clock menu more-arrow no yes mobile

Filed under:

Tomorrow night, I'll be hanging out with Mark Cuban

Or sitting very near him, at least---assuming Cuban shows up to his team's preseason games. Anyway, I've got courtside seats with some friends for the Mavs against . . . somebody. No clue. Who cares? The seats are courtesy of an attenuated yet quite effective association with the object of tonight's word jumble:


Well, Dallas is way the heck down there, and I'm way the heck over here. You might have deduced that I'll be gone in the meantime. And so I will.

Between now and then, maybe some notable developments will occur. For instance: a) maybe the Nats will have a manager; b) maybe the Lerners will cop to being cheap, cheap, cheap; c) maybe Ryan will review nine more books; d) maybe Kory "Saguero" Casto will have a batting average; e) maybe the St. Louis Cardinals will suffer mass injuries in their eyes, ears, necks, sternums, hands, hips, knees, and . . . ; and f) maybe Cuban will give me credentials. Okay, probably not the last one. I'm not a journalist, and I don't even "cover" that team.

But I'll be sure to have some fun nonetheless.

* * * *

Some guys (and gals) are journalists, and some actually cover teams. That must be a tough job at times. Certainly, it's not soldiering or brain surgery or teaching or blogging or preaching or legislating or citizen journaling or steamfitting, but it has to be difficult on occasion. These journalists cover players and owners and executives---real people. No doubt they can't stand some of these people, but sometimes they develop friendships. They cover these friends, but they also care for the friends. When these friends experience joy, the reporter celebrates. When these friends experience tragedy, the reporter consoles.

And, unfortunately, when these friends pass away, the reporter mourns.

I wish not to dwell on the sudden death of Cory Lidle (and one other person), but I do wish to direct you to a column written by Mychael Urban, Oakland's beat writer. Urban and Lidle were friends. That is certainly clear. What is also clear is how difficult this column must have been for Urban to write.