A couple of weeks ago I returned to a major league clubhouse for the first time in, oh, a year. It was nice being back, the comfortable rhythms of a life I once knew very well. Players dodge the press. The press congregates. A star goes to his locker. The press follows. Ah, like home.
Yet whenever I long for a true comeback to covering baseball, I’m reminded why it’s a job I no longer crave. This time, the reminder is the Jorge Posada mess.
As you know by now, Posada—batting .165—took himself out of the Yankee lineup because he was insulted that manager Joe Girardi batted him ninth. This because an enormous story—first here in New York, but quickly across the nation. How dare Posada!
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