Let's start this review of "Big Loosh: The Unruly Life of Ron Luciano" with a story.

When Luciano was pushing one of his many books, he even took a half-hour to appear on my sports talk show back in the day. I knew that Ron had umpired in Buffalo when the Bisons were playing in War Memorial Stadium in the International League back in the 1960s. I asked if he had any particular memories of those days.

As a matter of fact, he did. It seemed that that was a particularly loud woman who sat behind home plate back then every night. She seemed to think it was her job to criticize the umpires, no matter what happened in the game. "That pitch was outside!" "He was safe!" "You guys are terrible." And on and on it went.

Ron and his crew grew tired of it all. Then they received a tip that the woman was a breakfast waitress at a suburban restaurant. So the three umpires got up early one morning and visited the restaurant, and they gave it to her with all sorts of orders. "These pancakes are cold." "I need more coffee." "How did you burn the toast so badly." "Where's the bill?" And so on. Finally, the woman came over to their table. "Guys, if you leave this place right now, I promise that I will never yell at you at a game again."

They left, and she kept her word. In fact, she became the umpires' best friend. She always said hello before the game, and would bring them a freshly baked pie to start the homestand.

The rest of the 30-minute show was fun too. But that's a side of Luciano that doesn't really turn up in "Big Loosh." It's a straight biography about a surprisingly complicated man.

If you were a baseball fan, it was tough to avoid Luciano during the 1970s and 1980s. He seemed like an unlikely choice to be a celebrity umpire. Ron came out of the Binghamton area as a young man large enough to receive a scholarship as a lineman on the football team at Syracuse University. Injuries were a problem there, but he was still good enough to be drafted by the Detroit Lions. But injuries were an issue there too, and he bounced through Minnesota before landing with the Buffalo Bills for two games in the American Football League. Yup, more injuries. Luciano's pro career was over before it started.

What next? He ended up at umpire school, and he happened to be good at it. Who is going to argue with a man big enough to play defensive tackle in pro football? Luciano was good enough to work some of the game's Crown Jewels, like the All-Star Game and the playoffs. Yes, he didn't get along well with Baltimore manager Earl Weaver, but then again no umpire did. Luciano also showed a little flair with his work, sometimes using a pistol-shooting gesture to call a runner out instead of the traditional thumb going up. The fans seemed to like it, and Ron liked the attention - although baseball still had a tradition-bound reputation at that point, and forced separation seemed likely.

NBC called at just the right time, and Luciano signed up for work as the analyst for backup "Game of the Week" on Saturdays - in the days when only two regular-season games were nationally televised per week. The backup game was the broadcast that went into blacked-out markets, or was used during rain delays with the primary game. (Kids, ask your parents for a further explanation of all that if necessary.) The relationship lasted a short time; as he put it, by the time he got done at NBC, it was behind Atari in the ratings. From there, Luciano moved into the unlikely position of author. He was always naturally funny, and he knew how to tell a story, so "The Umpire Strikes Back" became a hit. There were four more books along those lines.

But the literary gravy train eventually ended, and Luciano became a bit lost. His sporting goods store back home rose and fell along the way, and after a while he started receiving treatments for depression. Luciano committed suicide in 1995.

In one sense, a straight-forward look at Luciano's life is a pretty good idea. Ron did have trouble keeping his facts straight, particularly when he was headed toward a punchline. Facts could be exaggerated beyond recognition. No, Luciano didn't eject Weaver every time they were in the same ballpark, although the possibility always seemed to be lurking in the background. It's also nice to see that Luciano really was a good umpire, particularly when he first arrived at the majors before fame started to turn his head a little.

There's not much insight into what happened at the end, but Luciano was well out of the public eye at that point and probably wasn't giving too many clues to what he was thinking. But as co-author David Fisher told Leeke, "He didn't look or ask for any help because he didn't want to bother people."

"Big Loosh" - a nickname picked up as a youth for obvious reasons - moves right along, a short book that tells the truth about this interesting man. That's fine. It's just that much of the fun came out of the story, and that guy that told the story about the waitress in Buffalo enjoyed a good laugh. It's easy to wish that side had come out a bit more.