How he was loved! In a league full of bloated steroid cheats, he kept the same body, the same weight, the same helmet size. In a game full of bat-flipping prima donnas, he ran out every ground ball, hard. In a world of my-agent-doesn't-want-me-to-play multimillionaires, he played hurt more than we know. "Most of the time, he wasn't 100 percent," Posada said. "He'd come out of spring training and tell me, 'I'm already hurting,' but he wouldn't tell anybody else. He just kept going."
Never mind that he's right. Pour me a drink.
Reilly goes so overboard that he's already spawned knock-offs and rebuttals.
This is what happens on off-days. The Yankees should never have off-days.
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Reilly is the biggest phony and name dropper of any contemporary columnist. What he doesn't get is that when Jeter says he would cross the street to avoid him, he isn't joking. He means it. Which only makes us respect Jeter more, kids.
Two words, Reilly: gift baskets.
I'd really like someone to do some actual reporting about Jeter, but that won't happen. He'll always be a bland, two-dimensional heroic figure.
I liked Mantle more after Ball Four than I did before, and I liked him a lot before.
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