This is now between Ozzie Guillen and the people with whom he lives.

This is between Guillen and his conscience, Guillen and his remorse, Guillen and the insensitive person he's been for so much of his life.

And this is between the Cuban-American community's past and present, Cubans and their willingness to forgive and refusal to forget, Cubans and this man whose ignorance has appalled them.

Guillen, who'd told a national publication he loves Fidel Castro, sat before the nation – but really before Cuban-Americans – on Tuesday in Miami and apologized for his thoughtlessness.

Ozzie Guillen flew to Miami on an off day for the Marlins. (AP)For an hour, he confirmed he was uninformed to the point of oafishness. He was contrite. In certain terms, he said he deserved what was coming, including the ire of Cuban-Americans and the five-game suspension issued by his ballclub, the Miami Marlins.

"I was very stupid," he said, "very naïve."

The people outside held signs that scolded Guillen and demanded the Marlins fire him. He asked they give

What, you thought you were getting Henry Kissinger?

This is Ozzie Guillen, folks. He's an ex-baseball player. Now he stands in a dugout for a living.

The first time I ever talked to him, back when he was still a player, his face was smeared in postgame-spread barbecue sauce. He was sucking on a grape Popsicle. He was still in his underwear.

He's that guy.

Ozzie GuillenIf everything goes right for him all day long, the Miami Marlins will win a baseball game. Sometimes, if everything goes wrong for him all day long, the Marlins will still win a baseball game.

And that's it. That's his job. That's the best you could have hoped for.

Ever see a Little League coach who had season tickets to the local professional ballclub, a guy who almost played a little JV ball in high school, who by middle age acquired the notion he was the Tony La Russa of 9-and-under coaches?

Yeah, the guy who knows just enough baseball to be idiotically dangerous to the hardball development of your sons and

ANAHEIM, Calif. – Here's what Arte Moreno is promised for his $240 million:

A few World Series forecasts in March, a full stadium on opening day, thousands of parading fans in No. 5 jerseys, a happy television partner and a middle-out lineup card routine for his manager.

"I went right to the three hole and put his name in first," Mike Scioscia said, "then filled in around it."

He's promised something like the most professional ballplayer in the sport, a being whose singular focus, unbending routine and nose for the big moment spurs arguments of man-or-machine.

"Machine," Torii Hunter declared.

And, well, that's about it.

The rest will come, or it won't, and it'll be a decade in the deciding. What becomes of Moreno's Los Angeles Angels rests in part with Albert Pujols, of course, but no more than it will with the other $150 million or so of roster space, or with the other titans of the American League, or with some circumstance and luck.

As if to prove that, the Angels were held

SAN DIEGO – In a heart-soldering display of unity in transition, outgoing Los Angeles Dodgers owner Frank McCourt and incoming savior Magic Johnson sat shoulder to shoulder Thursday beside the third-base dugout at Petco Park.

There they shared the experience of opening day, a full ballpark, a few stray chants of "Beat L.A.," and maybe, a box of popcorn with butter flavoring. Magic, presumably, bought.

The Dodgers beat the San Diego Padres, too, by a 5-3 score, and as the game slid into the late innings and cool early evening, Magic did not budge from his seat, unlike many around him.

"It was very exciting for me," Magic texted from the passenger seat of his black SUV on the way home.

McCourt had arrived early in the final days of his mercurial and ultimately doomed ownership and the last of his nine opening days in charge. He stood in the clubhouse a few hours before game time and shook hands with many of his soon-to-be former employees, smiling and wishing them luck. Dutifully, the

The first thing you'll notice about the opening 2012 power rankings is the top six teams hail from the American League. The second thing is, they'll probably look nothing like this come September.

The rankings (Records from 2011, rankings from final regular season):

1. Tampa Bay Rays (91-71; Previous: 7) – Rays shave off hair for good cause, discover Joe Maddon's head looks suspiciously like The Trop.

2. Los Angeles Angels (86-76; Previous: 11) – C.J. Wilson explains he tweeted his ERA from past two postseasons, not his fault it looks like Mike Napoli's phone number.

3. New York Yankees (97-65; Previous: 2) – On the bright side, Joba Chamberlain did get his bag of party favors before boarding the trampoline.

4. Texas Rangers (96-66; Previous: 3) – Upon further investigation, Rangers find Jairo Beras is a 32-year-old school teacher from Plano.

5. Detroit Tigers (95-67; Previous: 4) – Sunglasses save Miguel Cabrera's season. Also gave him that sweet P. Diddy look.

6. Boston Red Sox

ANAHEIM, Calif. – They leave with dignity or they go with a sad, futile fight.

Regardless, the game slips away, then ends. That is undeniable. A ballplayer – a man – must decide how he'll travel those final few steps.

The problem is, one man's dignity is another's prideful, multi-lingual hissy fit, the eye of the beholder and all that, which is to say that the Los Angeles Angels and Bobby Abreu would seem to be at odds over how this is supposed to end.

The one thing they would seem to agree upon: It probably should happen elsewhere.

Assuming reasonable production from their outfielders and good health from Kendrys Morales, Abreu is not among the Angels' best nine. If the second half of 2011 and the current spring training are any indication, neither is he among their best 25.

Abreu perhaps views it otherwise, through the prism of nearly 2,400 hits, a career on-base percentage just shy of .400, and a remarkable ability to stay on the field, season after season. A rough few months is

PHOENIX – The old scout with the barbecue sauce on his chin and the weariness in his eyes looked out at the mound and the bundle of power and rawness standing on it.

It was getting to be the bottom of the first inning. Aroldis Chapman would throw eight warm-up pitches, most from a windup-stretch concoction that communicated these little exercises were unnecessary.

One of his back pockets had gone inside-out, so it looked from a distance like he'd tucked a dinner napkin in there. The scout coulda used it, actually.

Chapman, of course, is the left-hander who defected from Cuba at 21, signed a $30 million contract with the Cincinnati Reds, was in the big leagues at 22 and then threw a 105.1-mph fastball.

Do something like that and people don't forget. They assume the best and expect it right this very second. They beg him to make that radar gun speak to them, to fill up that far-left line of vertical pixels on the video board, to suck that wordless noise from their chests that in any

SCOTTSDALE, Ariz. – The bleachers in the back fields here were hot to the touch this week, meaning it's nearly time to go.

To Los Angeles. To Denver. To Cincinnati. To New York.

Baseball's regular season (North American edition) is coming and Kendrys Morales awaited his second at-bat in a minor-league game on Field R4 in what they call the clover section of the Colorado Rockies' sprawling facility.

From above, the four fields together look like a clover. From field level, given all the numbers in the 70s and 80s, they look like a football game.

Morales skipped in place in the on-deck area and peered through the chain-link fence.

"Long," he said thickly. "Unbelievable."

He'd waited 22 months for at-bats like these over the past week, for real swings against real pitchers that would lead to a real season, and now he could not hide his impatience. He did not play first base. When he reached on a hit, as he did twice, he did not run the bases. A reedy elastic kid ran for him.

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