The games drag on: in 2014, they averaged a record three hours and two minutes. The statistics pile up: thanks to Statcast player-tracking technology, data will soon include metrics such as ball spin and launch rates. And now comes a book called The Grind. If baseball doesn’t watch out, mind-numbed fans will need uppers to stick with the sport.
But don’t let Barry Svrluga’s title deter you. In fact, the Washington Post sportswriter’s portrait of the intricate tedium of “baseball’s endless season” delivers a surprising pick-me-up. Forget the sentimental excess of Roger Kahn’s The Boys of Summer (1972). Skip the high-flown analysis of George Will’s Men at Work: The Craft of Baseball (1990). Svrluga’s brisk, down-to-earth account takes us inside the heads of members of the Washington Nationals organization—from a starting pitcher on up to the general manager—as they gear up for, and power through, 162 games in a 182-day season.
If every era gets the baseball books it deserves, The Grind is definitely one for ours. Svrluga reveals a culture of nonstop stress: a relentless rhythm of scouting odysseys, training routines, travel monotony, injuries—all before anyone gets out on the field. No wonder these guys are obsessive. But they must also be undaunted. In our distracted, data-saturated age, grittier models of excelling would be hard to find.
A caravan of cars, trucks, bicycles, baby carriages, horse-pulled carts—anything with wheels, everything piled high with stuff—jammed the roads out of Paris in June 1940. Almost the entire city was fleeing the Nazis. As gas, tires, and hooves gave out, “limping pedestrians” carried on. Léon Werth, a novelist and critic who was among the hordes, was a sharp-eyed witness to the chaotic exodus.