employees. Baseball is no different.

The story of Chris Coste documents Coste's 11-year struggle to escape his pigeonhole.

In "The 33-Year-Old Rookie," Coste details his

unusual path from high-school standout to mediocre junior-college pitcher to outstanding Division III

hitter to anonymous, self-taught Independent League catcher to competent, over-the-hill, nonprospect

minor leaguer to 2006 spring training revelation with the Phillies.

Throughout, Coste, currently slated to be the Phillies' backup catcher, engages the reader in his experience.

Refreshingly, he never asks for sympathy: not as a housing-projects kid in Fargo, N.D.; not as a verbally abused juco freshman; not as a

token player on his hometown

Independent League team; not

as an overlooked, unorthodox catcher in the minors whose age, catching style and hitting technique repeatedly were deemed too odd to work by major league scouts.

At every step Coste gushes at how delighted he is to advance. Only near the end, when his window is closing as a pro athlete and he has never been given a real chance, does a smidgen of bitterness show. By then, bitterness is understandable.

The clear narrative moves crisply, in general.

Occasionally, the book bogs down in game detail in an effort to emphasize important moments in games crucial to his career. Often, it relies on sports-writer cliches. Sometimes, it errs in usage and the phrasing could be better.

But that all is Coste's voice. He wrote it without help. He had an editor, sure, but no coach, no ghostwriter, and it shows, and adds to the charm.

The seamy and profane side of college and pro ball are alluded to more than dwelled upon. That, too, is intentional; the book is as suitable for kids as most prime-time TV is.

Not that there is a lack of insight to the game.

Anecdotes humanize even the wooden Phillies duo of Bobby Abreu and Pat Burrell.

Coste's painful education as a catcher who learned the position on the fly - he had no formal coaching for his first 4 years playing the position - underscores the remarkable toughness and skill required to play the most important position on the field.

His development of superstitions flavor what could be otherwise bland passages through the basements of baseball.

Antics in the shower, nudity in the clubhouse, pranks on the bench - Coste touches on all of it.

But the book isn't about baseball's fabric as much as it is about Coste's journey through it, to where he is now.

He tells you how much he makes; how he married his high-school sweetheart; how they had to live in her parents' basement; how she stood by him, patiently waiting for him, for a break, her support the bulwark as his body began to crumble when he hit 30.

And, yes, there is the payoff: The day he gets called up; the first glimpse of a major league clubhouse, a big-league field, frolicking at Fenway, ordering a $30 room-service omelet in a New York hotel; not leaving the hotel for fear of getting lost in Times Square; his first hit, first homer, first ESPN highlight moment.

On a team recently involved in contentious contract dealings with star cornerstones Ryan Howard and Cole Hamels, Coste provides a timely balance of humility and appreciation.

The story is not without flaws. It takes 142 pages before Coste even acknowledges that his catching technique is unusual. Never does he allow for the possibility that the people evaluating him might have seen holes in his offense and defense that warranted him being passed over for so many years.

Then again, Coste always has the evidence of production on his side. A remarkably consistent and versatile player, Coste dissects his annual eye-opening auditions, his big-game, big-moment production and his patience.

Midway through the book, you know him. And you marvel at the thousands of marginalized players in pro baseball who never get the chance he had; how many third basemen who never convert to catcher; how many small-town studs don't have a local pro team start up in their city when they're 22.

You understand the pigeonholing, but you understand why the practice exists. And, ultimately, you are entertained by the book.

It is sometimes sad, sometimes thrilling. It is sometimes funny, sometimes gross, and sometimes both.

Just like baseball itself. *

Send e-mail to hayesm@phillynews.com