Click here to buy a copy of Ball Four: The Final Pitch When it was first published in 1970, Ball Four ignited a firestorm of controversy that raged far beyond the boundaries of baseball. Everyone from players and team executives to journalists and broadcasters had a mostly negative opinion about Jim Bouton's nearly 500-page expose'. Ball Four, however, was loved by the majority of the fans who bought tickets to watch their diamond heroes. Even people who rarely followed baseball devoured the hilariously funny and revealing book. In fact, during its 30-year life, Ball Four has sold more than five million copies worldwide. For the new edition of this historic book, Jim Bouton has written a highly entertaining epilogue, reflecting upon his life at the age of 60, the traumatic death of his daughter, and the heartwarming invitation from the Yankees to play in his first Old-Timers' Day game since his exile from the club. Click here to buy a copy of Ball Four: The Final Pitch My Love/Hate Affair with Baseball (cont.) February 26, 1969 Reported to the Seattle Pilots' spring camp today in Tempe, Ariz. As soon as I got to the park, I went right over to General Manager Marvin Milkes' office, and we shook hands and he asked me if I had a nice flight. He also said: "There's been a lot of things said about the players' strike, and I know you've said some things about it, but we're going to forget all that and start fresh. We have a new team, and everybody starts with a clean slate. I'm giving some people a new opportunity. I've got a man in the organization who is a former alcoholic. I've even got a moral degenerate that I know of. But we're going to let bygones be bygones." As I left, I wondered where, on a scale of one to ten, a guy who talks a lot falls between a former alcoholic and a moral degenerate. March 5 Mickey Mantle announced his retirement the other day, and I got to thinking about the mixed feelings I've always had about him. On the one hand, I really liked his sense of humor and his boyishness, the way he'd spend all that time in the clubhouse making up involved games of chance, and the pools he got up on golf matches and the Derby and things like that. I once invested a dollar when Mantle raffled a ham, I won, only there was no ham. That was one of the hazards of entering a game of chance Mickey explained. I also remember the time I won my first game. It was a shutout against the Washington Senators, in which I walked seven guys and gave up seven hits and had to pitch from a stretch position the whole game. When it was over, I walked into the clubhouse, and there was a path of white towels from the door to my locker, and just as I opened the door, Mickey was putting the last towel down in place. I'll never forget him for that. On the other hand, there were all those times he'd push little kids aside when they wanted his autograph, and the times when he was snotty to reporters, just about making them crawl and beg for a minute of his time. I've seen him slam a bus window on kids trying to get his autograph. And I hated that look of his, when he'd get angry at somebody and cut him down with a glare. March 11 Steve Barber was in the training room today getting some diathermy on his shoulders. He says his arm doesn't hurt. Ballplayers learn after a while that you don't tell anybody if you have an injury if you can possibly avoid it, even a teammate. It might get back to the coaches, get spread around and be blown out of all proportion. More important, you don't want to admit it to yourself. March 28 Wayne Comer, our right-handed-hitting outfield hope, got into an argument with an umpire, and they were jawing back and forth. The last thing the umpire said was, "All right, Comer. You'll be sorry you said that." And he probably will. Umpires do get even with people, even good umpires. I remember when George Scott first came up to the Red Sox. He must have irritated Ed Runge somehow, because the word came out from Elston Howard that when Runge was behind the plate and Scott was hitting, the strikes wouldn't have to be too good. The first pitch I threw to Scott was about six inches off the plate. Strike one. The second pitch was eight inches outside. Strike two. The third pitch was a curve in the dirt. Scott swung and missed. He never had a chance. April 14 I got sent to Vancouver tonight. My first reaction: outrage. Second reaction: Omigod! How am I going to tell my wife? The problems. Where to live? How to get rid of the place we'd already signed a lease on in Seattle. What would happen to the $650 deposit? Moving again. Again. And we just got here. But mostly outrage. We'd lost a 2-1 game to Kansas City when Sal Maglie came over and said, "Joe wants to see you in his office." My heart started racing. I mean Joe never wants to see me anywhere. So I knew. At the same time, I thought, "Nah, it's too early. I've really pitched only once. How can they tell anything from that? Maybe it's a trade. Or maybe he's sore at something I've done. Let's see, what have I done lately?" It takes a lot longer to tell it than to think it. As soon as I got into his office, Joe Schultz said, "I hate to tell you a thing like this after such a close loss." I almost laughed in his face. As though I'd be so heartbroken over losing a lousy ball game that I couldn't bear anything more, even a small thing like being sent to the minors. Click here to buy a new copy of Ball Four: The Final Pitch