I'm a pretty huge Pos fan, but these reviews have convinced me there's just about no way I'll read that book, and it comes down to these reasons:
1. I've always sort of hated Joe Paterno. Hated his stupid glasses and his old-boy, slap-on-the-ass rah-rah brand of football, and everything that's wrapped up in that. I really don't need to know a thing more about him.
2. What I love most about Joe Posnanski is that he is a celebrator of the things I like to be celebrated. Which is not to say I think he's some kind of pom-pom waver or ass-kisser, but that he notices the things that seem meaningful and brings them to light in ways that make me care about them. He's just so great at conveying a sense of wonder and awe and I find that talent to be mostly missing in writing of any kind nowadays - usually it's disguised in some sappy weekends with morrie bullshit.
When I read the Machine, I went into it with just a hair of attraction for those Reds. I liked Johnny Bench for his This Week in Baseball appearances I watched as a kid and I was playing Little League just as Pete Rose was wrapping up his hits record and when I didn't know enough to know what a jerk he obviously was. But, after reading the book, and even after really coming to understand just how close the Sox were to winning in 1975 and sort of living for the first time that disappointment through the book, I loved the Big Red Machine. I didn't necessarily like Pete Rose any more than I did before, or give a shit about Cincinnati, but I loved the idea of the Big Red Machine, like it was a living, breathing entity. And that's because of the work Joe did in bringing out all the little fine details that make a thing real and give you a reason to appreciate it for its unique qualities.
I couldn't put that book down. Plus, it made me love Sparky Anderson.
I don't think there's a way for Joe to use that talent in a book about Paterno. I think he thought there would be. I think he thought Paterno would be the perfect subject for that talent, so that Pos could take a myth, a statue, and make him human by bringing to light all these little special things that made him the man he became along the way. But I think it turned out that Paterno really was a statue, a hollow one, and there was nothing there for Joe to celebrate in the way he's so good at.
Maybe I'm wrong, but reading the book would just be depressing, I think.