Baseball’s Greatest; a Book of Top Ten List from Sports Illustrated

December 10, 2013

SIEditors of Sports Illustrated, 2013

288 pages, color and B&W

5 out of 5 stars

A big part of being a baseball fan is debating the nuance of the game from the stands, or at work the day after a game, or during the cold, quiet offseason. Which current players belong in the Hall of Fame? Who was the greatest catcher of all time? Should there be instant replay? What was the single best game ever played? There are hundreds of debates, and each debate has hundreds of opinions. And in the spirit of year-end lists, Sports Illustrated’s Baseball’s Greatest presents a colorful and thought-provoking summary of baseball’s best,  including the top sluggers, pitchers, stadiums, managers and games of all time.

It is the ultimate book of baseball top ten lists, compiled through a collaboration of SI writers and editors, ranking the best players by position but also the best base runners, sluggers, defensive players and baseball movies. Who was the #2 shortstop of all time? Derek Jeter. Who is the #9 center fielder? Kirby Puckett. What was the greatest game ever played? It’s not Jack Morris’s 10-inning shutout during Game 7 of the 1991 World Series. As a Twins fan I’m biased towards that one, but it came in at #3. And isn’t The Natural a better baseball movie than Moneyball? As you can see, there is already plenty to debate. Imagine the opinions, the arguments that a top 10 list in over 20 baseball categories can create!

This is a hefty, significant coffee table book, overflowing with wonderful color photos, and classic shots of the old baseball legends who occupied this earth long before many of us. Ty Cobb (the #2 center fielder of all time), Lefty Grove (the #2 left-handed pitcher), and the Polo Grounds (the 8th best ballpark) all make appearances in giant, vivid black and white.

One thing I liked about the book is that it doesn’t ignore the men who have been tainted by their involvement in steroids or gambling, but judges all players by their performance on their field and the field alone. As a result, great players like Pete Rose, Barry Bonds and Mark McGwire are held in the same esteem as Babe Ruth, Jimmy Foxx and Eddie Murray. This is a book of baseball greats, players who contributed significantly to any fan’s enjoyment of the game, and it leaves the debates to the fans.

More controversial are the lists themselves and which players, stadiums and games were chosen and which were left out. How is 1988 World Series Game 1 not in the top 10 best games? Why is 1975 World Series Game 6 the #1? Sure, Fisk waved the ball fair and then jumped for joy after it cleared the monster, but his team went on to lose Game 7 to the Reds the next day. I can understand why Rogers Hornsby is rated as the top second baseman of all time, but why is Joe Morgan #2? Oh, perhaps I’m letting myself be influenced by his broadcasting. Like I said, the book doesn’t fault any player for their behaviors off the field.

I won’t give away much more, but here is how they ranked the greatest ballparks. Feel free to debate these for the rest of your life, as I know you have been anyway, without assistance from this enjoyable book.

Best Ballpark

1. Fenway Park

2. Wrigley Field

3. Yankee Stadium (the old one)

4. Ebbets Field

5. Oriole Park at Camden Yards

6. Tiger Stadium (not Comerica)

7. AT&T Park

8. Polo Grounds

9. Dodger Stadium (the current one in LA)

10. Comisky Park

Are these correct? Did they leave anything out? Can the Polo Grounds be included when it was demolished almost 50 years ago? These are the kind of questions and debates this book can spawn. It’s not only a great coffee table book, not only a great reference book, but it’s a great history book. A tight document of all the greatest things about history’s greatest sport.

Baseball’s Greatest is available from Sports Illustrated, makes a great gift, and you can buy it wherever books are sold.

Mark McGinty‘s work has appeared in Maybourne Magazine, Montage Magazine, Cigar City Magazine and Germ Warfare. His novel The Cigar Maker won a Bronze Medal at the 2011 Independent Publisher Book Awards and was named Finalist at both the ForeWord Magazine Book of the Year Awards and the 2011 National Indie Excellence Awards.


Home to Nagasaki – Chapter 4

March 6, 2013

Ping Fan, China

1939

Masaru planned to turn Manchuria into a gigantic chemical and biological warfare laboratory and it was my job to execute his plan. We decided nearly eighty buildings would be constructed on the compound, including an administrative building to house laboratories, dormitories for the civilian workers, barracks for the military, and a collection of barns and stables to house test animals.

Masaru was proud of the special jail that would house Chinese prisoners of war and Masaru personally supervised the construction of a facility that could conduct frostbite studies year round.

There was a power plant, a group of furnaces used to animal carcasses and human waste and a recreational facility that Masaru designed himself. I wasn’t surprised when I learned it would be staffed with what Masaru described as “a healthy collection of comfort women.”

A railroad connected the facility to the city of Harbin and a private airfield was constructed where newly developed chemical and biological weapons could be tested.

I would later learn that the facility’s perimeter rivaled that of Nazi Auschwitz.

“Japan needs to expand in order to survive as a great nation,” Masaru told me as we stood in a corner watchtower and surveyed the completed facility. “The Home Islands are simply too limited in resources.”

Total war with China was underway and our government believed Manchuria to be the most obvious place to fill our needs.

“This is the most advanced weapons research facility in the world,” Masaru proclaimed, his arms opened wide and his face frozen into a grin like a father admiring his beautiful children. “It is time we started to experiment.”

I was more concerned about my filtration system and the munitions needed to deliver our weapons. I poured over my own blueprints, constantly revising and updating the schematics. I created designs for a portable water purification system that could be carried to the field of battle. A setup big enough for an entire barracks, even an entire base. Bombs that dispersed biological agents when detonated, balloons capable of traveling great distances to deliver these poisons to their target.

Japanese army soldiers at the facility were constantly coming to me asking for decisions on administrative matters. I delegated these mundane duties to my underlings and focused on my designs.

Masaru was more concerned with the experiments. A chemical and biological weapons development facility means our concoctions were to be tested on rats and other rodents. Wild animals captured near the facilities. The Chinese POWs were a constant reminder that we were at war.   

Our prisoners were Chinese, yet we didn’t call them prisoners. We never referred to any of them by name. “Logs,” Masaru decided they would be called. Nothing more than a word used by the military to dehumanize our enemies. As far as we knew, these prisoners never even had names. Only numbers.

Log 741. Log 622. Log 881.

I was more concerned with spare parts needed to build my machines. Not all pieces could be manufactured on the islands and we needed to seek outside help. The army put me in contact with a firm from Australia where my chief contact, ironically, was an American named Turner Denton.

Purported to be a member of the international scientific community, I knew little of Turner at first and our relationship began as nothing more than a buyer and a supplier discreetly exchanging goods and monies. Over the years our relationship would change considerably until I saw Turner as the only man who could deliver me from the predicament I took part in creating.

Mark McGinty‘s work has appeared in Maybourne Magazine, Montage Magazine, Cigar City Magazine and Germ Warfare. His novel The Cigar Maker won a Bronze Medal at the 2011 Independent Publisher Book Awards and was named Finalist at both the ForeWord Magazine Book of the Year Awards and the 2011 National Indie Excellence Awards.


Home to Nagasaki – Chapter 2 & 3

March 5, 2013

Chapter 2

War Ministry Grand Conference Hall, Tokyo

1937

 

Masaru dressed immaculately in his military uniform and stood half a head taller than the Imperial officers in the auditorium. With a handsome face and a deep, bombastic voice, he took the podium and stared for a moment into the standing-room sea of Japanese military officers, scientists, and even Prince Chichibu, brother of Emperor Hirohito.

Masaru was to demonstrate the advanced water filtration system that I had invented and he had championed. “Conduct the demonstration yourself,” Masaru had urged me, but I politely declined.

“I’m a man of engineering and science, not theatrics.”

Masaru smiled knowing we both thought of him as the superior showman. I owned the scientific contributions while Masaru pulls strings and converted my designs to reality. He was a better advocate of the device I had developed, of anything we had developed. Now he stood on the auditorium stage beside a table with a prototype of the filtration device, a complicated mishmash of tubes, piping and chemistry. This was a miniature version of the system we hoped the army would fund. A funnel at the top collected the unpurified water while pair of dials measured its chemical properties. A tin canister underneath the device would collect the purified water as it dripped from the pipes above.

Masaru addressed the room, needing no microphone as his voice boomed and echoed off the back wall. “Who can deny the importance of providing drinkable water to our armed forces in the forward theater? I present the most advanced water purification system in the world, capable of cleansing the most putrid water into a clean, drinkable supply. Allow me to demonstrate.”

Masaru unzipped his pants as the military audience gasped in horror and watched him remove his penis. He produced a metal cup and urinated into it in front of everyone. This move shocked me at first but I had already learned to accept this flamboyance as part of Masaru’s personality. He cared little what others thought of him. He was known to brag loudly of his successes with little regard for decorum, and to indulge in wine and women recklessly and frequently. This brash act of peeing into a cup as a crowded room of his superiors watched every drop fall was simply Masaru seizing attention. He thrived on the discomfort he caused and used it merely as a method of engaging his audience.

Masaru zipped his pants and carried the piss-filled cup to the device, pouring the urine into the funnel atop the contraption. He narrated the filtration process as the urine made its way through the pipes and eventually came dripping out of the nozzle above the collection canister clear as air.

He poured the contents into a glass and carried the seemingly clean water into the audience. I wasn’t surprised when he stopped before Chichibu Hirohito and offered the water to the Emperor’s brother. Stiff and surprised the prince quickly refused the glass with a curt wave of his hand. Masaru, surely expecting the prince to decline the test, raised the glass as if he were toasting the room, tilted his head back and quaffed the entire portion in one gulp. The crowd gasped but Masaru wiped his lips with the back of a hand and then smiled proudly awaiting his applause.

The dutiful assistant that I was, I started it with a hearty clap that slowly spread until the entire room was on its feet. The purification device was a success and the army soon awarded Masaru with the funds he had requested, yet the money was for more than an innovative system of cleaning water. We were on our way to Ping Fan to the Epidemic Prevention and Water Purification Department of the Kwantung Army, code name: Unit 731.

With the funding we’d receive for our water purification system, Masaru and I would soon turn the facility into the headquarters for Japan’s chemical and biological weapons program.

“This is an incredible honor, Captain,” Masaru said to me as we celebrated that night, a bottle of sake in both hands and a cigarette dangling from his lips. He emptied one of the bottles into my glass and tossed the spent bottle aside.

For as long as I had known Masaru he had been a heavy drinking night owl, but only after a day of hard work. The microbiologist was tall and athletic, his uniform always spotless and he often bested me in footraces or games of tennis. Our fellow officers envied his physical bravado and his seemingly constant supply of cash. In social settings, women flocked around him and postured for his attention. He advanced quickly through the ranks of Japan’s military and was eager to take me with him.

His giant hand proudly slapped my back. He grinned and showed his shiny white teeth. “Drink up, Kiyoshi. Celebrate!”

He toasted our drinks as Masaru nibbled at the pair of young women on either of his shoulders. The nightclub was loud and rowdy. Music blared from above and Masaru made sure my glass was eternally filled with liquor. “The demonstration was a resounding success!” he declared. “I am anxious to put into practice these ideas we have developed. The ideas we have developed together, Kiyoshi. I’m anxious to make Japan the leading nation in the technologies of warfare.”

Developed together, he stressed. I had been the man behind the science, to engineer the water purification devise, to birth ideas for our military technology.

Masaru was right. It was an incredible honor for us to be chosen to head Unit 731. Masaru and I had studied together at Kyoto University. We became doctors together, men of chemical engineering, and had served together in the Army ever since we engaged the Chinese in Manchuria in 1931. Masaru was always one rank ahead of me, always had one more friend than I did, and seemed to need me one step below him always looking up. So he kept me around. When he was promoted and transferred, he always brought me with him, made sure I was paid well, confided in me, and trusted my expertise.

And when Masaru had been chosen to run Japan’s premier chemical and biological weapons research facility, he named me his second-in-command.  

Masaru’s remaining sake bottle clanked against my glass. “Congratulations, Captain, and be proud! It is an honor to serve the Emperor!”

I said nothing, sipped my sake and took the last drag from my cigarette.

Chapter 3

 

Hiroshima, Japan

August 6th, 1945 8:16am

 

White skies.

Then a bright and clear morning was suddenly dark.

My military instincts told me to dive for cover but before I hit the ground, a force like a giant’s hand lifted me into the air and threw me towards the river. I hit the paved road, landing on my knees as my wrists slammed onto the pavement. Ignoring sandy cuts and scrapes, I clawed my way behind a stone wall as I was showered by a bomb of splinters and dirt.

Black spots, white spots. Ringing bells.

I rolled along the dirt and turned by back towards the blast. Was I asleep? Did I awaken? I tasted dirt in my mouth and was stung by burning soot up my nose. Hot, acid snot oozed down the back of my throat like lava.  

For a moment I remembered the bomb shelter just fifty feet away but a hot wind blew dust into my face and prevented me from going very far. So I kept my eyes closed and my head down. I was curled into a ball, covering my face with my scraped wrists and stinging hands as the wind pelted me with sand and sticks. There had been no explosions. No familiar pop-pop-pop of bombs detonating in the distance, no BOOM! when one landed nearby. There was no mass of airplanes buzzing above, no whistle as their bombs fell from the sky, no return fire from our anti-aircraft batteries.  

Just a flash of light and a burst of burning wind followed by an avalanche of dirt and junk. Silent shock. Splintering lumber, buildings crumbling. Bricks walls toppling like toy blocks, glass shattering, trees snapping like twigs.

I had crawled onto a pile of rocks so I tried to push them away. The vial with my capsule dug into my ribs. Minutes later, as the wind began to die I lifted my head to see all of Hiroshima shrouded in a brown haze. Through the dust, a cloud of fire grew a mile into the sky.

I was suddenly disappointed that another city had not survived. I was outraged at America for the bombing. At Japan for starting the war in the first place and not being able to defend cities like this one. At myself, for being in the middle of it all and having no power to do anything.  

I wanted to know what it meant for my plan. Where was Turner Denton? I wanted to ask someone. I wanted to know.

My eyes burned as grit filled my pores. I began to lose focus. My head hurt and I could feel wetness dripping from both ears. I used a hand to wipe the moisture from my face and looked down to see red fingers.

Did I hear no explosion because I’d lost my hearing?

But I could hear the wind, the shattered pieces of lumber slapping and splintering against nearby houses. The fire. Like a rush of thunder, the fire! But there were no screams, no voices, no aguish. No cries of panic. Absent was the despair that had been so common during the wars I had known.

I checked my hands and saw the backs were scalded and burned, as if they had been dipped into a pot of boiling water. But I felt no pain. I felt nothing. Only a dull, numbing sensation.

Still in shock, I tried to stand but my knees wobbled and I toppled to the ground. A small child walked by in a daze. A black dog passed the child from the other direction, limping and silent. A group of soldiers crawled from the bomb shelter, their bodies covered in soot, their ears bleeding, their faces dazed. I heard a child ask his mother, “Why is it so dark in the morning?”

I saw myself walking up to the mother as she held her child close, towering above them as the wind and the dirt blew overhead. As she brushed dust off her child’s face, I saw myself looking into her blurry eyes, her mouth caked with dirt. I saw myself ask her, “What does this mean for me?”

The air raid was over in an instant. Had there been only one bomb?

“Impossible.” I muttered.

I imagined myself standing before a classroom of schoolchildren, looking upon the kids who raised their hands and wanted to know if Hiroshima had been hit – if it had been utterly destroyed – by a single American bomb?

I shook my head. “There is no way one bomb can damage so much.” Yet I saw burning buildings all around me. Bodies lining the street as if an army had marched through and executed thousands of people at will. Survivors rose from the wreckage, their faces blank, their eyes lost.

“No way one bomb can do this,” I told myself yet I had a suspicion that the Americans had won the race to develop a functional nuclear weapon. If they had more than this one they would likely begin dropping them on all our major cities.

Then a hand wrapped around my ankle. I looked down to see Masaru, my commanding officer and saw half his face burned red, his eye sockets swollen. His hair singed and smoking, his good looks destroyed. But when I saw the alertness in his eyes I knew his mind remained unblemished. There was a flicker that I recognized.

As his fist squeezed my ankle, I thought of Masaru’s intense patriotism. His sense of nationalism that refused to let me escape with our secrets. I was reminded of his exuberant need to carry out his orders and guard the tales of the facility.

I had survived the bomb but Masaru was alive and still wanted me dead.

Mark McGinty‘s work has appeared in Maybourne Magazine, Montage Magazine, Cigar City Magazine and Germ Warfare. His novel The Cigar Maker won a Bronze Medal at the 2011 Independent Publisher Book Awards and was named Finalist at both the ForeWord Magazine Book of the Year Awards and the 2011 National Indie Excellence Awards.


Seventh Avenue Productions Releases “Lolly Poppet’s Lousy Year”

September 17, 2012

Now available for pre-order for $14.95. Click here to order and be one of the first to receive a copy!!

Lolly is having such a lousy year. She can’t wait for the next season to come along. Maybe next month will be better. Or maybe Lolly will have to learn to be happy in the present. Drawn in lively watercolor illustrations by Twin Cities based artist Lupi, a member of the International Cartoonists Conspiracy, Lolly Poppet’s Lousy Year is a bright, heartwarming storybook that any child will enjoy. Full color and written in bilingual English/Spanish text.

Lolly Poppet’s Lousy Year will be released October 6th, 2012 by Seventh Avenue Productions.

8.5 x 8.5, 30 pages, color, soft cover

ISBN: 978-0-9838854-3-6

$14.95 US


Give Joe Mauer a Break

March 31, 2012

I hear a lot of people trashing Joe Mauer. I understand why they do it, but I don’t like it. Sure, he only hit a measly .287 in 2011, even with the flu, pneumonia and some weird leg-something ‘r other.  He’s not worth $22 million a year, they say. Worst mistake the Twins ever made, they say. He has no power, he’ll never last at catcher, I even heard one theory that claimed his upcoming marriage would somehow destroy his production at the plate.

Joe Mauer is the worst…player…ever.

People can say these things, I don’t care. Fact is Modest Joe is a once in a generation, home grown ballplayer who has won three AL Batting Titles before the age of 30. The Twins have had him in their organization for 8 years and have him until at least 2018, maybe even for a bit longer if his health holds up. He won’t get to 3,000 hits but he will continue put up +.800 OPS seasons while being one of the hardest outs in baseball.

In his worst year ever, 2011, his OBP (on-base-percentage) was .360. That same year, beloved Face of Baseball Derek Jeter (fyi, he’s the Yankee Captain) had an OBP of .355. The year before, Jeter was at .340. Mauer was at .402. Yeah, it doesn’t make sense to compare these two except for the fact that it makes perfect sense. Jeter is a once-in-a-generation player and for Twins fans, Mauer is too.

He’s OUR Derek Jeter. Multiple batting titles, an MVP and 4 All Star appearances. And he’s not even 30. Figure 4 more years of healthy Mauer and he’ll start approaching a place where Jeter already has a golden shrine: the Hall of Fame. He’s already won 3 batting titles. I’m willing to bet all the money this blog post earns from click-traffic that Mauer wins at least one more.

But Jeter won 17 World Series rings and hands out gift baskets to vanquished ladies!

Oh yeah? Well here are 10 Ways The Twins Have Bested the Yankees Over the Years, so chew on that.

Enough about Jeter. Back to Mauer. He’s good. Very good. A once in a generation ballplayer who when all is said and done will have been with us for more than 15 years. We’d love to see him win a World Series, but doing so would not make him a more talented player. A great hitter and solid defensive catcher who throws out 35% of base runners (not bad), he is the face of the Twins franchise and will be until the next great player emerges, probably 20 years from now.

The Twins had Puckett in the 1980′s and ’91, Carew before him and the Killer long ago. Mauer is the next one of those guys, and all those guys are in the Hall of Fame. Mauer could be there too one day. As long as he stays healthy and continues to perform. And I see know reason why he won’t. Except that, yeah, he’s getting married.

Sometimes when you go to a game you see Mauer go 5-5 with 2 double and a bunch of offense. We cheer like crazy and realize we’re witness to greatest. So when he goes 0-5, remember it’s five at bats out of 7,500. And you’re still witness to greatness. Mauer is not going to hit a double every time he bats, and he’ll be injured here and there and will continue to frustrate. But he’ll put up solid numbers, sometimes elite numbers. Better numbers than Jeter. And damn it people, he’s one of the best players of this era.  He’s once in a lifetime. Enjoy this ballplayer! He’s likely to be remembered as one of the greats.

Mark McGinty is the Author of The Cigar Maker and Elvis and the Blue Moon Conspiracy. His work has appeared in Maybounrne Magazine, Germ Warfare and Chrono Chaos.


Did Justin Morneau offer a gift of cigarettes and rum?

March 25, 2012

If not, then what’s with the cigarette lighter?

Answer: eye black. Notice the burnt cork next to the lighter, and a second burnt cork directly above? Burnt corks = cheap eye black. No lie. I didn’t know that!!


The Cigar Maker Wins Fiction Honors

January 1, 2011

Seventh Avenue Productions is proud to announce that The Cigar Maker by Mark Carlos McGinty has won Honorable Mention in the General Fiction categories at both the London Book Festival and the New England Book Festival.

The Cigar Maker is the story of a Cuban cigar maker who battles labor strife and vigilante violence in 1900′s Tampa, Florida. It is based on true events.


Page One Contest: Now Accepting Submissions!

May 30, 2009

The Boogle is now accepting submissions for the Page One Fiction Contest! We are looking for the most gripping first page we can find!

THE BOOGLE’S PAGE ONE FICTION CONTEST

DEADLINE: Midnight CST June 7th

JUDGES: Mark McGinty, Bobby Ozuna and Joanne Connors-Wade

THE CRITERIA:

  • Is the page extremely well written?
  • Did the author clearly define the situation, premise and characters?
  • Does the reader want to continue?

WINNER RECEIVES:  An expedited review on The Boogle plus a review on amazon touting your book as an award winner. Plus the book will be featured on The Boogle along with an author’s biography and supporting links. And more importantly, you will win the glory and bragging rights of having written an award winning book.

RUNNER UP: Runners up will also be featured on the site with an author’s bio and supporting links.

GUIDELINES:

  • Free! No entry fee!
  • Submit the first page of your novel: the novel must be in print or currently in the printing stage – it cannot be a work in progress.
  • Submit the first page only – we realize that some 1st pages start halfway down while other start at the top. This can be the difference between submitting 200 words or 400. Yes, that is a factor but please realize there are benefits to both!
  • Multiple entries are accepted as long as they are for separate novels and meet the guidelines listed here.
  • Multiple entries must be submitted separately.
  • Entry must be written in English.
  • Once submitted, entries cannot be altered.
  • Late entries will not be considered.
  • The Boogle may change the rules at any time!! Not really, but please understand that we do have final say.

HOW TO SUBMIT:

Email Page One of your novel as an attachment, or copied into the email to mmcginty_32@yahoo.com. Please write “Page One”  in the subject line.

Include your name and the name of your novel plus your website or link to where the novel is sold.

WINNERS ANNOUNCED: by June 15th

Please email Mark at mmcginty_32@yahoo.com if questions arise, or post them as a comment below.


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