Baseball is the writer's game, and these indispensable books prove it.
There are more good books written about baseball than any other American team sport—and that's not just because baseball has been around the longest. "This ain't a football game," manager Earl Weaver once said. "We do this every day." Through baseball books, we've come to understand the game and its history. The sport is catnip for writers: a game of contemplation and strategy that lends itself beautifully to numbers and analysis as well as poetry. That said, we put together a list of the 100 indispensable books no baseball fan should be without. Rather than fix the immigration system, lawmakers seek to extend emergency measures indefinitely while Republicans use the issue for political theater. A tech-themed thriller, a guaranteed Pixar classic, and a bunch of jackasses make for a promising start. The teams at L.L.Bean and Todd Snyder are joining forces once more. The rugged, Maine-friendly vibes are still firmly in place, as are the updated, Sndyer-fied versions of Bean classics like flannel shirts and packable parkas. But this isn't more of the same. See, the collaboration—which debuted with a huge bang in the fall of 2020 and got an equally impressive follow-up for colder months of 2021—has never had a spring collection. Which means that the stuff you'll see in the new "Maine-ah" collection is a little lighter and a little breezier than you might be used to. That's a good thing! It's about to get damn hot out there, and you don't want to cover your ankles with Bean Boots when you could slip into a pair of chilled-out camp shoes instead. Take a hint, and finally take it home. Time outdoors should be comfortable, if not aesthetically pleasing. These shops will help you do both. Dads bring their sons to Baseball Heaven so they can feel like pros. The facility, situated on an industrial lot off the Long Island Expressway, has recessed dugouts, proper bullpens, and stadium lights. On weekends, the lot fills with so many cars that minivans must illegally park on the roadway verge. Cleats click-clack on pavement, and cooler wheels groan. Fathers jockey for position to record their sons' swings and fixate on pitch velocity, murmuring the incantation "What's he at? What's he at?" Between games, boys wander the park with Gatorade-stained lips and gnash on Big League Chew. Inside the café, televisions simulcast play on all seven fields. The turf is artificial, which means the grass at Baseball Heaven is always green. Every father finds his own way to this Eden, and for Bobby Sanfilippo, it all started at a batting cage on an autumn day in 2008. |
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