This book traces back to the spring of 1956, when my father David, an ardent Yankees fan, put his four-year-old son in a pinstripe uniform and taught him how to hit a baseball behind their apartment building in Bayside, Queens. Thus began my love affair with baseball and the discovery of the generational bond between father and son that makes this sport so special. And, of course, my dream of one day playing center field in Yankee Stadium. The dream faded in my early teens; my passion for the sport—and the bond with my father—only grew.
I met an equal in my love of the game when Claire Smith joined the sports staff of the Hartford Courant in 1982, which started a friendship that has never waned. I learned much about seeing athletes as real people with real lives and real problems while working with Claire, who was breaking down barriers as the first African American woman to cover the Yankees and Major League Baseball in the ’80s. After we went in different directions in 1990, it was with great excitement that we decided to work together on this book. Sadly, Claire had to leave our project a little more than one year in, but her spirit and her values are present on every page.
Many others shaped this book, no one more than David Black, who showed me what being a good agent is all about. It was David who convinced me I could make the leap from magazine writer to author. He listened when I needed an ear, picked me up when I was down, and kicked my rear when it was time to focus. No writer has ever had a better advocate, or a better friend.
My younger son Steven was my first researcher, back when this book was more concept than story. I’ll never forget the very long Sunday we spent together, moving storyboards around a table until the moment we stepped back and realized we finally had the arc of this very complicated tale. Steven left after a year to start a successful career of his own, but his ideas flow throughout this book.
Andy Werle graduated from Wesleyan in the spring of 2012 and signed on for a nine-month gig as my researcher to earn some money while waiting for his bandmates to graduate so he could begin his music career. Two and a half years later, Andy’s importance to this book cannot be overstated. Researcher, copyeditor, writer, interviewer, chief sounding board—he filled all these roles with more skill and dedication than I had any right to expect. Andy rode shotgun on this book, and it was a great comfort to know he always had my back. He is off now to start his own career, too, and I will miss him dearly.
Andy was also responsible for bringing in Henry Robertson, who did the same excellent research work down the stretch as Mike Kelly, one of my former journalism students at Stony Brook University, did early on to help get this book off the ground. Thank you both.
At Little, Brown, I owe thanks to Michael Pietsch, who green-lighted this project, and Reagan Arthur, who saw it through. I owe much to executive editor John Parsley, whose judgment and experience in book publishing was invaluable to this first-time author. John’s enthusiasm for this book never wavered, no matter how many times I asked for—and was granted—more time to get it right. I am grateful for his patience, his suggestions, and his elegant idea for the name of our book.
Thanks to the rest of the Little, Brown team who worked so hard to make this book as good as it could be: Sarah Murphy, Malin von Euler-Hogan, Barbara Clark, Barb Jatkola, Ruth Cross, and Jeffrey Gantz. Special thanks to Karen Landry, whose good nature, lilting laugh, and steady hand kept me calm and focused while we closed the book.
I am deeply in debt to my older son David, who read the first drafts of every part of this book as they were completed and provided detailed critiques of what worked and—more important—what didn’t. And many thanks to Lisa Jacobs, whose suggestions on the early drafts were essential, and to Barry Geisler for his time, talent, and critiques of the final draft.
When I realized it was foolish to think I could transcribe what turned out to be many hundreds of hours of interviews, my sister Enid Skahill stepped in and performed miracles, turning around transcripts quickly and accurately—no small feat given how often I wander into tangents. But more than transcribe, Enid developed a feel for the people I interviewed and offered valuable insights into their character. I am in her debt.
The same is true for Maisie Todd, who juggled my photo needs with raising her two-year-old daughter, all while pregnant with her second child. My colleague and friend from our days together at ESPN the Magazine, Maisie is responsible for the wonderful pictures you see in this book. All I had to do was say yes.
One of the great treats of writing this book was traveling to all corners of this country. No city was more captivating than San Francisco or more welcoming than Milwaukee, where my friend and Journal Sentinel editor in chief Marty Kaiser and his staff’s terrific coverage of Bud Selig, Milwaukee, and all things Brewers enriched this story in ways I could not have imagined. Marty stepped down as editor of his hometown paper at the end of February 2015 in search of a new adventure; I wish him well and remind him to enjoy the journey.
I could not have made it through these past five years without the friendship, encouragement, and good humor of every one of these people: Jeff Pessah, Phil Jacobs, Shirley Cohen, Dennis Skahill, Shay, Kathleen Carre, Kody Gurfein, Steve Glickman, Dave and Karen Rosenthal, Mike Cohen, Jung-hwa Lee, Shareeda Allen, Kris Fitzpatrick, Adrienne Lotson, Aimee Chamernik, Barbara Selvin, and Dave Dircks. Thank you all for keeping me sane.
And finally, this book would never have been written if not for my wife Suzi, who five years ago told me the same thing she’s told me so many times in our 37 years together: go chase your dream. But this time was different: she would have to support us while I learned how to be an author. And to ensure my success, she listened to my endless stream of stories, propped me up when I was pulled down with doubt, endured so many of the book’s characters all but taking up residence in our home, and discovered her own talents when I disappeared to report and write for long stretches of time. I have no idea how to repay her, to make up for all she’s sacrificed and given me, but I will spend the rest of my days trying.