There is, inside the hearts of baseball fans, an alarm bell that goes off every time someone tries to change the game. True, the alarm is not inside all baseball fans, but it's there for many of us, and it rings "Nooooooo!" whenever even the most subtle of changes to baseball is proposed. I don't know that this happens for any other game. See, changes are coming to baseball in 2023 . . . and beyond. Big changes. Game-altering changes. Why now? Well, baseball has finally decided to draw a line in the sand. |
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This was a true murderer's row: John Cornyn, then Mike Lee, then Ted Cruz, then Josh Hawley, then Tom Cotton, then Marsha Blackburn. |
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Before he was a dungeon-pilfering rogue, a Starfleet captain, or a handsome prince, Chris Pine was an English major. And while he's ended up—like many an English major before him—making a living in a different field, dude still loves to read. And he reads everything— when we met at his house in Los Angeles a few months ago, the volumes in his on-deck circle ranged from Lucy Ellman's Ducks, Newburyport—a stream-of-consciousness novel told in a single run-on sentence that stretches over 1,000 pages—to Michael Mann and Meg Gardiner's page-turner Heat 2. Ahead of our meeting, he'd agreed to give us a top-five list of recent favorites; by the morning of the interview, he'd managed to narrow it down to around twenty. Here, he walks us through that stack. |
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These won't solve all of your problems, but—well, maybe they will. |
| The luxurious label is carefully, thoughtfully ushering in a new approach to getting dressed. |
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At fifty-one, Joe DiMaggio was a most distinguished-looking man, aging as gracefully as he had played on the ball field, impeccable in his tailoring, his nails manicured, his six-foot two-inch body seeming as lean and capable as when he posed for the portrait that hangs in the restaurant and shows him in Yankee Stadium, swinging from the heels at a pitch thrown twenty years ago. His grey hair was thinning at the crown, but just barely, and his face was lined in the right places, and his expression, once as sad and haunted as a matador's, was more in repose these days, though, as now, tension had returned and he chain-smoked and occasionally paced the floor and looked out the window at the people below. In the crowd was a man he did not wish to see. |
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