What sheer childish, impish joy it is to call a book for adults Balls. Now, maybe normally this is the sort of book I would prefer to sniff and snide about, but hey, I practically learned to read from this thing. Well, not this one--unless this copy had some sort of amazing journey from a Mississippi public library to a used book sale in Amarillo, TX. You know what...new thought. Why did the Greenville, MS public library carry the 1984 memoir of a New York Yankees third basemen who was connected by no notable thread to the South at all?
Graig, subject and ghosted for author, was indeed one of those error ridden birth certificate babies doomed to a life of reaffirming his name just that one time too many in every possible conversation. "Why, no, we do not have a reservation for a Graig; however, we do have a Craig for the same time...perhaps you two could sit together and share funny name stories, yes?"
Mr. Nettles was also one of those rare individuals who was not only funny by the lower standards of celebrity or athletes, but humorous in a real direct fashion. Here are a couple of selections:
"People recognize me wherever I go, where it used to be just New York. I guess people who aren't even baseball fans watch the World Series. I was driving down the freeway in Los Angeles over the winter and a guy pulled up next to me and gave me the finger."
Upon batting against quirky Mark Fidrych who spoke to his pitches before releasing, Graig reportedly said to his bat, "Never mind what he says to the ball--hit it over the outfield fence!" Nettles struck out. "Damn," he said. "Japanese bat. Doesn't understand a word of English."
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