“Why would a man turn down $144 million at the peak of his career? That’s the question Albert Chen asked Max Scherzer, who rejected a lucrative multi-year extension offer from the Detroit Tigers before the start of the season.” That’s Sports Illustrated’s sales pitch for their current issue, one in which Tigers starter Sherzer is featured on the magazine cover featuring a headline reading, “Mad Max’s $
(via Anaorak.co.uk. I’m pretty sure he could beat me, either way)
While NBA Commissioner Adam Silver’s decision earlier today to issue a lifetime ban against Clippers owner Donald Sterling is being widely hailed, Yahoo Sports’ Adrian Wojnarowski points out that while Sterling has long held white players in low esteem, said POV, “cut to the heart of his stereotypical stances on athleticism and strength and talent.”
Mostly, he’s never loved paying white players. In that way, he has an absolute plantation prism with which he sees players: He always preferred long, strong, physical players. To him, that’s a basketball player: Big, black and strong.
When Sterling became reluctant to honor Rivers’ sign-and-trade agreement for J.J. Redick, there was a belief race played a factor. As one league source said, “He thought it was too much to pay for a white player.”
Yes, Sterling didn’t want to so easily part with Eric Bledsoe, despite Rivers telling him they could never afford to pay Bledsoe in restricted free agency next summer. That was part of it, yes, but those who knew Sterling – who had history with him – believed largely that his disdain for paying $7 million per year for a white player caused him pause.
OK, “random” is just code for “stolen from Nate Knabel’s status update”. Either way, FUCK THE KINDLE VERSION. This one’s getting droned to my doorstep no matter what.
Make no mistake, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar (above, far left) has little sympathy for pathetic Clippers owner Donald Sterling, but writing for Time, the former Roger Murdock likens the actions of Sterling’s paramour V. Stiviano to that of “a sexy nanny playing ‘pin the fried chicken on the Sambo.’”) (“She blindfolded him and spun him around until he was just blathering all sorts of incoherent racist sound bites that had the news media peeing themselves with glee”).
Didn’t we just call to task the NSA for intruding into American citizen’s privacy in such an un-American way? Although the impact is similar to Mitt Romney’s comments that were secretly taped, the difference is that Romney was giving a public speech. The making and release of this tape is so sleazy that just listening to it makes me feel like an accomplice to the crime. We didn’t steal the cake but we’re all gorging ourselves on it.
Let’s be outraged that we weren’t more outraged when his racism was first evident. Let’s be outraged that private conversations between people in an intimate relationship are recorded and publicly played. Let’s be outraged that whoever did the betraying will probably get a book deal, a sitcom, trade recipes with Hoda and Kathie Lee, and soon appear on Celebrity Apprentice and Dancing with the Stars.
The big question is “What should be done next?” I hope Sterling loses his franchise. I hope whoever made this illegal tape is sent to prison.
While praising Michael Jordan for the Charlotte owner speaking out against the uber-creepy Donald Sterling, The Nation’s Dave Zirin adds, “it is impossible to take any owner seriously that they are ‘shocked’ or ‘outraged’ by Sterling’s surreptitiously recorded statement, because ‘news’that Donald Sterling is racist qualifies as news only if you’ve been living on a hermetically sealed space station for the last decade.” Or more likely, you simply don’t follow sports very closely.
Even Clippers coach Doc Rivers’s comment that when he took the job last year—he didn’t know that Sterling was a bigot but “probably should have”—strains credulity. Sterling, with a great deal of attendant publicity, has been a racist in both word and deed for some time. His statements about African-Americans, Latinos and Asians—not to mention his misogyny—are exceeded only by his much-protested practices as a discriminatory slumlord.
Many people have not only expressed “shock” at Sterling’s words but also have said variations of “I have never heard anything like this from owners in the NBA.” I cannot speak to whether or not this is true. It is certainly possible that Donald Sterling is the only owner who seems to be in a constant state of arousal, fear and rage at what he calls the “beautiful black bodies” of the NBA. But every owner, as well as former commissioner David Stern—whose paternalism was called out by Dwyane Wade during the 2011 NBA lockout—needs to carry the burden of having counted this person as a colleague for so long. And lest we forget, Donald Sterling’s great benefactor, friend and partner was the late Dr. Jerry Buss, the owner of the Lakers, a person who was universally mourned without criticism after he passed away.
In his press conference, new NBA Commissioner Adam Silver was asked by ESPN writer J.A. Adande about why, given his racist history, Sterling had never been sanctioned. Silver, in his best impression of Mark McGwire said, “I am not here to talk about the past.” But an NBA ownership structure that would tolerate a man like Donald Sterling for so long is, frankly, intolerable.
Longtime NBA followers, executives, employees and media know Clippers owner Donald Sterling as a moneyed fool. Not a terrible man, but a jerk with dough who likes to show off, pop off and, increasingly, think too late, if at all. He’s someone best — and easily — ignored, especially at 81.
Well, not anymore.
Yes, what he allegedly said was painful, indefensible and inexcusable, except why would we expect him, at 81, to be less loony and more discreet and clear-headed than he was at 75 or 78?
Visit any assisted living facility. Or think of that aunt or uncle all of us have known and suffered with a wince because we knew they were off. And they come in all races.
Not everyone, at 81, should reasonably or humanely be held accountable for whatever ugly comments come out their mouths._ Phil Mushnick, New York Post, 4/28/14
I think those denied housing in Sterling’s properties by virtue of their race would describe as something worse than a monied jerk. But putting aside the question of whether or not the embattled Clippers owner is the worst person on the planet versus merely an exposed racist du jour, let’s consider Phil’s argument that no one should take the rantings of an elderly person seriously, nor should the that person be held accountable.
As of this writing, there’s 3 U.S. Senators over the age of 80. There’s 11 over the age of 75. The guy who owns Phil’s newspaper is 83. Rather than finding a way to shrug off the racist sentiments of a guy who has hiring/firing power and owns a major sports franchise in the country’s second biggest market, why doesn’t Mushnick insist Rupert Murdoch be shipped off to an assisted care facility, before he says or does something really fucking stupid?
“Donald Sterling is a prince among men,” says Leon Isaac Kennedy, who starred in the Penitentiary series of movies in the ’70s and ’80s. “I’ve been his friend for 25 years.” At dinner, the emcee updates the crowd on the Lakers, who are losing to Houston in a crucial playoff game. With Sterling in attendance, guests aren’t sure whether to boo or cheer. But when the Clippers owner rises to speak, he is gracious. “I really have a special feeling for this organization,” he says. He’s a major donor, contributing $10,000 to $15,000 this year alone, according to chapter president Leon Jenkins.
Sterling doesn’t stay to hear all the speakers — his entourage is at the hotel bar watching the game — but while speaking, he holds his two-handled trophy cup aloft. And he smiles that smile, the almost smirk you see in photo after photo of the man associates call The Donald. It’s smooth and self-satisfied and says not just that the guy behind it makes his own rules but that he’s won yet another round. Tell him he can’t move his team, and he’ll move it anyway. Complain that he’s a cheapskate, and he’ll spend just enough to maintain the profit margin he wants. Sue him for sexual harassment or housing discrimination, and he’ll buy your silence with a hefty cash settlement. Call him a racist, and he’ll show you an eminent civil rights organization lauding his accomplishments.
While it seems Saturday’s tape recording released by TMZ merely contained highlights of an extended argument between Donald Sterling and alleged girlfriend V. Stiviano, Deadspin’s premiere of additional audio will make it especially difficult for Sterling or the Clippers to claim he’s a victim of editing tomfoolery. And while it would appear the Worldwide Leader is a mere observer in the rush to playback Sterling’s private conversation, full credit to ESPN The Magazine’s Peter Keating for sounding a rather loud alarm about Sterling’s history / worldview some 5 years ago.
NYC friends/associates/people I pretend to like : the event above benefits a worthy endeavor and features the an-all-too rare east coast appearance by Shawn David McMillen and his new Austin backing ensemble, the Melbourne/NY collision of Modra (check your Bogan Dust & Grey Daturas family trees, Pete Frame), United Waters (feat. Brian Sullivan of Mouthus) and in their first New York appearance since 1999, volume-in-lieu-of-ideas duo Air Traffic Controllers.
If that’s not the most out-of-context CSTB headline in a long while, I’m gonna have to try a little harder. With more details on Oliver Perez’ Friday night wardrobe malfunction versus the Phillies, ladies and gentlemen, here’s MLB.com’s former Barry Bonds confidante Barry M. Bloom :
The four umpires met and Wegner told Perez to remove the shirt, which had slits in each sleeve. On the way to the dugout, he dropped the ball, flipped his glove to the ground and began disrobing, returning to pitch without a shirt beneath his white D-backs jersey.
Howard singled and Perez was removed from the game for right-hander Brad Zeigler.
“[The umpire] said that one sleeve was longer than the other and he had a little tear in it,” D-backs manager Kirk Gibson said. “There was nothing we could do about it. The rule says it’s supposed to be the same length, the same color. And it can’t be flapping. I have a pretty good idea whose call that was in the other dugout and it wasn’t Sandberg.”
When asked if he was talking about Phillies bench coach Larry Bowa, Gibson respnded: “You figure it out!”
TMZ Sports leaked audio last night of Clippers owner / real estate magnate Donald Sterling chewing out a lady friend for allowing herself to be photographed with black people. Actually, there’s all kinds of confusing stuff she was chewed out over, but this isn’t the first, second or even the 10th time Sterling has embarrassed the franchise and the league. If nothing else, this should make for an unusual discussion prior to ESPN’s coverage of Game 4 in Oakland tomorrow, though I remain hopeful someone will solicit Baron Davis for a quote.
By now, you’ve very likely seen the New York Times’ “A Map Of Baseball Nation“, which suggests pretty strongly there’s nowhere in the continental USA or even the state of New York that could be considered Metsville. Amazin’ Avenue’s Matthew Callan takes a dim view of the Times’ exercise, citing the Grey Lady’s reliance on Facebook Likes for allegiance data (“tell people you’ve based a supposedly scientific assessment on anything Facebook related and you might as well hand out investment advice based on Magic 8 Ball responses”)
The problem with basing a visualization on Facebook Likes is that the Like has no value as an indicator for level of enthusiasm, for any endeavor. When you click that you “like” something on Facebook, that Like stands in for an enormous gamut of emotions, ranging from I Guess It’s Okay all the way up to I Will Die For It.
When someone’s Facebook profile says they “like” the Yankees, all we know really is that person doesn’t hate the Yankees. We don’t know if this person could name anyone on the team other than Derek Jeter, or if he/she watches the games with any regularity. “Liking” requires no commitment. It asks nothing of a person but a nanosecond of their time. It’s impossible to say how a Like serves as an indicator of a team’s “real” fans. This would probably be even more true in one-team regions, where a person might click Like for a team out of pure civic pride while possessing zero affinity for the sport that team plays.
We also have to look at how this map declares its winners. In this regard, it is closer to an electoral vote map than a popular vote one. A team wins all of a zip code by taking a simple majority of the Likes in that zip code. Just like in a political election, how many people didn’t vote at all is irrelevant to the result; it’s winner take all whether everyone casts a ballot or one lonely guy does. Knowing 40 percent of the Facebook Likes in a certain area favored a certain baseball team doesn’t tell us how many people in that area don’t care for baseball at all. For all we know, the results could be skewed by a hardcore group of fanatics fulminating amid a sea of baseball apathy.
King of dogs, there was none higher, if the others could talk THEY’D CALL HIM JACK. Though it’s been many years, I’m still a little unclear how the brilliant fella above went from an all-devouring force of destruction his first two years (which included flunking out of obedience school — just one of the many things we had in common) to the most guile-free, cuddle-factory on four feet. To his myriad admirers and friends around the globe : we were all fortunate to bask in his drool / love.
(EDITOR’S NOTE : From time to time, CSTB is fortunate to feature the observations of Bronx baseball executive Randy L. Upon hearing of Yankee starter Michael Pineda’s 10-game suspension for use of a foreign substance, and GM Brian Cashman’s profuse apology for such, Randy insisted, no, sorry, he demanded to have his say – GC)
Greetings, Yankee Universe and those who so dearly wish they were part of our solar system. Like most of you, I was saddened by events at the New Yankee Stadium last night that saw our fine young pitcher, Michael Pineda ejected, and subsequently suspended for simply being easier to bust than Jon Lester. Look, I realize for our society to function properly, there are rules that are applicable to all of us, but think for a minute, if you will, about the sort of unselfish act that was required to subdue the big market Red Sox while risking such extreme punitive measures. In my book, Michael Pineda is a real hero and a fantastic role model, one willing to do whatever it takes to help his team win a 28th World Championship. You don’t think Pineda knows where he could end up if he falters? That’s right, Trenton, NJ. How would you perform with that kind of pressure hanging over your head? I’m willing to bet you’d screw up at least a couple of Subway orders.
So imagine, if you will, my discomfort this afternoon, upon learning our Lothario Of The Librarian circuit, Brian Cashman, has declared, “we as a group are embarrassed.” SPEAK FOR YOURSELF, NEEDLE DICK. I couldn’t be prouder of Michael Pineda than if one of my prized labradors had just won a trophy in the Westminster Kennel Club dog show. Which category you ask? Oh, I don’t know, the one for BORN WINNERS WHO AREN’T PUSSIES LIKE CASHMAN.
With the possible exception of Jason Giambi, I’ve not met an individual more prone to thinking with his prick than our moralizing general manager. Does he really believe the fans and media have completely forgotten the way he tarnished this franchise’s good name by breaking his marriage vows with a paramour that made Steve Phillips’ intern seem like Courtney Thorne-Smith by comparison?
Look, nobody cares more about the integrity of the game more than Randy L. That’s why I’ve been so tireless in making certain the hot corner at our palace of a ballpark is a fraud-free zone. But compared to the truly horrible things happening right his moment in
John Sterling’s hotel suite this nation’s schools and streets, it seems the height of hysteria to make Michael Pineda Public Enemy Number One.
How would I have handled the situation? Simple — first Boston reporter who asks me about last night gets this answer ; “it’s a regrettable situation, but not nearly as much so as your team’s color guy aiding and enabling a murderer.”
MIKE FUCKING DROP. That’s how it’s done, Cashman.
City Pages’ Reed Fisher would have you believe the above advertisement for The Replacements’ first Twin Cities shows in 23 years are both an homage to classic Minnesota Twins artwork and Paul Westerberg’s claim of dumping demo reels in the Mississippi River. (links courtesy Paul Lukas)
I, however, would prefer to believe that Paul and Tommy are longtime film buffs, instead alluding to the climatic scene the poorly reviewed Paul Simon vehicle, “One Trick Pony”, in which master tapes — ruined by the meddlesome Lou Reed — are rolled down the street. Also of note — the St. Paul concert is taking place at Midway Stadium, home of the American Association’s Saints, and host of the greatest minor league baseball promotion of all time.
While Ted Berg finds Matt Harvey’s bird-flipping instagram portrait (taken by the injured hurler’s mom, no less) something than scandalous (“it depicts exactly the defiant, enthusiastic mentality fans have come to appreciate from the rehabbing young ace…Harvey’s innocuous shenanigans — even if they somehow upset people — are entertaining”), WFAN’s Mike Francesa spent portions of Tuesday and Wednesday’s programs arguing such actions were unbecoming a player who aspires to be the face of the franchise.
Surely Francesa, despite his oft-noted distaste for social media, is aware that New York sports fans in general (and perhaps Mets fans in particular) aren’t so easily offended by transgressive behavior. This is a fan base that loves Keith Hernandez, Dwight Gooden and Darryl Strawberry, despite whatever chemistry experiments they performed on their own bodies in the 1980′s. Manhattan’s basketball franchise might soon offer a max contract to a player who once appeared in a “Stop Snitching” DVD. The Mets’ former tenants at Shea will soon employ a backup quarterback guilty of mass murdering dogs (and he’ll play under the supervision of a head coach whose tenure was punctuated by a cameo in a fetish video).
This is a team that allowed Vince Coleman to pelt children with firecrackers, permitted Bret Saberhagen to spray reporters with bleach and actually brought back Bobby Bonilla after he threatened Bob Klapisch.
I realize the modern world is a mysterious and scary thing for WFAN’s afternoon drive host, but by any historical measure, Matt Harvey kidding around (WITH HIS MOM) on Twitter, Instagram, etc., is the very definition of no big deal. Let us know when he gets his cock out (again).
OK, that’s not exactly what SBN’s Steven Goldman had to say about the 1989 Kevin Costner weep-fest, instead deeming it, “ a sentimental, treacly lie about something important.” Among the film’s numerous shortcomings, Goldman is particularly troubled by “the film-breaking oversight that turns the whole thing into a rather painful, self-exculpating lie,” to wit, the star turn of James Earl Jones as the fictitious Terrance Mann, and following, oft-quoted speech :
“The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It has been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt and erased again. But baseball has marked the time. This field, this game: it’s a part of our past, Ray. It reminds of us of all that once was good and could be again.“
Oh, you mean like the color line? With the exception of Gil Hodges, every player named in the film never played a single major league game with a black man. Were not allowed to. Did not ask to do so. “All that was once was good and could be again” includes a system of apartheid that extended to almost every corner of the land, from separate drinking fountains to a decades-long series of extra-legal executions of African Americans throughout the country that totaled well into the thousands — and, oh, by the way, from Moses Fleetwood Walker to Jackie Robinson, a black man could not play baseball with a white man, not with Shoeless Joe Jackson, not with Buck Weaver, not with Moonlight Graham, not with Gil Hodges in his first call-up. Terrence Mann whitewashes baseball’s past in that scene (choice of words very intentional) and the character sells out his race, his blinkered, forgetful country, and himself.
In 1987, Jones won a Tony as the lead in August Wilson’s Pulitzer-Prize play “Fences,” in which he portrayed a man so disappointed that his professional baseball career was stunted by the major league color line that his anger has devoured him from the inside out. There is some irony in this given the part he plays in “Field of Dreams.” In the film, Ray says Mann as “a pioneer of the civil rights and the anti-war movement,” but saying it doesn’t mean that his big moment in the film doesn’t sell out the civil rights movement. Similarly, Jones himself is proud of the film, his performance, and his climactic speech (as well he should be), but that doesn’t change what the speech attempts to sidestep. I also hasten to point out that while it is possible to view the Mann speech about being about lower-case b “baseball” rather than big-B Major League Baseball with its history of segregation, this film is very specifically concerned with getting to play in major league games (that is the unresolved wish of the Moonlight Graham character) with actual segregation-era major league players. Any decoupling of the Mann speech from the color line is granting the story a sensitivity it isn’t even trying to earn
Playoff fever can only mean one thing in Memphis, TN ; dry cleaners rising their prices!
This past Saturday evening, Jack Russell’s Great White (not to be confused with Great White or Great White without Jack Russell) were booked to perform a post-game concert after a monumental clash between the Columbus Lions and the host Trenton Freedom of the Professional Indoor Football League (essentially a less glamorous version of the Arena Football League).
It would appear from the footage above, Trenton fans were so excited by their club’s 66-63 victory, they immediately ran to their cars so they could continue the celebration in the privacy of their own homes (and/or somewhere that Jack Russell would not be audible).
Much as I hate to use CSTB editorial space to plug the efforts of Cumbucket Media’s entertainment division…if I don’t who the fuck will?
‘Talk About Hardcore’ is the first album from Columbus’ UNHOLY TWO since 2010′s ‘$kum Of The Earth’ (Columbus Discount / Negative Guest List). Early appraisals have ranged from “sonic terrorism” (614 Mag) to ” “three guitars riding heavy on a single shit storm of distortion, but mostly they swirl in a way that sounds like they’re trying to escape being murdered by one another” (Chicago Reader). I don’t know if it’s actually possible for guitars to murder each other (Crime, aside), but I’m gonna argue with experts.
Props to director Noah Rosenstein who managed to create an engaging music video simply showing Lamont “Bim” Thomas aka Obnox in the middle of his daily routine (doing laundry, breaking records, cloning himself. Someone said there’s some smoking going on, but I cannot fully comment as I don’t have broadband yet.
Not for the first time this offseason rehabbing Mets starting P Matt Harvey has ran afoul of club management with refusal to stay in the shadows until told to do otherwise. On Tuesday, Harvey’s instagram and Twitter feed featured the above photo, which as the New York Daily News’ Kristie Ackert explains, left the team open to suspicion of censorship.
“We just felt the photo was inappropriate and we asked Matt to take it down,” Mets PR boss Jay Horwitz said.
The photo disppeared from Twitter (but not Instagram – yet), along with Harvey’s entire account (@MattHarvey33).
Horwitz said the Mets did not ask Harvey to delete his Twitter account. That decision, Horwitz said, was Harvey’s.
Last time I checked the Portland finished the 2013-2014 NBA regular season with a 54-28 record, one identical to the Western Conference #4 seed Houston. With that in mind Sunday’s 122-120 OT victory by the visiting Blazers would not rank amongst the most glaring upsets in recent memory, but it does seem there’s one set observers who insist on viewing the series with a Rockets-centric POV. In the words of Willamette Week’s Janet Weiss — perhaps best known to some of you as the drum virtuoso from Quasi/Sleater-Kinney/Jicks/Wild Flag/Drumgasm (do I really need to go on?) —- “If you’d been watching (TNT’s “Inside The NBA”) with the sound off, you might think Houston the victor.”
The Inside the NBA crew can’t seem to take Portland’s humble, unassuming players very seriously. The highlights were primarily of Houston. Harden makes a three. Dwight gets the rebound and slams a commanding put-back. Patrick Beverley skips down the sideline after receiving a flagrant foul. Aldridge, Lillard and Matthews each receive a little screen time, but most of the TNT post game show talks about the Houston Rockets.
But for Portland fans who’ve followed this Blazers team, the lack of ego and flash is a source of pride. We might not appreciate Shaquille O’Neal referring to Robin Lopez as “barbecue chicken,” but the fact that Aldridge and Lillard are the first teammates to score 45 and 30 in a playoff game since Jordan and Pippen in 1992 reaffirms our faith in this team.
(EDITOR’S NOTE : with today’s news the Mets have promoted OF Bobby Abreu from Triple A Las Vegas, you might think this a proper occasion to reflect on the 18-year MLB vet’s storied career. In which case, perhaps you should start your own blog, preferably one that features less trolling of personals ads. Without further ado, from July 6, 2007, here’s a CSTB post entitled, “We Have No Reason To Believe Michael Kay Placed The Following Advertisement”)
On the bright side, at least somebody is doing something to ease tensions between Venezuela and the United States.
Looking for a ‘Bobby Abreu type’ ass – 30 (Upper East Side)
Looking for a Bobby Abreu (best outfielder in MLB!) butt double to perform some world-class rear oral service. I want to meet you and give you the best rear oral attention you’ve ever had. NSA. I’m in good shape, good looking, laid back, discreet, drug & disease free, bi, masculine, have a hurricane tongue and serious. Just have a BA ass and leave the rest to me. Straight athletic/muscular Venezuelan men are first choice. Let’s have some fun.
In the wake of Jim Helwig aka The Ultimate Warrior’s passing two weeks ago, 538.com’s Benjamin Morris considers the mortality rate for professional wrestlers, taking a Mushnick-with-a-calculator approach that reveals, well, yeah, it’s a deadly business. No heavy research, however, is required to conclude Wrestlemania VI (dead participants in red) was a showcase for those destined to perish too soon :
Writes Morris, “I don’t want to speculate as to the cause of this phenomenon, though a number of theories in varying shades of sinister spring to mind. But it saddens me to think that my 13-year old self was so thoroughly entertained by watching ghosts.” Doubtful that in 1990, Morris could’ve predicted Jake Roberts would outlive Juanita Wright, but either way, we’re watching plenty of ghosts on NFL Sundays, too.
(really just a cheap excuse to post this song again)
Fresh off the Chipper Jones and Mariano Rivera retirement tours, Florida Today’s John A. Torres announces he finds such ceremonies “nauseating”, saying of the pending tributes to Derek Jeter throughout the American League, “a nice round of applause from the fans should suffice…boo if you want, applaud if you must but these tributes need to stop. Otherwise, please pass the barf bag.” (link swiped from Repoz and Baseball Think Factory)
Apparently, Mets fans in New York are marketing the “Jeter Retirement Barf Bag.”
Some of the “directions” on the bag include: “WARNING! Repeated exposure to video clips of Jeter’s last two truly great plays may cause nausea and vomiting (“the flip” vs Oakland in 2001 and “the dive” vs Boston 2004 — note the years”).
Can you imagine this nonsense taking place in football? Do you think the Redskins honored Troy Aikman? Can you picture the outrage in Pittsburgh if the Steelers honored Ray Lewis?
The Magic recently decided to go one better, honoring Dwight Howard with a video tribute when he came to town with his newest team — the Rockets. Howard held the franchise hostage, got a terrific coach fired, criticized the team and the city, and forced a trade to the Lakers.
I’m gonna presume Torres is aware that unlike Howard, Jones, Rivera and Jeter all earned a measure of affection and/or respect because they didn’t force trades and/or get managers fired during their tenures with the same organizations they started their careers with. But it’s totally ok, because I got to post the White Boy single again.