Summer Reading

Still searching for a good book to take to the beach, the country, or just a secluded corner? In a summer of the Olympic Games, tight baseball pennant races, and other high-profile sporting events, even the most dedicated athletes and executives find time in their busy schedules for some quiet reading. Here are books that several sports and business personalities have been reading, or plan to read, in their spare moments this summer.

Billy Beane

President & General Manager

Oakland A’s

I am reading the George Martin series of books that the HBO show “Game of Thrones” is based on. They are not brief, so I’m sure they will fill the summer months.

Natalie Coughlin

11-time Olympic medal winner for USA Swimming 

“Drop Dead Healthy,” by A.J. Jacobs

I love reading about food, cooking, and nutrition. This book looks at all sorts of diets, workout regimens, and health ideologies in an interesting, light-hearted way.

Sunil Gulati

President

U.S. Soccer Federation

“Thinking, Fast and Slow,” by Daniel Kahneman

“Behind the Beautiful Forevers,” by Katherine Boo
“The End of Illness,” by David Agnus
“The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks,” by Rebecca Skloot

Armen Keteyian

Chief Investigative Correspondent 

CBS News

“The Passage of Power,” by Robert Caro. Lessons in how to really report, by the master of the sentence.

“Creole Belle,” the latest from the incomparable James Lee Burke.

“The Inquisitor,” by Mark Allen Smith. Unique character meets spellbinding story.

Anything and everything by recent discovery Thomas Perry, including all of the celebrated Jane Whitefield series.

“Faithful Place,” by Tana French, a recommendation from good buddy Harlan Coben.

Phil Knight

Co-Founder & Chairman

Nike

“The Orphan Master’s Son,” by Adam Johnson

Christopher Ramsey

CEO

USA Water Polo

“Unbroken,” by Laura Hillenbrand.

“The New Cathedrals: Politics and Media in the History of Stadium Construction,” by Robert Trumpbour.

“How Will You Measure Your Life?” by Clayton Christensen, James Allworth, and Karen Dillon.

“Migration: New and Selected Poems,” by W.S. Merwin.

Harvey Schiller

Chairman of the Board & CEO

Global Options Group

“It Worked For Me,” by Colin Powell

“A Universe From Nothing,” by Lawrence Krauss

“The Candy Bombers,” by Andrei Cherny

“The Passage of Power,” by Robert Caro

Still trying to finish “Steve Jobs,” by Walter Issacson.

Mary Wittenberg

President & CEO

New York Road Runners

“Gone Girl,” by Gillian Flynn.  A New York Times review landed this thriller on my list.

“Steve Jobs,” by Walter Isaacson. I know, I am behind in getting to this one, but it’s a must read I have been saving for the summer.

“Thinking, Fast and Slow,” by Daniel Kahneman. My management-type book for the summer.

The Rewards of Teaching Children

Ever since I started a second rewarding career as a substitute teacher, I have often been asked if I prefer one age group (elementary school, middle school, or high school) over another. It’s an easy question for me. I enjoy working with the younger children. It’s simple: They try. That cannot be said of every middle- or high-school student, some of whom are maddeningly indifferent to learning, including a few who benightedly wear their ignorance as some kind of badge of honor.

I love second-graders best. Already in their third year in the school, they are fairly comfortable in their environment and routine and, up to a point, understand and try to fulfill what is expected of them. Not mature by any measure, at the same time they have passed beyond babyishness while retaining the best qualities of childhood--curiosity, overexuberance, innocence, honesty, and happiness.  

And, so, I was never disappointed to get the call to sub for one of the district’s excellent second-grade teachers. I began this day as I always did by greeting the children: “Good morning, boy and girls.”

“Good morning, Mr. K!”

What a glorious way to start any day, facing so many open and smiling faces.

“How is everyone today?”

“Good.” A universal response every single time I ask that question.

“Before we begin, I have to take attendance,” I told them. “If you’re not here, please raise your hand.”

Thankfully, a few students caught the joke immediately. Their hands shot up.  A few other hands were raised tentatively, those children unsure that they had heard the question correctly.

Without fail, someone could be counted on to say, “I’m not here, Mr. K.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” I said.

Thank You Notes

With apologies to Jimmy Fallon, here are a few things I am grateful for:

Thank you, sports beat reporters, for shamelessly sucking up to postgame interview subjects by providing both the question and answer (“You have to be pleased with today’s win”) for them.

Thank you, network programming executives, for those excerpts you choose to promote as the highlight of your sit-coms and allowing us to recognize in advance just how witless those shows are.

Thank you, convenience store cashier, for petulantly asking if I want a bag for my groceries and grudgingly depleting your bag inventory.

Thank you, Republicans, for cutting spending on education and social welfare so that billionaires can revel in luxury and stylish charm.

Thank you, pitch-by-pitch replays, for slowing down the pace of baseball more than anyone could have thought possible and proving that watching paint dry is infinitely more fascinating.

Thank you, push buttons on traffic lights, for giving unimaginative pedestrians the illusion of power.

Thank you, Fox Sports TV directors, for occasionally diverting your cameras from the crowd and dugout to the field and reminding us that there is a game being played during your broadcast.

Thank you, professional writers, for misusing the words “disinterested,” “fortuitous,” and “presently” and proving that your editors are as benighted as you are.

Thank you, distracted SUV-driving mom on cell phone with toddler in child seat and stick figures of family on back window, for ignoring that stop sign and allowing a jogger to perform his deer-in-the-headlights imitation.

Thank you, baseball players who point to heaven, for having the hubris to think that God took the time to notice you jog into second base.

Thank you, bottled water, for underestimating P.T. Barnum and proving that there are now thousands of suckers born every minute.

Thank you, people who use apostrophes in simple plural words. The education of your children is in your hand’s.

Thank you, officious church ushers, for forcing tiny devout widows to squeeze ever deeper into the pew to accommodate late-arriving sweaty fat men in shorts.

Thank you, mute button, for the opportunity to silence instantly the E-trade talking baby, Geico gecko, Bud Light actors, and humming Honda passengers.

Thank you, drivers who use the breakdown lane to zoom past the waiting cars and cut in at the exit ramp for reminding me that Dante did not designate your own personal circle of hell.

Thank you, fat baseball trainers, for being role models for poorly conditioned players.

Thank you, print ad sales reps, for being eager to sell out any or all parts of editorial for your miserable commission.

Thank you, funeral-mass cards, for the fill-in-the-blank line that allows me to determine just how many years of prayers I want for the deceased.

Thank you, lawn-service workers, for Saturday morning’s three uninterrupted hours of leaf-blowing my neighbors’ blades of grass down the length of the street.

Thank you, NBA athlete, for pounding your own chest to show us you have heart while your counterpart just blew past you to put his team ahead.

Thank you, MLB relievers, for throwing 11 pitches every other day and redefining the word “courageous.” 

Thank you, sabermetricians, for dramatizing just how little you value free time via your arcane formulas that prove what is obvious to fans who merely watch the games.

God, He's a Huge Sports Fan

Ever since King Saul successfully sent up David to pinch-hit for the Israelites against Goliath and the Philistines, players have been pointing skyward after an individual athletic accomplishment.

Nowadays, it’s commonplace to see a player hit a home run, score a touchdown, or slam home a dunk and then gesture to the heavens—or at least to the top of the dome or arena. But before David, who knew that God was such a sports fan? 

I once asked the writer Frank Deford about that.

“Well, [God] is,” Deford said. “And we should all know that. He takes time out from his busy schedule to root for various teams. And those teams that pray the most, I think God favors. Now, it’s always tricky when two teams that pray equally meet each other. This makes it very tough for God. And sometimes he just doesn’t know what to do, and so as a consequence, he turns his back and lets the athletes decide without him getting involved.”

You mean God’s indifferent at that point?

“He’s neutral,” Deford said, “but most of the time, as any sensible person knows, God determines what happens on the field. And I think that’s the way that it should be. It’s foolish for us to think that we should play these games without spirituality mattering more than athleticism.”

You have to feel for God, what with all the demands on his attention in the sports-mad world he created. Someone’s always giving a shout-out to him, and not necessarily at climactic moments.

“I can’t imagine in this day and age that God actually cares when Barry Bonds hits his thirteenth home run of the year,” ESPN sports columnist Rick Reilly once told me. “I don’t know…maybe he does. What I like are the guys that make a tackle and stop someone for a one-yard loss and point to God. And even God goes, ‘Come on. It’s still second-and-11. So what!’ ”

It seems only sporting to allow God to kick back in his skybox, at least on his traditional day of rest, and take a timeout from worldwide strife, the foibles of Wall Street and the GOP, and the ineptitude of the Yankees with runners in scoring position. Still, who could blame him for pulling some strings and exerting his influence on some personal favorites? The Angels, for example, whose ascension owes at least an assist to the grace of Mike Trout. And heaven apparently can wait for the Devils, eliminated in six games by the Kings.

Surely it’s no coincidence that the fortunes of the Rays took a turn for the better once the Tampa Bay franchise dropped “Devil” from its nickname. Then again, God seems to have turned his back on the Saints after the revelation of their ugly bounty program.

Late last September, after the Red Sox were eliminated from contention in the American League, first baseman Adrian Gonzalez said, “God has a plan. And it wasn’t God’s plan for us to be in the playoffs.” Who knew that God had a sense of humor?

But to be fair, Gonzalez might have been thinking of Zeus, who in fickle moments would throw down a thunderbolt on the hapless mortals.

And just last month, in a conversation with Susan Slusser of the San Francisco Chronicle, Manny Ramirez reassured the fans of the Oakland A’s, his newest team. “The thing people don't understand is that God didn't bring me to Oakland to fail,” Manny said.

“No, God sent Manny to Los Angeles for that,” said Slusser’s colleague Scott Ostler.

Perhaps it’s best to attribute everything in sports, as in life, to predestination. You know, the outcome of all the games having been ordained from the beginning of time. Takes everyone off the hook of individual responsibility and allows God to be a fan, just like the rest of us.

Father's Day Gifts

What’s everybody doing for Father’s Day, I asked the second graders today. Is anyone planning something special for dad?

“I’m taking him to Florida,” said Ashley.

“I’m getting him a pet,” said Eddie.

What a surprise that will be for dad, I thought.

“Both grandmas and grandpas are coming,” said Joey. “We’re going to Long Beach Island tomorrow, and then they’re all going to sleep over.”

You guys are too much, I told them.

“That’s what my mom always says,” said Kira, who has two siblings in the same elementary school.

“We’re going swimming,” said Emma.

Do you have your own pool, I asked her.

“No, we’re going to the town pool. But guess what? I’m getting a pool next year. My dad said he is going to dig one for us.”

In the back yard?

“Yes. And you know what the best part is?”

The possibilities there were endless.

“It’s going to be right next to the trampoline.” Her excitement was palpable.

Oh, so you can bounce right into the pool then. I bet you can’t wait for next summer.

“I know.” Accompanied by an ear-to-ear smile.

But I hope you are all going to take it easy on dad on his special day, I said. You know, give him a break, do something nice, maybe bring him a cold drink when he’s in the hammock (wondering at the same time if dads anywhere ever spent time in a hammock and if any of the children even knew what a hammock is).

Part two of that was quickly answered. 

“We have a hammock,” said Eddie, “but it’s broken because we were all playing in it.”