undertaking. But billion dollar undertakings are what people like John Henry (or, if the Sox are sold, a guy like John Henry) do. Someday, and I think that day will come in the next two decades, the Red Sox will move from Fenway Park.

Note that I did not say that Fenway Park will be torn down, because it will not, but the Red Sox will no longer play there. Fenway will, however, be transformed.

I suspect some plan has already been scrawled on much more than a napkin. Remember, Mrs. Henry, Linda Pizzuti, has a background in real estate development and reportedly has been given some authority in this regard around Fenway Park. I think she and other real estate developers look at Fenway Park and don’t just see images of Babe Ruth and Ted Williams cavorting across the field. They look at the stands and see images of hotels and restaurants and condos with names like “The Residences at Fenway Park.”

I think the field itself – and the left field wall – will be preserved and maintained as they are. So will the façade on Yawkey way and perhaps a portion of the bleachers. But I expect the grandstand and most other seating areas to be converted into commercial, residential and hotel space, the most exclusive of which will offer views of the field. Perhaps a few seats will remain so the field can occasionally retain its’ “historic” use, but by and large I think the field will prove to be a private backyard and playground for the wealthy residents of the grandstand condos and hotels. I can envision nearly the entire stands being replaced by condos and hotels built within and on top of the existing structures, perhaps with some limited public access on the roof, so it will still be possible for the general public – at a price - to “experience” Fenway Park, or at least “see” it, and buy the ubiquitous souvenir. If they’re smart, they’ll include a public museum or something similar. Apart from that however, I see a luxury hotel and high priced condos – say 500 or so, starting at a couple of million dollars each, with the “best” going for upwards of $20 million. Fenway Park won’t be torn down, but it will become something it is increasingly – and sadly - becoming now; a place for the wealthy, the well-to-do and the connected. As I argue in Fenway 1912, Fenway Park has always evolved, which is why it remains today, and further evolution – not that I necessarily agree - is probably inevitable. Someday in the not too distant future, instead of saying “I’m going to Fenway,” and having everyone know you mean you are going to see the Red Sox play, you may well have to say something else.

And the next time you go to Fenway, remember that you’re not only watching a game on a field where Babe Ruth and Ted Williams once played, but perhaps from a viewpoint that some fatcat might one day enjoy while smoking a cigar and soaking in the Jacuzzi on his balcony.

Glenn Stout is the author of the best-selling Fenway 1912.

The Readers Have Spoken

The readers have spoken. Fenway 1912 is easily the best selling Fenway Park book of the season and the best selling Red Sox book of the fall, and is also a Boston Globe best seller this morning. Although Amazon may be temporarily out of copies (more are shipping to Amaqzon now), it is still easily acquired by Christmas from your local bookstore, which will either have the book in stock or can easily order it, or through other online sources such as indiebound.com or barnesandnoble.com.

For those still wondering what Fenway Park book to purchase this season, I encourage you to compare reviews of my book, which has been praised by the most respected review sources in the country, with those of other Fenway Park books. There is a reason Boston area readers have made Fenway 1912 a best seller. Then buy two books . . . as long as one of them is Fenway 1912.

After reading, you will never look at Fenway Park the same way, I promise. And if you don't believe me, here are what others have said:

“In the capable hands of Stout, it promises to make all other books about Fenway’s construction and first season obsolete.” - Sports Illustrated.com

“Glenn Stout has long been respected among literary-minded baseball fans for his meticulously researched and graceful writing about the sport, particularly on that perpetually fertile subject, the Boston Red Sox . . . Stout has come to be viewed by many as the don of the unofficial chroniclers after his definitive and refreshingly unsparing “Red Sox Century. . .’’ With his latest book, “Fenway 1912: The Birth of a Ballpark, a Championship Season, and Fenway’s Remarkable First Year,’’ Stout has crafted an ideal companion to “Red Sox Century. . .’’ Stout’s vivid writing and extraordinary research make the journey worthwhile in so many ways. Fenway, of course, takes center stage. In an appropriately sentimental remembrance of his own pivotal early adulthood experiences there, Stout recognizes the ballpark as “a place that can change your life and sometimes does. . .’’ Stout’s words stoke the reader’s mind, painting such a detailed and vivid portrait of the ballplayers and ballpark that you will likely feel as if you were in the creaky grandstand yourself. It’s so much more fulfilling than the images of spoiled modern stars we saw blow their chances this September. And perhaps cathartic, too.”- Chad Finn, Boston Globe.

“Stout, who edits the annual volume of “Best American Sports Writing,” takes as his subject not Fenway today. . . but Fenway as it came into existence in the winter of 1911-12 and as the scene of five games of the 1912 World’s Series (as it was then called), one of the most thrilling in the long history of what sportswriters call the Fall Classic. It’s a fascinating story, and Stout tells it very well.” - Jonathan Yardley, The Washington Post

“Glenn Stout’s Fenway 1912 offers up a stunningly rich buffet of pleasures for the baseball fan, centered around the construction and opening of Fenway Park almost a century ago and the wild season that followed . . .To say more would be to give too much away: This book is a must-read for any Red Sox fan and a great choice for anyone who enjoys a dip into baseball history at its best. If the developments of the World Series that year seem too outlandish to believe, blame that on baseball, not the author.” -Steve Kettman, Huffington Post

“During the 2012 baseball season, the enterprising owners of the Red Sox – just like their predecessors – will be eager to capitalize on the financial windfall generated by Fenway’s 100th anniversary. Red Sox players from past and present will be paraded around the sacred grounds in commemoration, hour-long specials on MLB TV will cycle through the nation’s television sets, and the team will hawk Fenway merchandise from its website and stores. Yet it is Stout, with his well-researched, comprehensive narrative, who quietly offers perhaps the most fitting tribute of all. - The Christian Science Monitor

“The one-hundredth anniversary of the construction of Boston’s Fenway Park inspires this glowing, vivid account by Glenn Stout of the first Red Sox season in their new, architecturally cutting-edge headquarters. Never the biggest or most glamorous of fields, Fenway nonetheless has sheltered its share of glory and prowess, all of which emerge in this rich rendition of the 1912 season that culminated in the Sox facing World Series rivals the New York Giants.” -Barnes and Noble Review.com

“Along with Chicago’s Wrigley Field, Boston’s Fenway Park represents the last physical connection to baseball’s early-twentieth-century history. . . Stout, editor of The Best American Sports Writing series reprises Fenway’s first year, culminating with the dramatic Sox’s victory over the New York Giants in an eight-game World Series, four games to three (the second game was declared a tie). Stout also examines the press coverage of the era. So many reporters would converge on the Series that the Sox greatly expanded the press box rather than give journalists valuable box seats. He also examines the prevalence of gambling, which would reach scandal proportions with the 1919 Black Sox, but in 1912, all the principals looked the other way. In addition, there are miniprofiles of players such as Smoky Joe Wood and Tris Speaker of the Sox as well as the larger-than-life owners and managers of the era. While some sports histories are bone-dry and distant, Stout imbues his account with a unique vibrancy and a razor-sharp intelligence. A wonderful sports book.” - Starred review, Booklist

“The book I really want to feature . . . is Glenn Stout’s Fenway 1912.. . Fenway 1912 combines what is – by far – the most detailed study of the building of Fenway park we are likely to have with an enjoyable look at the first season of the park . . . Stout lets us in on some information I don’t believe has been published before . . . Stout covers the progress of the season exceedlingly well; the games, the players and the context. . . the faith of the publisher in this author was by no means displaced.” – Bill Nowlin, Diehard Magazine

“If you are a lifelong Red Sox fan, a lifelong Red Sox hater, a rabid baseballholic or merely a casual baseball fan, Glenn Stout’s new book, Fenway 1912, is an amazing read into the birth of a ballpark, the 1912 Red Sox and the transition to the modern baseball era. His ability to weave together the tiniest detail and apparent minutiae into a rip-roaring page-turner that is hard to put down is simply amazing. If someone had told me that I’d be fascinated by the 1912 Red Sox I’d have laughed outright, but Mr. Stout is able to make the reader care about a baseball season that happened almost 100 years ago. . . Even if you are a confirmed Red Sox hater – if you love baseball you’ll find plenty to like in this book. If you know a Red Sox fan there probably isn’t a better book to give to them as gift. And if you haven’t had the privilege of visiting Fenway Park you’ll find yourself thinking about how to go to a few games in the Friendly Confines of Fenway to watch a baseball game in the oldest ballpark in the major leagues. I can whole-heartedly recommend this book. I’ll be buying several copies to give as gifts this holiday season. – Amazon reader review

“From tearing up the sod from a previous ballfield and moving it to the under-construction Fenway to details about the construction of the building to the intricacies of the daily life of the players, every detail of Fenway Park is covered in this book. Mr. Stout clearly has a passion for his material, and I am amazed at the research that must have gone into this. Anyone involved in this project is discussed: groundskeeper, architect, coaches, owners, players. Even at 416 pages, this wasn’t boring and kept me reading even though I don’t follow baseball. . . This has got to be THE definitive work on this subject. I can’t imagine even a dissertation that could be more complete.” - ADVANCE REVIEW via netgalley

“Fenway 1912 is not [just] light reading & pretty pictures. There’s going to be stuff in there that even Dick Bresciani doesn’t know. . . a book that everyone who covers this team has to buy, and read, and keep handy, so that when people ask us where the bones are buried, we can look wise and have the answer at our fingertips.“ -Boston Baseball

“To many fans, Fenway is the Mecca of baseball, a symbol of everything the game represents and aspires to be. But in 1912, it was just one of four new baseball stadiums utilizing newly developed concrete-and-steel construction methods—evidence, writes Best American Sports Writing series editor Stout (Young Woman and the Sea: How Trudy Ederle Conquered the English Channel and Inspired the World, 2009, etc.) “of just how deeply the game of baseball had become ingrained into the fabric of American life.” The Sox’ 1912 season was a remarkable one, and the author takes the reader inside the locker room, management offices and the field. The team featured such luminaries as Hall-of-Famer Tris Speaker, pitching ace “Smoky” Joe Wood, player/manager Jake Stahl and a supporting cast of characters including Duffy Lewis, “Hick” Cady, “Heinie” Wagner, Buck O’Brien and the Sox’ famous booster club the Royal Rooters. But the book’s most important character is Fenway itself, and Stout spares no detail of its design, construction and effect on the game. The author’s meticulous approach makes the book a valuable addition to baseball history . . . The author does an excellent job of portraying the differences in the game between that era—when “the owners were the kings and the players lowly serfs”—and today. Throughout, Fenway Park, “a ballpark for the heart and soul,” shines as a beacon for America’s game. Baseball diehards and historians, and of course Red Sox fans, will find much of interest in this paean to one of sport’s most famous venues.” – KIRKUS Reviews

“In his new work, Stout (Red Sox Century) turns back the clock to 1912 to capture the first season the Boston Red Sox played on their now storied home field. The author gives a detailed account of how Fenway was constructed using “reinforced concrete,” an improvement from the wooden ballpark it replaced. Of course, a ballpark is nothing without a team, and Stout weaves the story of the new ballpark into the saga of the Red Sox ownership, players, fans, and the city of Boston. . . Stout’s knowledge of the sport and passion for the game certainly come across in his writing, especially when he is uncovering little known details of this bygone era of baseball. The book is full of fun and informative anecdotes about Fenway’s past and present including the connection between the ballpark and the sinking of Titanic, the origins of the term “Green Monster,” and how the new field with its cliff in left field, its short porch in right, and the bleachers in center affected Sox outfielders Duffy Lewis and Tris Speaker. Finished off with an epilogue that captures the major moments in Fenway history, this work is a well-constructed tribute to Fenway on its upcoming 100th anniversary. – Publisher’s Weekly

Maybe Baseball Isn't Over

About a month ago I wrote a commentary (reprinted below) for National Public Radio about the end of the baseball season which was used on “All Things Considered.”

I didn’t expect much of a reaction – okay, I didn’t expect ANY reaction. I thought it was okay, but nothing special.

Yet as writers, once the words escape us, we know we are not in control and cannot foresee their impact.

Some people hated the commentary, finding it too syrupy, but others – and from what I could tell, a lot of others - really liked it. A minister used it in a sermon, surely a first for anything I have ever written. And one man wrote me that “. . . it really hit home. My dad passed away last year and the end of a season is a reminder of the end of life… and after the mourning… life starting anew.”

And then there was June. I received an e-mail from a woman named June who said that the commentary moved her to tears and that she wanted to send me a painting.

I was touched, but also embarrassed. I didn’t want her to go out of her way over something that took all of about twenty minutes to write and took up about three minutes of air time on NPR. So I tried to talk her out of it, but she was persistent.

Well, here’s the painting at the top of this post. It arrived yesterday I love it. And here’s the commentary that somehow inspired it:

BASEBALL IS OVER

Baseball is over again and - for a while - so am I.

As long as I can remember this game has been my companion. The maple trees in the backyard where I grew up were known only as first base, second and third. The clothesline was an imaginary Green Monster. I fell asleep each night to the static of a distant game on an old radio and dreamed of the roaring crowd. Even now, when I think of “home” I don’t think of a house. I think of the bare spot I wore in the grass while batting, the place I ran back to after every imaginary home run.

Now another season is ending. As the sounds that only baseball makes disappear, there is a stillness left behind that feels like nothing else, and I know again I am alone.

The days that used to start with stats and coffee turning cold as I perused the blogs and box scores are done. The morning doesn’t mean it’s time to “check the west coast scores.” It means “get up and go to work.” The news is not for highlights and home runs, but wars and famines and politics. The walks I took with the dog so I could throw the ball and pretend I was cutting down the lead runner at third become simple games of fetch. The phone calls with friends that started with “Can you believe that hit?” and “What was he thinking?” end quickly or aren’t made at all. I turn my car radio from AM back to FM. My wife and daughter control the television remote and I catch up on my reading. And instead of lying awake at night and wondering how in the world he could miss that pitch, I slip into a fast slumber.

It’s over, but we’ve been through this before, baseball and I, and I’m sure I’ll survive the winter soon to come. I know even as the whoops and hollers of baseball’s newest world champion fade that somewhere in the silence that follows, another season will start to make its sound.

There will be trades, Tommy John surgeries and free agent signings for too much money. Even though there will be snow upon the ground, there will also be talk about pitchers and catchers reporting, aging veterans and rookie phenoms. Something deep inside me will start to stir, and then I’ll hear it again; a voice on a playground, a bat meeting a ball, a cheer and a slap on the back. At first it will be faint and far off, but as the days get longer the sounds of baseball will be back beside me. Soon enough, we will both be ready for another season.

[Note: the version of the commentary reproduced above varies slightly from the broadcast version. You can listen to it here: http://www.npr.org/player/v2/mediaPlayer.html?action=1&t=1&islist=false&id=141789780&m=141881232 . Glenn Stout’s latest book is the bestselling Fenway 1912: The Birth of a Ballpark, a Championship Season and Fenway’s Remarkable First Year.]

The Creepy Coach

It’s sad, but true and not uncommon. If you played long enough, you probably have a “creepy coach” story.

Predators are not stupid. They go where the odds are in their favor as authority figures without much direct supervision; the Catholic Church and youth church groups, the Boy Scouts and similar organizations, boarding schools. And, as the allegations against Jerry Sandusky attest, anywhere youth and sports intersect.

This is not to disparage the many fine men and women who give their time to coaching and working with children. Most think only of the kids and have the best of intentions. And in the decade or so I spent on youth league teams as a kid, and the five years I spent coaching as an adult, the vast majority of coaches I encountered were kind and caring and tried their to provide a safe and fun and positive experience. But . . .

Shortly after the charges against Jerry Sandusky were made public, I posted the following on my Facebook page for The Best American Sports Writing:

“Just watch. The narrative arc post-Penn State will follow that of the Catholic Church; the coaching profession has always been full of predators. Expect a decade long roll out of victims, not just PSU, but all schools/youth leagues, etc. Unfortunate, tragic and true.”

I hoped I was wrong, but in the weeks that have followed this scandal has begun to metastasize. Nearly every day one hears about another possible incident as victims, empowered by those who have come out of the darkness to reveal what took place under the sinister umbrella of The Second Mile and Penn State, start to speak out about their experience and lift the veil of shame and silence that has scarred the lives of so many. The allegations against Syracuse basketball assistant coach Bernie Fine are simply the latest in a trend I don’t see disappearing.

Since I wrote that Facebook post, I have spoken to many friends and acquaintances. Almost to a person, each has their own “creepy coach” story. While none, fortunately, have admitted being a victim of overt molestation, almost everyone has a story about the coach who was a little too familiar, a little off, who made them feel unsafe and uncomfortable and who now, looking back from adulthood, they now realize was probably coaching for the wrong reasons.

When I started to write this, I could recall in my experience only one such coach, one who was an alcoholic and often showed up drunk for games and practices. When he did, and when there were no adults around, he talked about sex and other adult topics he had no business talking about with us. When I think back now it seems to me that he got off on talking this way to us; that was my “creepy coach,” story. But over the past few days as I wrote these words, I recalled another incident far more disturbing.

As most young male athletes can attest, they have to wear an athletic supporter – a jock – and a plastic cup to protect the genitals. The wearing of a cup is mandatory in most youth sports, and should be. When I was a kid what was known as a “cup check,” was common practice, a way for your coach to make certain you were wearing your cup before each game or practice. Most of the time, you performed the cup check yourself, standing before the coach and striking your knuckles to your crotch so the coach could hear them strike the plastic and know you were wearing your cup. Nothing wrong with that.

But I have a memory, fuzzy and now buried so deeply that even now I not certain which coach I recall or even which sport I was playing at the time, a memory that even as I begin to write about it now produces a small wave of nausea and discomfort. I had at least a few coaches who performed the “cup check” themselves, going down the line striking your crotch with his own fist.

This was not rare and I remember never thinking much about it. If done quickly and lightly and with a sort of professional distance, while not really appropriate anymore, it was probably an act of innocence, and no big deal to most of us.

But there was one coach, one whose face, even now, I cannot see clearly enough to indentify, who I know went a little farther. He would strike you so hard that even if you were wearing a cup, it would bring a nauseating ache to your genitals.

He clearly enjoyed this. I can see the wide teeth of his leering smile, and hear his laugh, loud, and menacing. And then sometimes I think he did a little more.

Instead of striking you in the groin, or maybe after doing so and discovering you had forgotten that piece of equipment, he would reach and grope and squeeze. If you were wearing a cup, you avoided that humiliation, but if you weren’t . . .

I don’t recall ever being caught not wearing a cup, and I don’t believe that happened to me, but I do remember thinking I would NEVER, EVER forget to wear my cup. But I do have a recollection of seeing others doubled over as the coach squeezed their testicles long and hard enough to cause a howl of pain. And only then would he, still smiling, let go.

As far as I know, that was as far as it went. Whether that was enough to satisfy whatever twisted desire caused him to do this, I am not uncertain. But I do know that even this small humiliation can have an impact decades later . . .

When my daughter was younger I spent several years coaching and helping to coach her girls softball and mixed gender Little League team. For several years I did this either as an assistant coach or with someone else. Then one year I could not convince another parent or other adult to help out. During games practices, I was often the only adult left with a dozen or so kids, boys and girls.

At practice one day, one of our players, a girl of eleven or twelve, fell and scraped her knee, blood seeping through her uniform, and a wince of pain on her face. I dutifully got out my first aid kit, sat her down on the ground and helped her roll up her pant leg above her knee so I could clean and bandage the wound.

As I did so and my hand pulled her pants over her knee cap to expose the scrape and tugged it up a bit farther so I could clean the smear of blood on her inner thigh, it suddenly struck me that my hand was dangerously close to a place it should not be. With no other adult as my witness I realized that to anyone watching from afar (the field was near a playground), it might appear as if I was touching her – or trying to touch her - inappropriately. And then I thought how I might react as a parent if my daughter came home with a scraped knee and described a coach rolling up her pant leg and wiping blood off her thigh, and how depending on the way she described it, I might think that the coach was doing something he shouldn’t, something creepy.

I pulled my hand back, left the stain of blood alone and pulled the pant leg back down to the edge of the wound. I wiped it quickly with alcohol, smeared some ointment on a large Band-aide, placed it over the wound and asked her to press it tight, then told her to lift her pant leg over the wound before she pulled it down, so the bandage would stay on.

Practice resumed. Then later, as I thought about what took place later that day, as the only adult with a group of young kids, I made a decision.

At the end of the season, unable to insure I would have an assistant coach the following year, I quit coaching.

And The Winner Is . . .

Received the good news this week that in addition to being a Boston Globe best seller, the best selling Red Sox book of the season and one of the best selling baseball books of the year and a finalist for Spitball Magazine's Casey Award, that Fenway 1912 is a finalist for best baseball book of the year from a major magazine and a prestigious library association. Even better is the reaction from the readers I meet.