Mickey Rivers Books
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Another gem from the pen of Jim LaBateReview Date: 2003-06-28
Every Kid's DreamReview Date: 1999-11-29

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BEAUTIFUL INFORMATIVE BOOKReview Date: 2007-11-16
Terrific Service!Review Date: 2007-10-01
I received the book in excellent condition and very fast service. Thanks so much for such great service..
Love it! Love it! Love it!Review Date: 2005-09-24
AmateurishReview Date: 2005-12-31
This book is wonderful!Review Date: 2002-02-15
An excellent book for both beginners and the seasoned crafter, the instructions seem very easy to follow and it's full of great ideas. In fact, a local artist has devoted an entire store to selling handmade crafts VERY similar to those in the book...

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Great Book for Mickey Clubhouse fans!Review Date: 2008-01-02
Daughter doesn't like, but decent bookReview Date: 2007-12-28
I think this book is the best of the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse ones currently available. I just don't know why my daughter doesn't like it.

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Fun, but...Review Date: 2004-04-16
Yet in the telling of the stories Mickey does expose much of his inner self to the reader, and in so doing he more or less validates the title of the book. Apparently, Mickey truly didn't believe in worryin' about anything: his marriage, taking care of himself physically, what others thought of his various and sundry antics. Having said all of that, though, Rivers does come off as quite likable - he may have more or less unconsciously made his way through his career, but at least he did so with a smile on his face and a desire to do the best he could with those talents that he could readily muster.
In the end, I gave this book three stars because one doesn't get the feeling that Rivers put much thought into it, but what the heck... if the book was full of deep self-contemplation, it wouldn't be Mickey, would it?
DisappointingReview Date: 2003-11-28
fun look back from one of the game's true "characters"Review Date: 2003-12-07
I bought this because Mick's odd yet wise quotes were legendary during his playing career, kind of a next-generation Yogi Berra. (A nice touch in the book is that it includes many of these quotes in his own handwriting.) Mick recalls his baseball life with humor and a deep sensitivity, especially for those teammates who are gone -- Thurman Munson, Billy Martin, Catfish Hunter, Jim SPencer, etc. For example, he recounts his post-game activities playing ball with kids around the stadium and racing them down the street, and talks about the importance that today's players - Jeter, Williams, etc. - be role models for children.
A quick read that will bring you back to the Bronx Zoo. (Particularly enjoyed the story about how Mick's wife played bumper cars w/ his Benz and Cadillac in the Yankee Stadium parking lot - bet The Boss loved cleaning up...)
Mick, a bit too quickReview Date: 2006-01-30
The book is interesting, but lacking in any real depth. You can probably read it quickly in one setting, but I would rather have a meatier book from one of the true characters of the game, a man who spent time on one of the craziest and greatest baseball teams ever.
A Great ReadReview Date: 2003-09-10
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The generous heart of this story beats loudest and strongest in the young narratorýs exuberant admiration and respect for the singularly great Mickey Mantle and in the vicarious joy the reader experiences as twelve-year-old Jumboýs ordinary world is transformed by an unexpected overnight visit from the extraordinary Yankee slugger.
This is not a story of hero worship for LaBateýs Mantle is life-sized and as common as a next-door neighbor as he plays ball with Jumbo and his gang of friends. Instead, what is ennobled is the broad hearted zeal of youth and its passionate embrace of a game that once defined everything that was great about small-town America. And therein lies the magic and the pleasure of this timeless tale. It captures the beauty and joy of a young boyýs heart without pretence or precocity so that, after reading it, I felt as if these boys, and the Mick himself, might have even been a part of my own childhood.
But there is a bittersweet cloud behind the joy of LaBateýs silver-lined fable. Two weeks ago I made a pilgrimage back to my hometown and visited what had been my field of dreams, a broad green expanse with four full ball diamonds, one in each corner, and four full outfields converging and blending together in the middle into one calm sea of grass. It was a beautiful summer day, about two in the afternoon, when I pulled into the lot beside where the dugouts and the water bubbler used to be. On any given summer day when I was twelve, back in 1963, we might have had to rise early to be certain we could get an open field for our daily pick-up ballgames, choosing new sides throughout the day just to make it more interesting. The fields still looked healthy and well-maintained. I got out of my car, walked to home plate and gazed across the fields. There was not a soul in sight.