Baseball before salaries went boom
Sports writer Mike Shropshire sees 1975 as 鈥淭he Last Real Season鈥� for baseball.
There are two kinds of baseball fans: Those who prefer Kevin Costner鈥檚 misty reverence for the game in 鈥淔ield of Dreams鈥� and those who opt for Kevin Costner鈥檚 rowdy rhubarbs and bittersweet hardball addiction in 鈥�Bull Durham.鈥� If the latter description fits you, you鈥檒l love The Last Real Season, Mike Shropshire鈥檚 salute to the 1975 season.
Then a beat writer covering the Texas Rangers and a soon-to-be exiled manager named Billy Martin, Shropshire skirts the drama of that year鈥檚 epic World Series in favor of the drama of players obsessed with typical off-field passions, healthy and otherwise.
Beyond the ribald frat-house revelry, 鈥淭he Last Real Season鈥� chronicles a lost era, a time when players still spent the off-season working part-time jobs. A member of the Oakland A鈥檚, after missing out on an anticipated $25,000 World Series payout, laments that he鈥檒l probably have to work at a Christmas tree lot over the winter. Anyone expect to see Derek Jeter selling Christmas trees any time soon?
The following year 鈥� 1976 鈥� the free-agency era begins, a labor victory for the players leading to the game鈥檚 present riches. The minimum big-league salary today hovers well above $300,000 per year. Shropshire captures the sportswriter鈥檚 booze-soaked, expense-loving milieu with blunt whimsy. And even his hotel-room musings of somber subjects bring a smile, such as this one from Oakland in September 1975: 鈥淛ust over in the next town, practically 鈥� Sacramento to be exact 鈥� somebody had tried to shoot Gerald Ford, interim manager of the United States of America.鈥�
Erik Spanberg writes about sports for the Monitor.