Seasons In Hell: a review.

Written a long time ago (back when the book was first released in hardcover). Reposted because I’m still rather fond of the book, and of the review.

Title: Seasons in Hell: With Billy Martin, Whitey Herzog and “The Worst Baseball Team in History”-The 1973-1975 Texas Rangers
Author: Mike Shropshire
Publisher: Donald I. Fine/Penguin
ISBN: 1-55611-495-8
Price: $23.95

I hate baseball.
Actually, that’s not completely fair. I loathe baseball with the same level of intensity that I loathe whole tomatoes, Sarah and James Brady and their merry little gun-banning bund, and the various infestations of Star Trek. I look forward to the day (may it come soon) when I can piss on the metaphorical grave of the soon-to-be-ex Houston Astros: indeed, I look forward to the day when organized baseball in this country finally collapses under the accumulated weight of its own sheer stupidity.
In short, I am not a baseball fan.


However, there are things about baseball that attract me. One is the whole P.T. Barnum-esqe aspect of the business: the game itself may be loathsome, but the infrastructure surrounding it provides the same pleasure that the true connoisseur gets from watching any well run con game.
The other is the losers: I’m a sucker for the freaks, the oddballs, the underdogs, and the inept. I have actually been known to root for teams: not to win, mind you, but to go 0-162. If I had to pick a favorite baseball player, I’d pick the legendary Bill “Spaceman” Lee (of “I don’t smoke [marijuana], but I do sprinkle it on my pancakes.” fame.)
So why am I reviewing a baseball book?
Because it’s damn funny. Seasons In Hell is the funniest work of non-fiction I’ve read since Ed Regis’ Great Mambo Chicken And The Transhuman Condition.
Granted, it would be hard not to be funny with this material: Shropshire is writing about the early days of the Texas Rangers, a team that went 57-105 in 1973 under the management of Whitey Herzog (until he was replaced by…yes, that charm school graduate himself, Billy Martin.) The other American League teams that year were staffed by Hall of Famers or near greats (Nolan Ryan had the best year of his career that year with the California Angels). But who did the Texas Rangers have? An infielder who said he was born with two spleens. An outfielder who Herzog described as looking kind of tentative, “but he told me not to worry. He said his epilepsy medication makes him feel sluggish sometimes.” A first baseman who thought baseball was cluttered with “inconsequential bullshit”. And Rich Billings, the starting catcher. (Herzog: “If Rich Billings is the starting catcher again, we’re in deep trouble.” Billings: “Whitey, obviously, has seen me play.”)
If there’s a hero in this saga it has to be Herzog. “I never dealt with anybody who was as unafraid of telling the truth as Whitey Herzog.” says Shropshire, and he proves it by scattering Herzog quotes liberally throughout the book. Those brave souls who can’t get enough of the late Mr. Martin’s “eccentricities” will find plenty of enjoyment here as well (including Billy and the bartender arguing about the constitutional right of American citizens to get as drunk as they wish).
It helps, though, as you wade through this catalog of failure, that Shropshire can write. Though at times, he seems to have stolen a few riffs from Hunter S. Thompson (“I was not only the consummate professional, but witty and urbane and had a large grocery bag full of premium grade marijuana under my bed.”), you have to remember that his history is set against the backdrop of Watergate (there are some great moments involving baseball players, sportswriters, and the Watergate hearings) and a profession notorious for hard drinking and hard loving. (Yes, the 1973 Rangers actually had groupies.)
Further, Shropshire has a gift for the telling line and the eyeball kick. This is the man who suggested, in print, that the 1973 Rangers should use the love scene from Deliverance as their highlight film. The man who considers the typifying moment of the 1974 season to be his staggering, with a bad back that made him look like a reject from Hunchback of Notre Dame, into a California bar to encounter male go-go dancers wearing nothing but motorcycle boots and jockstraps.
Reading Seasons In Hell almost left me nostalgic for the 70’s: Spiro and Tricky Dick and the greaseball and 10-Cent Beer Night in Cleveland. (And, really, how often do you get to read a first person account of a forfeited major league game?) About the only flaw in this book is that Shropshire doesn’t do a “Where are they now?” number: We all know about Billy, but I was left wondering whatever happened to David Clyde, the 18-year-old pitching sensation, Toby “Our fans are getting more and more like the ones in Venezuela” Harrah, and Cesar Tovar. (“Tovar have good day. Get two hits and score blonde.”)
There’s something in here to offend all those Ken Burns/Roger Angell/”lyrical poetry of baseball”/Green Cathedrals fans. Thank god for Shropshire, the Joe Bob Briggs of baseball writing.

4 Responses to “Seasons In Hell: a review.”

  1. […] Obit watch: Jim Bibby, former pitcher for various teams including the Texas Rangers in those great early days. Bibby actually pitched the first no-hitter in Rangers history; he’s also one of the many memorable characters in Seasons in Hell. (What can I say? I love that book.) […]

  2. […] it does push some of our hot buttons (failure, Rhode Island). On the other hand, it sounds like the kind of lyrical baseball horseshit we hate. If any of our readers purchase and read Barry’s book, we’d welcome a […]

  3. […] to add: We would like to point out that the Texas Rangers, our gold standard for futility in baseball, had the following records in their early […]