Originally published in 1976, James A. Michener’s explosive, spectacular Sports in America is a prescient examination of the crisis in American sports that is still unfolding to this day. Pro basketball players are banned for narcotics use, while a Major League pitcher is arrested for smuggling drugs across the Mexican border. The NFL’s “injury report” grows longer every Sunday. Corruption and recruiting violations plague collegiate sports as the “winning is everything” mentality trickles down to the Little League level. With his lifelong enthusiasm for sports in evidence, the incomparable Michener tackles this subject thoroughly and leaves us amazed and appalled by what we’ve learned, yet still loving the games we grew up on.   Praise for Sports in America   “A comprehensive, controversial examination of sports as a major force in American life.” — Los Angeles Times   “Michener’s life was saved by sports twice. In return, he has issued a long, lovingly critical, prodigiously researched account of the passions and politics of America at organized play. Rich in anecdote, source material and his own shrewd commentary.” — The New York Times Book Review   “Like just about everything James Michener has produced, Sports in America is a thoughtful, well-written document that’s thoroughly researched. . . . For anyone interested in how the ball bounces in the U.S. of A., the answers are all here.” — The Wall Street Journal   “Encyclopedic . . . amusing and sometimes alarming.” — The Washington Post “A comprehensive, controversial examination of sports as a major force in American life.” — Los Angeles Times   “Michener’s life was saved by sports twice. In return, he has issued a long, lovingly critical, prodigiously researched account of the passions and politics of America at organized play. Rich in anecdote, source material and his own shrewd commentary.” — The New York Times Book Review   “Like just about everything James Michener has produced, Sports in America is a thoughtful, well-written document that’s thoroughly researched. . . . For anyone interested in how the ball bounces in the U.S. of A., the answers are all here.” — The Wall Street Journal   “Encyclopedic . . . amusing and sometimes alarming.” — The Washington Post James A. Michener was one of the world’s most popular writers, the author of more than forty books of fiction and nonfiction, including the Pulitzer Prize–winning Tales of the South Pacific, the bestselling novels The Source, Hawaii, Alaska, Chesapeake, Centennial, Texas, Caribbean, and Caravans, and the memoir The World Is My Home . Michener served on the advisory council to NASA and the International Broadcast Board, which oversees the Voice of America. Among dozens of awards and honors, he received America’s highest civilian award, the Presidential Medal of Freedom, in 1977, and an award from the President’s Committee on the Arts and Humanities in 1983 for his commitment to art in America. Michener died in 1997 at the age of ninety. This book was written by a man who loves sports.   It would not be extravagant to say that twice in my lifetime sports have made the difference between life and death, and I must therefore treat them with respect. The first incident occurred when I was a boy, and it was spiritual in significance. The second took place when I was fifty-eight, and was completely physical.   Like many future athletes, I came from poor surroundings. Many of the boys with whom I played got into serious trouble and found themselves sentenced to Glen Mills, the local reformatory. I can still remember with awe the account of one street-mate who returned from Glen Mills: “As soon as the door slams behind you, a guard knocks you down, other guards grab you, and they beat you with a leather strap.”   “Why?” I asked.   “To let you know who’s boss.”   I developed a healthy fear of Glen Mills and determined not to find its door slamming behind me, but at the same time I was drifting into dangerous companionships. I knew that I was falling, almost against my will, onto perilous terrain.   I was saved by athletics, and by the generosity of a remarkable man. George Murray was an almost illiterate roofer who never earned more than a few dollars a day. An extremely shy man, he never married, but took upon himself the fathering of disadvantaged boys. He formed what was known as the Doylestown Boys’ Brigade, which had bits of military fol-de-rol and a tenuous allegiance to the Presbyterian Church. Most important for us, he gained access to a defunct meeting hall which had been erected for some aborted purpose. The second floor of this rather small building he converted into a basketball court, and there I spent my youth.   The court had every conceivable deficiency. The baskets were hung flat against the end walls, which meant that those of us accustomed to using them mastered the art of dashing headlong at the wall, planting our right