"Most of us fans fall in love with baseball when we are children," writes Roger Angell. At any age, though, the ballgame is better with a friendly and knowledgeable companion. I can't think of a better one than Angell.

Now 94, he has written about baseball for over half a century, beginning when the New Yorker magazine sent him to spring training in 1962.

"I have covered this beat in haphazard fashion, following my own inclinations and interests," he writes in Season Ticket about the game in the mid-'80s.

In this book he takes us back to 1985, when the Kansas City Royals beat the St. Louis Cardinals (a rematch is possible this fall, as the Cardinals face the San Francisco Giants for the National League pennant). He covers the era's stars, from George Brett to Darryl Strawberry to Roger Clemens, but he pays special attention to the oddballs, like Dan Quisenberry, the Royals' late, great submarine pitcher. Quisenberry's work on the mound, Angell writes, "was funny-looking and profoundly undramatic, and he went about it like a man sweeping out a kitchen."

While basketball is quick and beautiful, and football a show of force, baseball is quieter, slower and, Angell points out, somehow sadder.

"There is more losing than winning in our sport," Angell writes, and "a fan's best defense against inexorable heartbreak is probably to learn more about how the game is really played."

"Baseball is not life itself, although the resemblance keeps coming up," he says. It's impossible to ignore, as we fans grow older, how its long season traces an arc like a lifetime, condensed.

"Midsummer baseball feels as if it would last forever," Angell observes; "late-season baseball becomes quicker and terser, as if sensing its coming end."

But sometimes, he goes on, "if we are lucky, it explodes into thrilling terminal colors, leaving bright pictures in memory to carry us through the miserable months to come."

Kate Tuttle is a columnist for the Boston Globe.

Copyright 2015 NPR. To see more, visit http://www.npr.org/.

Transcript

MELISSA BLOCK, HOST:

OK. Let's put aside Republicans and Democrats and talk about some real division. Who are you cheering for - the Royals or the Orioles? The American League Championship Series begins tonight. Neither Kansas City nor Baltimore has made it to the World Series since the '80s. And baseball is the theme for this week's must read. Writer Kate Tuttle has this pitch.

KATE TUTTLE: I don't think it's a stretch to say a ballgame is always more fun with a friend - someone who really knows baseball. And I can't think of a better companion than Roger Angell. He's 94 now and he's been writing about the game for over half a century, ever since the New Yorker sent him to spring training in 1962. In his book "Season Ticket" about baseball in the '80s, Angell writes (reading) I have covered this beat in haphazard fashion, following my own inclinations and interests.

Angell brings us to 1985 when the Royals beat the Cards. I'm hoping for a rematch of that series this fall. He covered the era's stars - George Brett, Darryl Strawberry, Roger Clemens. But he paid special attention to the oddballs, like Dan Quisenberry, the Royals great submarine pitcher. Quisenberry's work on the mound, Angell wrote, was funny looking and profoundly undramatic. And he went about it like a man sweeping out a kitchen. Basketball may be quick and beautiful and football a show of force. But baseball is quiet, dreamy and, Angell points out, somehow sad. There is more losing than winning in our sport, he writes, as we fans grow older it's hard to ignore the way the long season traces an arc, like a lifetime condensed. Midsummer baseball feels as if it would last forever, Angell writes. Then late-season baseball becomes quicker and terser, as if sensing its coming end. But sometimes, he goes on, if we are lucky it explodes into thrilling terminal colors, leaving bright pictures in memory to carry us through the miserable months to come.

BLOCK: The book is "Season Ticket" by Roger Angell. It was recommended by Boston Globe book critic Kate Tuttle. Transcript provided by NPR, Copyright NPR.

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