Full disclosure here: I got a review (electronic) copy of this book from Jane Leavy’s publicist, but also contributed a little to the book, as Jane asked me a few questions and mentions me once in the text as well as in the acknowledgements.
Make Me Commissioner: I Know What’s Wrong With Baseball and How to Fix It doesn’t exactly deliver on its title, and it isn’t really about Jane Leavy asking to take Rob Manfred’s job – although I have little doubt she’d be an improvement, as she doesn’t just like baseball, she loves it. It’s a series of interconnected stories, reminiscent of George Will’s Men at Work, that explain a lot about where baseball is right now as a sport and a pastime. I disagree with large portions of it, both Leavy’s opinions and the opinions of many of the people she spoke with in researching the book, but I also tore through it.
Leavy has been a sportswriter for … let’s just say longer than I have, and prior to this she wrote three biographies of Hall of Famers, most notably her biography of Sandy Koufax called A Lefty’s Legacy. This is Leavy’s first book where she’s the main character, as we tag along with her to Cape Cod League games, spring training games, Savannah Bananas games, and a few big-league games as well, listening in on conversations with players, coaches, scouts, and executives about baseball in our era. There’s a lot about analytics, of course, as well as baseball’s attempts to capture the attention of younger fans, both by changing the game on the field and updating how the sport is presented when the players aren’t actually playing.
The stuff about the Bananas works the least, and the idea that baseball – Major League Baseball, specifically – has to be more like the Bananas is, well, bananas. (The book was published a week before Defector revealed that the Bananas’ charity is maybe not very charitable.) The Savannah Bananas are entertainment, not sport. They build on baseball to put on a show, the way that WWE builds on real wrestling to put on a show. You might like one, both, or neither. But turning MLB into something more like the Bananas, which Manfred floated when he brought up the idea of the “Golden At Bat” – never has it seemed more like the guy just doesn’t understand baseball culture or tradition – risks alienating everyone: Current and longtime baseball fans will think it’s a joke, while people who like the Bananas for what they bring aren’t going to suddenly embrace ‘real’ baseball for putting the pitcher on stilts.
The lesson of the Bananas, if there is one, is that the fans do matter. Leavy does not suggest, or agree with the idea of, adopting Bananas ideas into pro ball; she does suggest making the sport more family-friendly, with earlier game times (good), cheaper tickets in family-only sections (good, but owners don’t really like giving up money), and more in-stadium entertainment (not a long-term strategy).
What baseball really needs to do is improve the product on the field – without diluting it, or making it into something it fundamentally isn’t. The pitch clock, of which I think Leavy approves, has been game-changing, literally. We get the same amount of baseball in about 10% less time. The baseball density has increased. The baseball per minute ratio is at its highest in decades. And the predicted rise in pitcher injuries doesn’t seem to have happened, probably because every pitcher was already hurt anyway.
This is where Leavy gets into the conversations that prove more interesting, if not always enlightening. She talks to players (Alex Bregman, Chase Delauter), execs (Mike Rizzo, still head of the Nationals when this went to press), coaches, and scouts. She goes to Driveline, and wonders what the cost of all of this easy velocity is. She’s asking people in the trenches what they think baseball should do, and the answer is that they don’t have the answers. That’s fine, if perhaps not the most compelling hook for a book, but along the way, she also talks to Bregman about his struggles in 2024 and how he’s changed his swing over time, and talks to Rizzo and Red Sox hitting development director Jason Ochart about the rise of analytics, all of which rank among the best conversations in the book. Leavy is clearly more of a traditionalist and not a huge fan of analytics, but not to the point of refusing to learn or understand it, which puts her miles ahead of some our colleagues whose response is to make bad WAR puns or call people who cite advanced statistics “nerds” like this is Happy Days (a show that actually gets a mention in the book).
Leavy’s love of the game comes through on every page, even when she says things with which I completely disagree. I’d be fine with her as Commissioner, although at this point I think a potted plant might be an improvement over someone who wants to eliminate another 20% of the minors. The book doesn’t get much into the weeds about the revenue model in the sport, which is a major reason why the sport has remained strong despite the aging fan base, so as a prescription for how to ‘fix’ baseball, it falls short. It’s just an engaging read about baseball as it is today, when most baseball books – including my own two – don’t really give you the feel of the game, the way so many of the best baseball books of the 1980s and 1990s did. Make Me Commissioner does, and reminded me so much of the books on the sport that helped forge my own voice.