I’ve seen few things more depressing than the end-of-season Giants-Padres series in 2001 in which Barry Bonds hit his 68th homer of the year while a .227-hitting, rapidly fossilizing Rickey Henderson staggered like a delirious marathoner toward 3,000 hits. Stephen Rodrick Read Quote
From the outside, Rick Rubin’s house above Zuma Beach is a generic millionaire beach home. There’s a rarely used tennis court and a circular drive. Stephen Rodrick Read Quote
When superstars go down, no matter how sympathetic the circumstances, fans know the franchise could be sunk. Stephen Rodrick Read Quote
James Salter has been a fighter pilot, a rogue, and a climber. He counts Robert Redford as a friend. Stephen Rodrick Read Quote
Matt Leinart’s L.A. duplex looks more like a Chuck E. Cheese safe house than a millionaire jock’s crash pad. There’s the requisite leather couch and flat-screen television, but the rest of the ground floor is bare except for a pile of Nick Jr. DVDs, a high chair, and a SpongeBob SquarePants director’s chair. Stephen Rodrick Read Quote
Baseball loyalists cite the game’s legendary numbers – 300 wins, 500 homers, 3,000 hits – as evidence of the sport’s elegance, beauty, and gravitas. What no one mentions is how wretched and painful it is to actually watch a former star gasp and sputter his way toward a legendary number. Stephen Rodrick Read Quote
All backups take their cue from Elrod Hendricks, the patron saint of erstwhile catchers. Stephen Rodrick Read Quote
