You'll forgive me, I hope, for finding the image of a macho, tattooed Giambi fretting over the prospect of lingerie purchases blackly comic.
Of course, Ron Artest and his teammates should not have gone into the stands, but their actions were hardly unprecedented. Baseball's history is full of such events, from Ty Cobb's infamous assault on a double amputee who'd been heckling him, to the Wrigley Field fracas four years ago that saw 16 Dodgers suspended for brawling with loutish fans after one of them seized catcher Chad Kreuter's cap.
It is a measure of Bonds's greatness that he has overcome a decades-old tradition. It is also, a bit perversely, a measure of how little respect there is for his greatness that it is pointed to at every opportunity, as if the world would otherwise miss it.
This was a devastating loss that will justifiably live in infamy in New York history, but the form it took shouldn't detract from the fact that it proved what was already known: These teams were quite nearly equal, but the Red Sox were slightly better.
When watching him, fanciful tall tales about old Negro Leaguers who could strike out whole teams full of Hall of Famers on a bet seem credible: If you told their exploits to a fan who had never heard of either Rivera or Hernandez, would he believe you?
The more sophisticated baseball research gets, the more the teams commissioning that research come to look like the Atlanta Braves.
The Red Sox are as good as any playoff team at both scoring runs and preventing them. The Sox also possess every small advantage one might like to see in a postseason favorite, from proven money pitchers like Schilling and Martinez to the tactical flexibility provided by a good bench stocked with hitters and fielders.
Had the Onyx Club group recorded, Wallington might well have been widely remembered like Al Haig, as a formidable player on some of the most influential sides ever cut. But it wasn't to be.
When anyone fresh out of college can strike the pose of the world-weary pundit, when fools with broadband connections can read them and then fill their comments fields with freshly contrived analysis of polls, press spin and other professional matters, and when panicked professionals then mistake this mass sewer of callowness for the presence of the future, it is inevitable that there will be no conversation, no confrontation of unpleasant facts, nothing meaningful beyond the analysis of analysis. Politics finally attains to the status of literary criticism.
With conflicted ownership, a functionally impotent general manager, scouts with ill-defined portfolios agitating for absurd trades, and influential veteran players, the Mets' indecisiveness is not the result of one man's flaws.
Beltre will be a free agent after this season; he represents a challenge perhaps unseen in the free agency era.
The Wu Tang Clan is making art -- deliberately obscurantist and seriously intended. Marry it to the delirious self-mythologizing and outrageous crimes of its creators, and you have not just something outlandish, reprehensible, and wonderful, but fecund and unbroken ground for serious study of American culture.
There are more important things for a hitter to do than avoiding striking out. Hitting for power and getting on base are first among them. Adam Dunn is among the best in the game at both.
This weekend saw a return to the Steve Phillips era, with the Mets braying over the acquisition of mediocre veterans.
He is a living refutation of the cult of athleticism and he makes nearly all other ballplayers look completely insignificant by comparison.
The victorious Red Sox proved yet again that they're a better team than the Yankees, by which I mean that they're more likely to win the World Series.
Baseball is a cold business. Most players have no control over where they and their families will live and who they will work for and with; those who have earned such control have every right to use it without their character being questioned.
The vindication of the men Mr. Schwarz writes about, and whose work languished in obscurity for decades, is complete.
Instead of a resurgence of small markets, we're seeing a reorientation of power and the rise of teams that had not previously tapped their full potential. Competitive balance should mean more than Philadelphia taking Atlanta's spot among rich teams.
If he could play today, Dykstra would doubtless knee increasingly Muppet-like shortstop Derek Jeter in the guts on the double play and then spit tobacco juice in his eye.