Monthly Archives: February 2020

Luis, TJ surgery. Oy and veh.

And yet … you could feel this one coming.

Picture by Bags

Here’s what I wonder in all of this—Okay, maybe some of the Houston hitters will get plunked this season because they cheated. And of course MLB wants to make sure things don’t get out of control. But what about Houston’s pitchers? Doesn’t this hamstring them? I mean, soon as Verlander plunks someone, don’t you think the other teams will figure it’s on like Donkey Kong?

In the meantime, every day, another player is out there talking about this, ramping up the WWF-nature of this scandal.

I don’t know how you feel but I find MLB’s ineptitude reassuring. A few months ago I met the writer Fran Leibovitz at a book party. I chatted her up for a few minutes and standing close to her you could not avoid the fact that she smelled like cigarettes. My father was a smoker I recall the stilted air in his apartment when I was growing up, waking up to clouds of cigarette smoke. I hated the smell at the time, how stale it was, how it clung to your clothes.

There is nothing charming about the smell of cigarette smoke. And yet, I loved that Leibovitz smelled like butts. It was oddly calming—of course, she smelled like cigarettes, as it should be.

Baseball screwing the pooch is like that. Proof that all is well—or unwell—with the world.