Guest post - Review of "One Shot at Forever" by Sports Book Lady

This book is one that the Sports Book Lady and I have discussed along with another reader on Goodreads.  Published in 2012, it paints a good picture of not only high school baseball, but small town America in the 1970's.  The Sports Book Lady's review of "One Shot at Forever."

Rating:
4 of 5 stars

Review:
As the weather starts to warm up and baseball season is finally in full swing, I could be a commercial for Major League Baseball's AtBat app as a person who is either watching, listening to, reading about, or pondering the game of baseball. From the first pitch of the season to its last, America's pastime dominates how I formulate my day as I base it on when my team plays. Recently, a GoodReads friend alerted me to a baseball book that was not yet on my radar, one that takes readers back nearly fifty years to small town Illinois and shows kids who play the game simply because it is fun. Taking place before teenagers specializing in one sport year round and mentioning both my home town and high school, I knew that One Shot at Forever by Chris Ballard was a book that I had to read early in this 2019 baseball season.

It is 1971 and the United States is fractured from race riots and the Vietnam war. Yet in tiny Macon, Illinois, a small town closer to St. Louis than Chicago, the residents appear stuck in the past. The Greatest Generation who fought in World War II still dominates the fabric of the town, and the majority of residents work as farmers, at longtime companies like Caterpillar, or at the small businesses or community services dotting the town. With a population of under 1000 comprised of large families who have lived in Macon or neighboring Elwin for generations, everyone either is related to or knows everyone else. Macon High School consisted of 250 students and could barely field teams in any sport, and when they did, the school rarely gave coaches any economic support. No matter how high school athletes did on the field, the boys were considered role models for the younger kids in town, as Macon High athletics were a bigger deal than minor league or professional sports. To play as a Macon High Ironman was an honor, and townspeople talked about key games on the schedule for years to come.

As the town remained rooted in the past, residents were in for the ride of their lives when English teacher named Lynn Sweet came to town in 1968. An army brat turned hippie who did things to the beat of a different drummer, Sweet was hired by principal Roger Britton on the spot for a job with no other candidates. Assigned sophomore and senior English, Sweet immediately threw away the curriculum, asked students to write their own obituaries, had farm kids never interested in opening a book reading MacBeth and enjoying it, and irking the members of the Greatest Generation who still controlled the town. In 1970 Macon High needed a new baseball coach. Principal Britton knew that Sweet had played semipro ball, organized staff trips to Cubs versus Cardinals games, and that the students loved his idiosyncratic style of teaching. Inheriting a team of nine with no bench, Sweet saw potential and agreed to coach the team in the only way he knew how: by throwing the rules of coaching out the window and letting kids who had grown up together coach themselves.

Today the Illinois High School Association (IHSA) divides schools into classifications based on size. Depending on the sport, there are four to eight divisions of schools, allowing schools the size of Macon High School to only face other small schools on the way to the state playoffs. These divisions did not exist in 1971 as schools like Macon had to face juggernauts from Chicago and its suburbs in route to a state title, making the season about to occur even more improbable. Lynn Sweet knew that his 1971 team was good. The players, consisting of mainly juniors and seniors knew that this was their last hurrah as kids before going off to college or being drafted to fight in Vietnam. Lead by alternate pitchers and third basemen John Hanneberry and Steve Shartzer, the Macon High team knew that they had the entire town following their every move, and the boys knew that they were good. Buying into Sweet's coaching philosophy, the team wore mismatched jerseys, had peace signs ironed onto their caps, warmed up to Jesus Christ, Superstar, and chilled by going on fishing trips or playing cards with their coach. And then the impossible happened: Macon made it to the mythical state playoffs in Peoria, and all small towns in central Illinois jumped on the Ironmen bandwagon.

Part Hoosiers and part One Championship Season, Ballard tells of a simpler time in a small town stuck in the past. In a feel good story, even someone like myself who grew up in one of these suburban juggernauts that has won multiple state titles in a myriad of sports can not help but root for small town Macon High School. The story has that feel good element to it, and Ballard follows up by interviewing the players and coach to see where they are in life forty years later. One member of the team, Brian Snitker is today the manager of the Atlanta Braves and even he is Macon through and through, playing the team's theme song on his way to spring training each year. The rest of the guys live near or around Macon, and the 1971 baseball team is still talked about as though it was yesterday although some of the team has grandchildren competing for Macon, now known as Meridian High School. Chris Ballard has exposed his readers to a slice of Americana that is becoming a relic of the past and a joy to read about.

*4+ stars*