Cut me a break on this one, folks.
Opening Day is scant weeks away, but all the baseball
headlines are about lately are steroids, Congressional
inquiries, allegations and denials, asterisk’ed records, and taking-the-Fifth’s.
But sometimes, from a situation that can only be characterized
as depressing and painful and confusing to think about, comes a
minor work of genius that, for a graceful moment, is like a surprising
bolt of sunshine through the clouds and overcast. That light,
and enlightenment, is on today’s New York Times op-ed
page, courtesy of the deeply talented Michael Chabon. Just
an excerpt:
"I don’t know what is to be done about this latest debacle,
and neither do you. No, what I want to know about Jose Canseco
is, how come I still like the guy so much?"No, I’ll go even further: I admire him. Not in the way I
admire Clemente – not even remotely, which says something about
what an ambiguous thing admiration can be. Like all showboats,
Canseco courts the simpler kind of admiration, starting in
the mirror each morning. He is slick, he drives too fast, he
is nine feet tall and four feet wide and walks with a roosterish
swagger. But there has always been something about him, about
his style of play, his sense of self-mocking humor, his way
of looking at you looking at him, that goes beyond vanity and
self-aggrandizement, or being a world-class jerk."Canseco has been described as a charmer, and a clown,
but in fact he is a rogue, a genuine one, and genuine rogues
are rare, inside baseball and out."
Read the
whole thing.
