Nice to be home again, eh, Margo? Tanned, rested, relaxing in my lawn chair, savoring the Clinton Death Watch. Wow–Mike McCurry looks like the 2000 Year Old Man!
What we dare to call New England’s Largest Newspaper did not materialize in my driveway this morning, so I am thrown back upon the Wall StreetJournal, a very quick scan of the New York Times, and some very aggressive channel-surfing before 7 a.m. to give you this fill.
So why not be happy for Mark McGwire? He seems semi-articulate, and he’s broken one of baseball’s most hallowed records, etc, etc. My three boys almost–repeat almost–don’t know who he is, and I must confess, I’m a bit in the dark myself. The key in the late 90s, as poor Mr. Clinton has discovered, is not what you do, but how you react to doing it. And McGwire seems to be doing a lot of the right things: hugging his son, hugging his rival Sammy Sosa; acting humble. As they used to say of the Clinton White House (PRE-1997): There’s a whole lot of hugging goin’ on.
I didn’t see him hug his ex-wife.
I assume he also credited The Woman Upstairs, although I missed that little clip. Spirituality abhors a vacuum, so New York’s Cardinal O’Connor filled the breach, mentioning in his Sunday homily that Babe Ruth, Roger Maris and Mark McGwire were all products of a Catholic education. Those nuns sure do know how to hit.
Over to you for a change of pace.
