The Sheraton Suites has given us a room for our services and meals, which begin in about 10 minutes. Following tonight’s serv ice, Ron Blomberg, Marty Appel, and Irwin Cohen will speak about their Jewish live in baseball. More of the same tomorrow. After Havdalah, we’ll rejopin our teammates for a closing Banquet.

Good Shabbos, everybody!

There are two major purchases available here, aside from the gift shop: Still photos and videos.

Micheal Cerone and Tom Izor have been shooting campers — in a good way — since the first Fantasy Camp. They said their outfit, Sports Twin Photo, takes between 10,000 and 15,000 photos per weekly session: action, posed, with Yankee legends, special request: anything you can think up, they can give you.

Each day the campers can sit down at a computer set up especially for their team and look through the shots for possible purchase. All different sizes, with special effects, are available.

Tom Izor, left, and Michael Cerone operate Sports Twins Photos.

It’s not work to be taken lightly. In order to get the best shot, the photographers often put themselves in the line of fire, on the field and  along the foul lines, while the action is going on. “The players are always getting in the way,” Cerone said, smiling.

Back in the day, photographers were allowed to stand on major league fields, albeit it in foul  territory. But the Lords of baseball decided it was too dangerous — for the players. After that, the lensmen were practically herded up and put in “pens,” which are often too small to accommodate everyone. “Baseball is a game of inches,” Cerone, 72, said, “for photographers, too.”

When Cerrone started his Fantasy Camp gigs, he used film, with all the expense it entailed, including developing and processing. Now, with digital technology, his life is much easier, if not more lucrative because of the recession. ”God bless Photoshop,” he said.

From left, Gary, Javier, and Tim.

From day one, head trainer Gary and his associates Tim and Javier, massaged, taped, iced, heated, and medicated more than 50 percent of the campers, treating everything from pulled hamstrings to sprained ankles to, in my case, a calcium deposit that needed extra padding. Some of the guys feel they’re too tough, in too good shape to require such ministrations. Others are in there every time you turn around. They parade around the locker room with bags of ice taped to various body parts, making them look like a combination between the Michelin Man and Mr. Olympia.

Head trainer Gary assists another aching camper.

After the first day, I was so sore from catching one game and playing infield and outfield in the next that I could barely move my legs. I took a foul ball to the face mask that barely registered, followed by another foul ball off the forearm (unprotected), not to mention the constant up and down from squatting. Even getting on and off the bus on the way back to the hotel was an adventure. And I was one of the better cases.

The suggestion was made at the first camp meeting: “Start slow…and taper off.” But you can look at almost every camper and read his or her mind: that won’t happen to me. You figure you’re only here for a week; you can tough it out. That’s just crazy talk.

Each night is a call for a fresh application of balm (the trainers use a product called Atomic Balm which sounds as hot as it sounds, lasts forever, and increases in intensity the more you sweat) and a handful of Advil.

The trainer’s room is a tidy arrangement of tables, rolls of tape, assorted ointments, tools, and pills (all approved by MLB). Another room houses the hot tub and a trio of ice baths that look like large metal tubs with outboard motors on the inside. That’s quite an experience, one limited to less than 15 minutes, even for the hardiest among us.

The trainers are also responsible for stretching us out before each game. Participation is mandatory and sometimes like a game of Simon Says, as players do what they do rather than what they say.

I tell you what, all this gives you a better appreciation for all the little nicks, cuts, and bruises a player sustains in every game. Forget about the big stuff; it’s these nickle and diming that makes you feel mortal.

Julie Kremer, left, and Amysue Manzione

* * *

Julie Kremer, camp director, and Amysue Manzione, assistant camp director: Everything runs through these young women. They’re the administrative end, that keeps everything running smoothly, from arranging the Yankees players to scheduling the buses to dozens of little items that go unnoticed until something goes wrong.

Kremer worked in close association with Ira Jaskoll on the kosher component of this year’s camp, the first time the organization has offered such a feature. She has been in charge of the whole smear since 2004. “We had two kosher campers [in 2008; Jaskoll was one of them] that had called and they were  interested in attending. They had concerns, obviously, because we weren’t providing kosher food. I said, if you arrange the food, we’ll go on with business as usual. Once camp was over, I spoke with Ira Jaskoll and he had the idea that we would offer kosher accommodations and on top of that we would go through the whole process of ordering kosher food, and on top of that, we would also provide Saturday services and Friday services as well.”

After services, the Kosher campers will have a few guest speakers, including former Yankee Ron Blomberg;, Marty Appell, former public relations director for the Yankees, and author of a recently published biography of Thurman Munson; and Irwin Cohen, author of seven books, and a former writer for a national baseball publication for five years before earning a World Series ring working as a department head for the Detroit Tigers in 1984. 

“Instead of the ‘Dream Game,’ [which pits the Yankees legends against the campers] on Saturday, we made a special dream game on Friday.” For most people, Kremer said, this was the highlight of the week, and since the games were normally scheduled for Saturdays, observant Jewish campers would be precluded from participating.

There are not enough Orthodox Jewish campers to make up a full team, so Kremer said

The response has been good, considering the economy. “I think we were right where we wanted to be,” she said. “Like everything, there’s that building process. And being where we are,  I think it’s only going to get better for next year.”

The January session also has six observant Jews registered, she said. Jaskoll will once again serve as point man.

It’s something we’ve always talked about,” Kremer said. “It makes you a little nervous because it’s the first time we’ve done it, but we’ve done fine and the response has been great.”

Kremer, who is not Jewish, said this has been a learning experience. “There’s a lot I did  not know and Ira’s been very good at teaching me what  it’s all about, and it’s been great. We’re looking forward to next year.”

The bad news: it’s a calcium deposit.

That’s according to Trainer Gary, who gave me the once over after yesterday’s doubleheader. Whatever it is, it’s painful and prevents me from using my blazing speed (hey, it is fantasy camp, right?)

* * *

In a prefect world, we would all bat 1.000, strike out every opposing batter, and make every fielding play with style. But even here, baseball is a zero-sum game. Add up all the wins and losses and they’re the same. Although they don’t officially keep stats down here, I would say a good number of guys keep their own in their head. I have been “guilty” of that myself, as if it makes a difference in the grand scale of things, even at the professional sports level (sorry, for sounding so philosophical; didn’t get much sleep last night).

Anyway, up early to wait for the first bus so I can get to the trainer’s room for treatment.

In a high-price establishment, everything is taken care of for you. The accommodations, the activities,the laundry, the health care, the take-aways — and there are some nice takeaways. Seems to be something new every day. Today it was a pair of Nike running shows and a hand-drawn caricature of the late Johnny Blanchard, a super sub for the Yankees of the early 1960s who was a staple at these camps for several years.

As in every social situation, a group dynamic begins to establish itself. There are one or two “alphas” because, hey,  somebody has to take charge. That honor goes to Mike S., a toughie from the Monmouth County area who anchors third base. Then there are the quiet kids, in this case Craig, a software company executive, and Bobby, a dentists, a pair of buddies from upstate New York, and John, D. a 60-something  Southern gentleman from Tennessee. Three more friends — John M., Gene (known around here as “Gene and top of the order,” a nod to where he normally bats on their softball team), and Tony (the shortstop who doubles as the sub-Alpha). They’re the funny kids, quick with a self-deprecating joke. Nick, an accountant, is on thefence and can go either quiet or sub-Alpha. And, of course, Ira and his friend Rich who, at 75 is the elder statesman of the Bombers.

Which leads to another point: the reason we are all here. Without naming names, most are here for the sheer spectacle and enjoyment. If we happen to win a few games, so much the better. But if we were that good, we’d be the real ex-Yankees down here and not the paying customers. A few of the more competitive among us forget that, quick to annoyance when one of us makes an error in the field, though not so much at bat. It’s easy to win together; it’s tougher to lose. You hear quiet comments suggesting the finger of blame at this one or that, of an opportunity missed, but you know what? At the end of the week we all want to go home with pleasant memories of playing in a major league facility, puttin’ on the pinstripes, and pretending that we’re livin’ the dream, even if it’s just about sports.

Since I’m here as a guest of the Yankees, I try to hang back a bit. There is an all-star game, selected by each team’s coaches. With all due modesty, I would think I’m one of the top players, not just becauseof the batting average but for the little things, such as knowing which base to throw to, or backing up a play correctly. But I decided that if chosen, I will not serve; that should go to someone paying the full freight.

Ouch.

Ouch.

I know I’m of a certain age, certainly no longer that of even an elderly professional athlete, but DAMMMMNnnn.

I stopped by the trainer’s room this morning, not for myself mind, you but just to ask head trainer Gary about the types and numbers of injuries he was seeing early on. Hamstrings, he said, because most of the guys do not stretch on a regular basis. We have mandatory stretching before each game, which has helped.

So in the first game, the Bombers extended their unbeaten streak to 3-0, taking the contest against the Bambinos, 7-4. I acquitted my employer and my faith well, going 4-5 with a couple of runs batted in, earning some kind words from the bubbly Jesse Barfield and coach Ron Shelton. MOT teammate Ira Jaskoll, who has earned the nickname”Rabbi,” (what can I say, sports nicknames are frequently unimaginative and a bit, well, sarcastic, like tall a bald guy “Curly,” or a stout guy “Slim.”)., seems to take it all good-naturedly, as should be the case in this relaxed atmosphere.

After the lunch break — somehow my kosher vegetarian meal wasn’t ordered — it was a brief rest then back to the main field for game two against the Thunder. We should have known we were in trouble when they gathered together for a group cheer. Sure enough, the first three guys got on and the cleanup hitter popped one over the left field fence, a legitimate shot. But again — and no sour grapes intended, the guy still had to hit the ball — the coaches are pitching what is basically batting practice.

I did not acquit my employer or faith as well in the second game, managing only one hit in four trips, with two RBI and, to my eternal chagrin, a strikeout. We ended up making it close, 12-8, against the Thunder, which is now 4-0. This time I took advantage of the wonderful training facilities, getting ice treatment for a balky Achilles tendon and a bone bruise on my glove hand. I had actually been in a bit earlier the stupid accident of the week: sitting on my glasses. Fortunately they had an eyeglass screwdriver and were able to make the repairs.

Last night most of the Jewish campers ate together, Chicken or Salisbury steak for the meat-eaters, stir-fry tofu and couscous for me. Quite tasty. Jaskoll has done an excellent job, with Yankees camp leader Julie Kremer (who is not Jewish but is learning fast), in coordinating the meals. This morning was some sort of French Toast concoction which didn’t look that good but was actually quite tasty.

Other than the meals, which are delivered vacuum-sealed, the Jewish players are divided amount the teams. The only difference will be on Friday, when we play our two-inning game against the former Yankees. In fact, since there are just the six observant Jewish campers, we will need to recruit some Jews for a day, I suppose, to field a full team. On my team, Jaskoll and his friend, Rich Williams, sit at the far end of the section. I’m closer to the Gentile section, so I hear things. Am I being paranoid, supersensitive to the mumbles, said in jest, but perhaps more hurtful if spoken somewhat louder? After all, this is a locker room, where no topic is off limits when it comes to ragging on your teammates. I think I’ll reserve a bit of that until after camp is over. Now you know why most players wait until they retire to publish their memoirs.

Marty Appel will arrive tomorrow. Interested in what he’ll have to say of a Jewish nature.

Off to dinner: there’s a veggie meal with my name on it waiting for me at the kitchen.

Oh, a one correction: Elliot Maddox is not one of the Yankeesin attendance this time around. Pity; it would have made an interesting dynamic.

• The bases are miles apart, especially after playing softball for so many years.
• The bats weigh a ton, especially after using aluminum and other metal composites for softball.
• Wearing cleats all day cannot be  good for your feet.
• Everything officially hurts. They say the older you get, the longer it takes for the pain to set in. If that’s the case, I’m actually feeling pretty young right about now. (I take that back, my fingernails don’t hurt. Anymore.)

The day started at 7, when we loaded the first of two buses to take us to George M. Steinbrenner Field. I must say I am very impressed with the level of organization. Prior to camp we had filled out forms re: sizes, and number preference, so when we arrived, everything was in readiness. A pinstriped uni, batting practice/road jersey, T-shirt, belt, socks, windbreaker and hat.

We all put on the pinstriped for the first in what will undoubtedly be many many many picture sessions. This was followed by a buffet breakfast, after which it was back to the locker room for an orientation session and to change into our uniforms of the day. For my team the Bombers, it was the home pinstripes.

Gary, the head trainer

Among these fine gentlemen, including clubhouse guys, trainers, photographers, and videographers, we met our next best friend, Gary — the trainer. He warned us to start slow and taper off. No joke. Some of these guys down here are quite competitive. It is my understanding that an entire team came down together. Jumping ahead here, but by days end, Gary told me he had seen at least 25 out of the 60 campers. One poor guy — one of the other Jewish players, in fact — lost a pop up in the sun at short and it hit him square on the nose. It wasn’t broken, but it did leave him with several stitches and a great story to tell.

So after a slew of photos, with our team, solo shots with our coaches, baseball-card type poses, etc., we got down to business.

The Bombers took on the Blanchards (named after the late Yankee back-up Cather who made several fantasy camp appearances). With 11 guys on our team, and no one offering to catch, I volunteered to do so, with no prior experience (which is why they call the gear “the tools of ignorance,” I guess.) I am proud — and relieved — to report that I made it through seven innings in the warm Tampa weather handling former major leaguers on the mound. Oh, who am I kidding — these guys were throwing from the bottom of the mound at batting practice speed. The rules here are designed for maximum enjoyment and minimum embarrassment. Campers pitch the final three innings, I suppose to move the game along at a brisk pace.

I took a foul ball off the mask, one of the thigh, one off the hand and totally flubbed a high pop-up that I could not locate. It landed about five feet from me, in fair territory, of course, and the runner made it to first safely. Still it was a good experience. I caught one camper-thrown inning, and he was bringing it faster than the coaches and figured I better quit while I was ahead. The Yankees actually provide “real” catchers for just such a circumstance.

At the plate, I went 1-3 as a clean-up hitter (totally arbitrary line-up) with a run scored in a 7-4 win. The hit came against Jesse Barfield, who was known for having one of the most powerful arms during his tenure in the Majors.

* * *

After a brief lunch, we hit the fields again. This time, we hopped on the bus to take us to the Yankees’ minor league facility a mile or so away where we took on the Clippers. This time I started at first base and served as the leadoff hitter. No doubt because of my blazing speed. Not. Went 3-5 including, depending on who you’re asking, a bases-clearing triple (the ball got by the right fielder on a tricky hop) as we swept the day’s games, 20-8.

Following a quick shower, I took in a Fantasy version of home run derby. Each team put up a couple of players to vie for the title. Then it was some bonding in a Yankees mini-restaurant (one of my teammates had a birthday today, so cake was served. Nice touch.) then back on the bus for the ride to the hotel for a well-deserved rest. Can’t wait to see how we all react tomorrow.

And let me tell you, it hasn’t been easy getting a connection to post this, so I hope ya’ll appreciate it.

So let’s do a quick re-cap.

Arrived yesterday after a pleasant plane ride (word of advice: Do not read Marty Appel’s bio of Thurman Munson while flying.) Ira Jaskoll, a professor at Yeshiva University’s Sy Syms School of Business, and his colleague and buddy, Dick Williams (not the major league manager from the 60s-80s) were on the flight as well.

A shuttle brought us to the Sheraton Suites were we signed in and were pretty much free until the cocktail party/dinner later in the afternoon.

Yankee "counselors" Mickey Rivers, Jesse Barfield, and Roy White

We met the Yankee Legends who serve as managers and coaches. My team — the Bombers — is led by Roy White and Jesse Barfied, with assistance from Ron Shelton, a veteran Yankee minor league instructor (and not the movie director, to my initial disappointment). Other Yankees here include Fritz Peterson, Mickey Rivers, Homer Bush, Chris Chambliss, Al Downing, Oscar Gamble (minus the giant Afro), Tommy John, Phil Linz (minus the harmonica), and, of most interest to the Jewish contingent, Ron Blomberg.

Ron Blomberg, left, and Ira Jaskow

Blomberg is a very affable guy, always smiling and laughing and making you feel like you’re his best friend. White has always been known as a quiet guy and Barfield is also friendly and jovial.

You wonder why these guys do it. For most, who played before the really big contracts, it’s how they earn their living now. I hope they like the gig. Not sure what they get paid, but it seems like easy money.

Reggie Jackson

Reggie Jackson showed up at the tail end of the dinner and regaled the audience with a few stories. Since I have no real interest in memorabilia or collecting, I didn’t hang around much after that, when Jackson was signing for the group.

So with the buses schedule to leave for the ballpark at 7 a.m., I headed off for a good  night’s rest.

My wife has been peppering me with questions to which I don’t have the answer. In a sense, it feels like going to sleepaway camp as a teenager: Will the other kids like me? Will I have a good time? Will the food be okay?

I received a sample itinerary, but still don’t know what a day-to-day schedule looks like. According to my new best-friend, Ira Jaskoll, the brains behind the kosher component, the day is so full of activity, all you want to do at night is sleep. We’ll see. For my part, my additional worries are: will the laptop/camera/tape record all work? Will the Internet service be reliable? Do all the pens have enough ink?

Wanted to take a long my copy of Ron Blomberg’s autobiography, Designated Hebrew: The Ron Blomberg Story, down for his signature, but, of course, I can’t lay my hands on it right now. I met him a few times when his book came out, but doubt he really remembers. He’ll be the first to tell you, his powers of retention were never that good. I imagine he’ll be the flame to the Jewish moths down there. Marty Appel, author/co-author of several books — most recently Munson: The Life and Death of a Yankee Captain — will be down there for the Shabbat portion of the program. Looking forward to see what the organizers have cooked up for Friday night/Saturday.

It will also be interesting to see what the other campers think of their observant Jewish counterparts. From what I understand, we’ll be interspersed among the teams, as opposed to all being together the whole time.

There have been few things that have lived up to the hype, so I no longer have great expectations (or any other books by Dickens. Sorry.) So I’m looking forward to going in with an open mind and coming back with some nice stories.

An elated Foreman told reports, “I’m very proud to do this for Israel, and for Brooklyn, and to show that Jews can fight.”

Got the following video from Youtube. Don’t know how long it will stay up, or if additional posts will be made, but here it is for what it’s worth.

More on Foreman.

Still have to pack. My wife and daughter are both under the weather, which is going to be a major distraction/detraction if they’re still ailing when it comes time to leave. Not to mention the selfish me who does want to catch whatever they have right before I go.

Tried out my wife’s laptop (hard to believe I don’t have my own) and that seems to be working all right. Today I’ll give my daughter’s  video camera a test run, so I expect to be post on a daily basis during my trip, as well as Tweeting about it (look for me at RonKaplanNJ on Twitter).

Will also try to keep up with the world of Jewish sports while I’m away.

Still have so much to do, and worried about not being adequately prepared. In my mind, I see a bunch of pot-bellied guys toddling around the bases, and I almost hope that’s the case;  takes the pressure off.

I’m not much of a traveler and am a bit PO’d about the extra cost of baggage. Can’t imagine squeezing a week’s worth of stuff into a carry-on, especially when you consider the cleats and mitts.

Anyway, I’m planning on daily updates to the blog, as well as videos and interviews, depending on how technology decides to treat me.

So wish me luck, bu don’t ask me to hit a home run for poor little Billy lying in his hospital bed.

A bientot.

In an e-mail, he wrote:

I really don’t want to dignify Schiller’s inane piece of garbage with a comment, but if you’re writing something, you might want to point out that he is commenting on columns that were written nearly two years ago (February and March 2008), which doesn’t exactly make his views timely.You might also point out that the baseball chapel I wrote about was for minor league umpires, not major league players, and I wrote it because Jewish minor league umpires had complained abut the Sunday chapel services because they were held in the umpires’ locker room and they had nowhere to go to get away from them.

Schiller, course, undoubtedly sees nothing wrong with forcing Jews to participate in Christ-loaded services.

Two other points: The chapel column resulted from a letter I received from a rabbi to whom one of the Jewish umpires complained. And once the column appeared in the Times, minor league officials instituted changes in the conduct of the chapel services. Minor league umpires still hold those chapel services but not in the umpires’ locker rooms. I am proud of having been able to help the Jewish umpires, who had no other recourse to escape the unwanted intrusion in their religious lives.

Chass retired from the Times‘ but continues to provide his commentaries at MurrayChass.com.

Schiller refers to this chastising article published in April, 2008 on WorldMag.com (which describes itself as “World News/Christian Views”) about this article written by Murray Chass, then a columnist for The New York Times about Josh Miller, a Jewish minor league umpire, and his discomfort with Baseball Chapel, an Evangelical Christian organization that provides services every Sunday in the  clubhouses of pro teams. (Since Miller was a native of New Jersey, I wrote about him as well.)

The WorldMag piece by Marvin Olasky states:

Times sportswriter Murray Chass is crusading against voluntary Baseball Chapel services in major league locker rooms on Sunday mornings. He’s equally upset with “faith nights” that typically feature a Christian music concert following a game, with players testifying to their belief in Jesus.

At least eight major league teams and at least three dozen minor league ones have such nights annually. Chass snorts, “Just what baseball needs—peanuts, popcorn and proselytizing.” His solution: Since the U.S. Constitution “provides for separation of church and state,” baseball executives should institute “separation of church and baseball.”

To which Schiller comments:

What are my thoughts, you might ask? Well I’ll answer it by asking a question of my own. Who’s it hurting and why is Mr. Chass so bothered by it? Is he an atheist? Did he get burned by the church at some time in his life?

To which I respond: Peter, are your only choices being an atheist or being a lapsed Christian? Is it out of the realm of your list of possibilities that Chass is Jewish?

Schiller later writes, “Somehow, Mr. Chass has forgotten our national foundations of religious freedom.”

To which I respond: Those religious freedoms also apply to those of other relgions as well as those who choose to follow no religion at all.

I passed along the link to Chass, who is, in fact an Orthodox Jew, to see if he might like to respond to Schiller, but you can’t really argue with some people. That’s one of the reasons I never like talking about why I became a vegetarian late in life. I don’t want to feel I need to defend my choice or hear arguments why my philosophy is inconsistent or just doesn’t make sense.

The McCourts in happier times

According to a story on ESPN.com news services, Mrs. McC “was fired last month by Dodgers owner and estranged husband, Frank, who claims she was having an affair with her bodyguard-driver and was doing a poor job in her role as chief executive.”

Mrs. McC (nee Luskin) was selected by Jewish Women magazine as one of the 10 women to watch in 5768 and has been actively involved in Jewish philanthropy (that’s philanthropy, wise guy, not philandering).

More from the Los Angeles Times‘ sports personalities blog, The Fabulous Forum.

In a telephone message, Ira Berkow, author of the 2009 release The Corporal Was a Pitcher: The Courage of Lou Brissie, was kind enough to answer a list of questions sent via email while traveling cross-country as part of the Jewish Book Network to give a talk about his latest project.

He said he got the idea from reading about Brissie in a column from the late Red Smith (who would later become Berkow’s mentor at The New York Times) while still a student at Miami University in 1960.

Brissie, a standout prospect who was planning on a career with the Philadelphia Athletics, was severely wounded in December 1944. For awhile it looked like he might lose his left foot, but he implored doctors to save it.

After 23 operations, Brissie was able to live his dream, signing with the As in 1946. He had a few good years, going 14-10 in 1948 and 16-11 the following year, when he also made the All-Star team. He was traded to the Indians in the middle of the ‘51 season and used mostly as a reliever, to his disappointment. Brissie wound up his career at the age of 29 with a record of 44-48 and a 4.07 ERA. He was also no slouch at the plate, finishing with a .227 batting average. And while opponents did try to take advantage of his condition by bunting their way on base, (See The Monty Stratton Story with Jimmy Stewart), Brissie was able to field his position well enough so the tactic stopped.

After Brissie retired, he became director of American Legion Baseball, and also served as a scout. These days, he makes regular visits to Veteran’s hospitals where he spends time with wounded veterans from the latest wars. The closing chapter is very touching with its intimate dialogue between Brissie and his new friends.

Like many veterans, Brissie was reluctant to talk about his war experiences, but Berkow, who received a Pulitzer Prize in 2001 for his article, “The Minority Quarterback,” in the Times, was obviously a good sounding board and was able to relay the story in his usual muted but effective style. Brissie comes across as representative of his generation: men and women who served their country when called and returned home to pick up their lives as best they could.

What surprised Berkow the most in the research and preparation of his newest book? “That all wars are alike,” he said. “And the post-traumatic syndrome that [Brissie] had — that wasn’t identified at that time, exists to a tremendous agree.

“The war never leaves anybody.”

Brissie’s story fairly cries out for a movie treatment.

“So far we’ve had mild interest,” Berkow said. “Nothing special. Not yet anyway,” Berkow said. “Sometimes things take awhile.”

Here’s an interview with Brissie:

* * *

In addition to Berkow’s book, several titles released since 2006 note the sacrifices made by baseball players, including:

When Baseball Went to War, edited by Todd Anton and Bill Nowlin (Triumph). Features a bonus DVD with player interviews.

Playing with the Enemy: A Baseball Prodigy, World War II, and the Long Journey Home, by Garry W. Moore (Savas Beatie)

An American Journey: My Life on the Field, in the Air, and on the Air, by Jerry Coleman and Richard Goldstein. Like Ted Williams, Coleman, an all-star second baseman with the New York Yankees, served in both Wold War II and Korea. After his playing career ended in 1957, he went on to a colorful career as a broadcaster, most notably for the San Diego Padres.

And a couple of good websites cover the baseball/war theme:

• Garry Bedingfield’s Baseball in Wartime
• The military publication Stars and Stripes hosts Baseball and the Military.