by No, this isn’t a further lament about my conflicted baseball feelings. This is an actual book. Written by Robert M. Gorman and David Weeks, Death at The Ballpark is a compilation of all 2,000 or so known fatalities that took place at some form of baseball game in the United States from 1869 onward.
The bulk of the book is just that, a macabre list of everyone who never got back from the ol’ ball game. It sorts things by type of death (struck by pitch, struck by lightning, struck by pissed off opposing team member, etc.), whether they were a player, fan, or field personnel, and orders them all chronologically. The more interesting or elaborate deaths get a few paragrahs, but much of the book is a slog. I wanted to actually feel for most of these people. But there is only so much “John Smith, struck on head by pitch at random game in Anytown, Anystate on June 1, 1900” that a person can take before it all kinda glazes over. An occasional interesting insight such as how few women have died at baseball games or the sad fact that most baseball deaths in the late 20th and early 21st centuries are children popped into my mind to shake things up. However, I more often than not found myself feeling relief when the dates in the various chapters got past 1925 as that was a pretty reliable sign the chapter was nearly over.
I didn’t want to dismiss this book completely. The authors make some great points about the need for more fan safety measures at Major League stadiums. They even maintain a blog to comment on more recent baseball safety incidents. Also, their respectful tone with regard to the indivuals listed, stating in the introduction that each death listed was a tragedy, provides a bit of a reminder of how fragile life is. Ultimately though, that tone disappears as the lists go on and on. The tragedies quickly become statistics.
I can’t really recommend this book. If you happen to feel down, stay away, this book will not make you feel better. Baseball nerds might find it a little interesting, but the lists will drag on like a shitty rain delay of sadness.
