Just finished Wherever I Wind Up. Much to recommend it. Dickey comes across less as the mesmerizing and quirky vocabularian of postgame media scrums and more as a perpetually (and not unreasonably so) insecure human being whose enormous athletic ability (No. 1 draft pick, three-sport star in school) took a wrong turn via physical misfortune. The baseball part of the book is the fight to repurpose himself as a "trustworthy" knuckleballer, with most of the story about the frustration and only a little of the apparent triumph of the past couple of years (which he seems unwilling to accept as anything but temporary). The personal part, about the sad childhood and the lapses of adulthood, is compelling, though nobody outside his professor in continuing education class would ever have read it had he not had the good sense to succeed as a professional baseball player. Big on the spiritual stuff. Very big. I both love and hate having to consider ballplayers as people, loving it because it makes them so much more real, hate it because I don't want to temper my dismay for a bad outing by understanding more might be going on than YOU SUCK! Dickey's memoir is an outstanding advertisement for understanding.