Leavy's hilarious debut about a female sportswriter's tribulations covering an expansion baseball team's first year is a strong early candidate for MVP of the 1990 sports novel season. A. B. (Ariadne Bloom) Berkowitz's troubles begin with a fundamental crisis (``alone with a locker room full of naked men I did not know'') and get rapidly worse. The team, the Washington Senators, is horrible, and while its corrupt televangelist owner soon forbids the players to talk to A.B., they continue to attempt to gross her out at every opportunity. Her editor demands headlines, no matter at whose cost, her boyfriend finds solace in the arms of a young copy aide, and her best source on the team--an aging All-Star catcher--is becoming romantically interested. As raunchy as stories by Dan Jenkins and Peter Gent, as authentic as exposes by Jim Bouton and Jim Brosnin, this tale by a former sportswriter for the Washington Post will delight readers willing to accept a healthy dose of vulgarity with their humor, especially those who know and love the rhythms and complexities of the national pastime. (Apr.)
Squeeze Play
Narrated by Anna Fields
Jane LeavyUnabridged — 14 hours, 7 minutes
Squeeze Play
Narrated by Anna Fields
Jane LeavyUnabridged — 14 hours, 7 minutes
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Overview
Troubles begin for sports reporter A. B. Berkowitz when she is assigned to cover the Washington Senators, who are having a lousy season. When A. B. points out the team's ineptitude, the players refuse to talk to her, except to attempt to gross her out as often as possible. Into this mix come the team's televangelist owner, her hardcore editor, a two-timing boyfriend, and an aging All-Star catcher who is becoming romantic.
Editorial Reviews
This autobiographical first novel by Leavy, a former sportswriter for the Washington Post , is in the form of a baseball diary kept by A.B. Berkowitz, the female reporter covering the newly reborn Washington Senators, a team owned by a TV evangelist. The team breaks all previous records for ineptitude, but when A.B. persists in pointing this out, the team refuses to talk to her. She covers them nonetheless, breaking an occasional story, though torn between professsional obligations and dislike of violating the private confidences of players. There is a lot of foul locker room language and bawdiness, which may trouble some readers, but this is a funny, tender, true-to-life story of baseball, journalism, and war between the sexes. Recommended for your baseball lovers.-- Marylaine Block, St. Ambrose Univ., Davenport, Ia.
Baseball is back in Washington--at least, it is fictionally--in Leavy's uproarious and surprisingly touching novel about the Senators' resurrection as a Major League--sort of--club. In their woeful inaugural season of 1989, they are covered by Ariandne Bloom (A.B.) Berkowitz, a young sportswriter who, in the course of a summer, tries to square her idyllic childhood illusions about baseball with the clownish, raunchy, unheroic version she confronts in real life. Anna Fields voices a sassy, plucky heroine full of moxie and good intentions. Fields is also mainly--though not universally--convincing with the cavalcade of oddballs, lowlifes, and boobs who occupy both locker room and the newsroom in Leavy's rollicking satire. M.O. © AudioFile 2004, Portland, Maine
Product Details
| BN ID: | 2940169905854 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Blackstone Audio, Inc. |
| Publication date: | 06/25/2005 |
| Edition description: | Unabridged |
Read an Excerpt
Squeeze Play
A Novel
Chapter One
Opening Day
April 3 You see a lot of penises in my line of work: short ones, stubby ones, hard ones, soft ones. Circumcised and uncircumcised; laid-back and athletic. Professionally speaking, they have a lot in common, which is to say they are all attached to guys, most of whom are naked while I am not, thus forming the odd dynamic of our relationship. They are athletes who believe in the inalienable right to scratch their balls anytime they want. I am a sportswriter. My job is to tell you the score.
Generally I try not to look at their penises, which is why I always carry at least two felt-tip pens and a steno pad. This way I can take notes without staring at the glans of some poor son of a bitch who has just been demoted to Triple A. But the fact is: penises have a way of intruding upon your field of vision, especially if you are five foot one, which I am. One time I was hiding behind my steno pad talking to Tyrone Jackson, the basketball player, when my notebook began to quiver. After that, the line on Tyrone was he really gets off on being interviewed.
So I pretty much thought I had seen it all, until today.
My name is A.B. Berkowitz and I have been a sportswriter at the Washington Tribune for nine months now. The initials stand for Ariadne Bloom, which is why everyone except Mom calls me A.B. and why the Washington Senators were a bit surprised the first time I showed up in their locker room. Usually when people find out what I do for a living, they want to know one thing: who has the biggest schlong in America? You'd be surprised how many different ways there are to ask this question.Dolly Mitchell, the wife of the publisher, showed up at the Christmas party at Duke's, ate forty shrimp balls, blushed,and said in that Betty Boop voice of hers, "So tell me, A.B., honey, just between us girls, who is the most impressive ath-uh-lete you've ever met?"
Sal practically hurdled the raw bar to get me before I could say anything. They didn't make him sports editor for nothing.
Two weeks later, he called me into his office and said, "You got the Senators beat. Don't say a fucking word to Mrs. Mitchell."
Today I got the answer to her question.
The answer, Mrs. Mitchell, is the Stick.
It was three hours before game time and everyone was working the room: reporters, agents, assorted hangers-on, everyone who ever made the A list in Washington or thought they should have. The clubhouse was strictly SRO. Opening Day is always a zoo. But everybody in town wanted to be able to say they were there the day baseball returned to Washington. I talked to five senators (elected); three congressmen; Duke Zeibert, the restaurant guy; Lynda Carter, who used to be Wonder Woman; and Dick Bosman, who started the last game at RFK eighteen years ago and learned belatedly the aerodynamic impact of tears on a major league fastball.
Bosman gave up five runs and eight hits in five innings that night, including three home runs, all of which he chalked up to tears. Still, the Senators were winning, 7-5, with two outs in the top of the ninth when the last crowd to see major league baseball in Washington raged onto the field and refused to let the game end. Jim Honochick, the umpire, declared a forfeit at 10:11 P.M., and with that Washington surrendered its right to be called a major league city.
Then last year the Reverend Jimy Boy Collins cut a deal to throw his considerable religioso support in the direction of a particular right-wing presidential candidate, the quid being a promise of an expansion franchise should said candidate get elected. The candidate is now President of These United States, as Jimy Boy likes to say, and the Reverend Collins is owner of the Washington Senators. He calls his born-again Nats a divine reincarnation.
Everybody figured when and if Washington got another team, it would be a National League franchise, what with the Birds in Baltimore. But the American League expanded first and the President kept his promise, using his influence to get Jimy Boy the franchise after the initial ownership went under.
Jimy Boy is also founder of the Christian Fellowship Entertainment Network, the slogan of which is "Jesus rocks 24 hours a day!" and Super Stars Ministry, a Christian outreach program aimed at the spiritual needs of athletes. Jimy Boy says that of all God's children, ballplayers are the most tempted, the most fallen, and the most needy of "getting right with the Lord." On this much we agree. He also believes that ballplayers will be the vehicle by which the Gospel of Jesus Christ is proclaimed worldwide, sports being the one thing, other than Jesus, we all have in common. This is why he bought the Washington Senators. "My mission is to suit'em up, save'em, and start'em in the Lord's All-Star lineup."
I'll never forget the first time I met him. This was last winter, just after I got the beat. He kept me waiting in his of fice at RFK for a half hour. Leaving a reporter alone in your office is a stupid thing to do. I made sure to check out the place. There was a Bible open to Hebrews, with Chapter 12, Verse 1 underlined, a platinum record from Jimy Boy's former career as Christian rocker, and a baseball autographed by all the newly signed born-again members of the 1989 Washington Senators. There was also this smell. Like Muzak in an elevator, it was everywhere. And it was awful ...
Squeeze PlayA Novel. Copyright © by Jane Leavy. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.
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