I don’t know if major league baseball is as colorful as Kevin Baker makes it out to be in Sometimes You See It Coming, but in his telling, it certainly is the “big show”—big in characters, memories, melancholy, joy, successes, failure, pathos, and strength.

Joe Barr, whose father was the laughingstock of their little New England town, has escaped his inglorious childhood and emerged to become the predominant player of his era. Unflappable behind the plate and in the field, he leads his Mets to four titles in his ten years in the majors. Barr’s life and times are recounted by a revolving series of folks: a few teammates, a coach, a couple journalists, and a omniscient narrator. The latter also recounts scenes from Barr’s childhood, which grow more ominous as the story progresses.

The first part of the novel recounts Barr’s appearance in the minor leagues, quick promotion to the majors, and his rise to stardom. Well, perhaps “stardom” isn’t quite right. Barr, in a manner not unlike that of Bjorn Borg or Patrick Ewing, never reveled in the fame. A quiet, almost stand-offish man, he is respected but certainly not loved by the press and public.

One day, upon receipt of a letter from his recently deceased mother, Barr snaps, losing his confidence and abilities. It takes a while for everyone to acknowledge it—he’d been great for so long—but soon his team and (few) admirers realize that something is really wrong. Barr’s aloof attitude rules out the normal talk-it-out recovery cycle, and everyone puzzles what to do.

By that time in the book, however, I was far more enchanted with the life and culture of baseball than I was intrigued by the plot tension. In Baker’s hand Barr is fascinating, but not nearly as engaging or likeable as some of his narrators, especially Barr’s teammate Ricky “Swizzlehead” Falls, who overflows with personality.

Baker’s world is fascinating, and I loved the story. The thing is, I don’t know if my fascination is derived simply from Baker’s fictional world or if it comes from my attempts to square his world with its real-world counterpart. Is the relationship between the press and players really as cynical as Baker makes it out to be? Are a significant minority of players mentally on the edge? Are that many coaches really that ignorant of the game and its players? Does the players’ overnight wealth really distance them from their fans? What about the use of performance-enhancing drugs?

Regardless of its relationship to real-world professional baseball, Baker’s world is big, colorful, and full of humanity.