Many baseball fans of a certain age rue what has befallen their favorite game. “They don’t make ’em like they used to” is a familiar phrase when comparing the current generation of players to their predecessors. The standards for who should be counted among the all-time greats has dropped as the sport has changed in recent years. It’s doubtful that we’ll see another 300-game winner or 3,000 strikeouts. Nowadays pitchers get high marks if they can complete six innings and give up three runs or fewer, known as a “quality start.” You can practically hear the snickers from old-timers who felt shame if they couldn’t complete their assignments.

Clayton Kershaw is perhaps one of the few contemporary athletes who might be welcome by his pitching forebears. He actually may be, as the title claims, THE LAST OF HIS KIND (although props must be paid to fellow hurlers Justin Verlander and Max Scherzer).

"Andy McCullough...allows readers to peer into the microscope in a way rarely --- if ever --- seen in modern sports biographies. Much of that has to do with the access he enjoyed to his subject and many family members, friends, teammates, coaches and others in Kershaw’s world."

The “Burden” of the subtitle began at an early age. The product of a broken home, a teenaged Kershaw felt the obligation to help his mother as much as possible. Times were difficult financially growing up in Highland Park, Texas, where they had to rely on loans from family and friends to make ends meet. As Kershaw continued to improve as a high school pitcher, scouts from the pro ranks began to take notice. Each successive year brought more scrutiny and more pressure to excel in order to improve his chances of a high draft selection and, with it, a sizeable signing bonus. Pitchers are even more of a risk: Many are not fully developed physically at that age, which is why a number of teams don’t even consider them as a draft option. But Kershaw’s dogged insistence on excelling paid off: He was selected by the Los Angeles Dodgers as the sixth overall pick in 2006 and received a bonus of $2.3 million.

This was not enough to make Kershaw feel satisfied. He knew such high accolades do not guarantee success. The road to the major leagues is full of stories about unmet expectations. Kershaw was determined not to become one of those statistics. He continued to improve and spent less than three years in the minors, reaching LA before his 21st birthday, a goal he had set for himself when he signed.

Like many superstars, Kershaw displayed an intensity that could be construed as selfishness. But dozens of coaches, teammates and opponents interviewed for this book debunk that notion and portray him as a leader and demanding presence, of both himself and others. Buoyed by his faith and a loving family --- he married his high school sweetheart, and his in-laws considered him their son long before they were wed --- Kershaw was able to keep an even keel, except perhaps on the days he pitched.

Since then, Kershaw has won more than 200 games, three Cy Young Awards --- indicative of the best pitcher in the league --- and a Most Valuable Player Award. He also received the Roberto Clemente Award in 2012, given to the player “who best represents the game of baseball through positive contributions on and off the field, including sportsmanship and community involvement.” (He was nominated again in 2014).

To quote a noted philosopher, “with great power comes great responsibility.” Despite all his regular season success and his status as a future Hall of Famer, Kershaw fell woefully short when it came to the postseason, a time when a player with his reputation is expected to step up and lead his team. The Dodgers have appeared in the playoffs 12 times since his debut in 2008, but their only world championship came in the COVID-shortened 2020 season. These perceived failures always nagged at Kershaw, who demanded the best of himself and suffered from self-doubt when he didn’t live up to those expectations.

A lefthander, Kershaw is often compared to Sandy Koufax, another Dodgers legend, who saw his career cut short by injury. And therein lies another burden. Kershaw was relatively lucky for many years, managing one of the heavier workloads as the game has transitioned. It understandably has taken a toll, and Kershaw, now 36, has become more fragile, which is always difficult for a player of his caliber to accept. (As of this writing, he is on the injured list, working back from off-season shoulder surgery; it is hoped he can return around the middle of July.)

Andy McCullough, an award-winning writer now plying his trade at The Athletic, allows readers to peer into the microscope in a way rarely --- if ever --- seen in modern sports biographies. Much of that has to do with the access he enjoyed to his subject and many family members, friends, teammates, coaches and others in Kershaw’s world. A fair amount of insight into his philosophy rests with his faith, which McCullough writes about in a way that is inclusive but not preachy or potentially off-putting. Kershaw recognizes that as hard as he tries, he’s fallible, subject to the same missteps and insecurities as the rest of us.