Forty-five years ago, Ring W. Lardner introduced his singularly realistic baseball player, the letterwriting busher Jack Keefe, to an enchanted public in the pages of the Saturday Evening Post. Lardner made the letters so convincing that readers were able to believe the busher would find time, while competing for a pitcher’s berth on the Chicago White Sox, to write full accounts of his experiences for a pal back in Terre Haute. A new generation now may experience this suspension of disbelief by reading the second reissue of You Know Me Al (Scribner, $3.75). It is an American classic.
This busher had natural talent, along with a fast ball like that of Walter Johnson. On the other hand, he was too conceited to learn to field his position, and too fat to do it effectively even if he had been willing to learn. His overweight came from indulgence in beer and liquor, and greed at the table so great that the sardonic Kid Gleason, a veteran coach, remarked that Keefe ate the entire menu including the name of the hotel.




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