Ball Four, Fifty Years Later

Fifty years ago my aunt bought me Jim Bouton’s classic “Ball Four,” and everything changed.

Bouton’s book chronicled his 1969 season with the expansion Seattle Pilots and, after a trade late in the season, with the Houston Astros. It shocked the baseball establishment by showing what really went on in the locker rooms.

It wasn’t always the Pollyanna view of All-American boys playing the game. Instead, it portrayed the players as real. Mickey Mantle was truly a turd. Pitcher Mike Marshall was an intellectual. Coaches were often seen as dumb louts who epitomized the concept of double standard.

But it wasn’t just a baseball book. It was so much more. Although Bouton’s work contained a lot of curse words (Manager Joe Schultz used many in alternating combinations) and it may not have been deemed suitable for a kid, like me, of 11 years old, it was a training primer in life, a glimpse into how the real world worked and how there were so many personalities we’d meet along the way.

It was on July 4, 1971, when I spotted the book in a rack at the Itasca State Park gift shop between Park Rapids and Bemidji, Minn., where I lived. My aunt and uncle were visiting us from Arizona that week – a trip to coincide with my June 29 birthday and the Fourth of July—and we went to the park for the day.

The paperback book was the first one showing in the rack; others were behind it. It had a simple cover. “Jim Bouton” was in bold black letters at the top, above a larger green font “Ball Four.” Below was a simple photograph of a right hand holding a baseball in the grip of a knuckleball.

Published by Dell, the book cost $1.25.

My tattered copy of 
Ball Four from 1971

My parents objected to my want of the book. But my aunt stepped in and bought it for a late birthday present.

It was a fitting metaphor to buy the book at the Headwaters of the Mississippi River. The 2,318-mile long river begins there and makes it journey south, much like I did. Life, like the river, has its curves, currents and changes. The book, bought near the trickle of the start of that river, began my own journey that probably defined a lot of who I am.

That night, we sat on the shore of Lake Bemidji and watched fireworks. One of the displays featured the spelling of “Hello” in the sky. Each firework, when exploding, spelled a letter in smoke. The “O” faded quicker than the rest and we were left with “Hell” drifting overhead for a moment. The crowd laughed.  And I, having seen that word in “Ball Four” on the way home, along with several other words I filed in my ‘do not use in front of adults ‘ mental cabinet, felt like I was in on the joke like the adults were.

I entered sixth grade that fall. While the rest of the kids were using words like “fart blossom” and “butthead,” I was firing off zingers I gleaned from the book. 

But I also watched people more closely, learning that maybe all adults weren’t always right. Maybe they didn’t know the answers all the time. I also watched myself more closely and, in a sense, became a tad paranoid and saw myself from outside myself and through others’ eyes.

We moved to Arkansas three years later. The book, of course, came with me. In defiance of the southern culture and in honor of the book, I refrained from using the drawled out “BS” word that all the classmates used and deferred instead to the version that used the “horse” word.

Seattle pitcher Marty Pattin used that word when describing Pilot outfielder Steve Hovely’s hair in Bouton’s June 28 offering. Look it up if you want.

I remember once I left the book in my eighth grade English class when we changed classes. I was shy and tried to be invisible; coming from the north with an accent akin to characters on the movie “Fargo,” I wanted to stay quiet in the land of twang. Even though his name is pronounced “Bow-ton,” like taking a bow in front of an audience, I said it with my northern accent as “Boo-ton.”

The next class was in session when I realized my book was in that classroom. I boldly got up from the next class’ seat, told the teacher I left something and strode into English class, disrupting it and finding my book. It was that important to me.

The book’s been with me since. After I got the book, I moved about 23 times in my life. I know where “Ball Four” is at all times now. I’ve also bought the anniversary copy “Ball Four Plus Ball Five,” and a friend found a softback of the book at a used book shop and bought it for me recently.

Years later, I found Bouton’s phone number online somewhere and called his home. His wife answered the phone and nervously, I asked to speak with him. This was 1998, so he was 59. He came on and I simply thanked him for writing the book, taking the criticism that followed its publication and making me think so much differently than I had before.

I’m sure he got calls like that often. But he was polite, thanking me for the compliment and saying he had no idea how the reception of the book would be years later.

Now, 50 years later, I still use phrases from the book like the drawn out “Yeah, sure,” the Alvin Dark comment, “Take a hike, son” and  “well, it doesn’t make me a bad person,” whenever anyone criticizes something I do.

Bouton died on July 10, 2019. His book lives on, though, and every few years I pull one of the copies off the shelf and read it again. I’ve probably read it 20 times now—yeah sure--and have memorized most of it, but it is still impacting.

In the comments below, fell free to share your impressions of the book. It is a classic that all sports fans have read over and over, I’m sure.