From Barnes & Noble
Fay Vincent was elevated to the position of baseball commissioner -- a position he never wanted -- when his good friend, the legendary Bart Giamatti, died of a heart attack just months after taking the job himself. Having made his name and fortune in the world of Hollywood films and Coca-Cola, Vincent found himself thrust into the middle of the Pete Rose gambling controversy. As tough as that situation was, not to mention his battles with owners who considered him too sympathetic to the players, the problems he encountered as commissioner weren't nearly enough to make him lose his lifetime love of the national pastime. He tells the whole story here.
Publishers Weekly
To publish a valentine to baseball on the heels of the sport's recent labor crisis seems like a particularly bad stroke of timing. It is to his credit that Vincent, the commissioner of baseball in the late 1980s and early '90s, ignores the game's current scars to focus on its past-both the distant past of DiMaggio and Williams and the more recent past of Vincent's own tenure. Unfortunately, Vincent too often sends his valentine to his brand-name chums, to whom he gives various shout-outs ("Ralph Branca... is today a great friend"; late baseball commissioner Bart Giamatti was "a friend who enriched me, changed me, challenged me, fascinated me"), or even to himself. He describes his "full life" cavorting with CEOs-he was a Hollywood producer, a Coca-Cola executive and a Yale Law School graduate, he reminds readers a few times-and assorted baseball legends. What redeems the book are the deep reserves of baseball anecdotes throughout, recalled by everyone from Leo Durocher and the DiMaggio brothers to a rookie umpire. Vincent also vividly retells the turbulent months he spent building cases against Pete Rose and George Steinbrenner in a manner that manages to be informed without feeling like insider gossip. A chapter on baseball's most recent labor crisis offers some innovative, if at times not fully cooked, ideas about how owners and players can better work together. This is an uneven and at times self-indulgent effort, but Vincent gets away with it, in part because of the book's appealing leisurely pace and nostalgic tone. (Oct.) Copyright 2002 Cahners Business Information.
Library Journal
Upon the untimely death of A. Bartlett Giamatti in 1989, Vincent, Giamatti's friend and deputy, became commissioner of baseball. In 1992, after a "no confidence" vote by the Major League club owners, he resigned. Milwaukee Brewers owner Bud Selig served as acting commissioner until his daughter Wendy assumed the role of Brewers CEO and president, ostensibly eliminating the obvious conflict of interest of an owner being commissioner, and in 1998 Selig was elected commissioner. To many, Vincent, who, like his seven predecessors had no such conflict of interest, remains "the last commissioner." Here he recounts his strife with Pete Rose, George Steinbrenner, and the owners who made up the "Slay Fay" movement prior to his resignation, settling a few scores in an admirably low-key way. Vincent is strongest, however, in the "baseball valentine" portions, speaking of how the game has enriched his life and offering vignettes of baseball people from his father to Lou Gehrig, Ted Williams, Joe DiMaggio, Yogi Berra, Satchel Paige, and Derek Jeter. If the infighting and business turmoil that led to his resignation explain why baseball is on shaky ground, its fans' innate love of the game as reflected by the former commissioner shows why baseball should prevail. Recommended for most public library baseball collections.-Jim Burns, Jacksonville P.L., FL Copyright 2002 Cahners Business Information.
Kirkus Reviews
Diverting tales from the big league-gifted with a low-key crackle-courtesy of baseball's ultimate inside angle, by former (1989-92) Commissioner Vincent. These stories are expressions of love for baseball, touching equally on good and bad moments, yet always affectionate and filled with the hope that the institution will do the right thing. There are plenty of bite-sized treats (Ted Williams on Warren Spahn: "If a right-handed hitter is up with a man on first or first and second with less than two outs, Spahnie always threw him that horseshit screwball"; Yogi Berra on what makes a great manager: "Good players"), quick recollections, and dabs of color on the field of play. But Vincent also feels compelled to set out the full story on a couple of incidents, including the eviction of Pete Rose from baseball (here readers will sense a man who truly believes in the game as a moral vehicle) and the earthquake that shattered the 1989 series in California. Like any good baseball aficionado, Vincent has his lists: all-time lineups, BoSox lineups, modern lineups (for Vincent, "modern" can go back to the 1940s), Negro League lineups, and an eye-opening one on umpires that reveals the magic word that will get players thrown out of a game, clarified by veteran ump Bruce Froemming: "If a player says, 'That was a horseshit call,' he's fine. If a guy says, 'You're a horseshit ump,' you ring him up. He's gone." There are some deliberate character assassinations-George Steinbrenner gets roasted, as does Marge Schott, the insufferable owner of the Cincinnati Reds. And there are also some unintentionally telling comments: "Over the course of the contract, Winfield was paid about $23 million, a vast sumthen." Heresy to some, Vincent's parting words are apt: "Baseball is an entertainment, an escape. It is moving and dramatic, and for millions of us, it's an important part of our lives. But it is not life itself."
