Although I grew up in the heart of New England and will be a Red Sox fan for all my days, Reggie Jackson was my favorite player growing up. He's a man of contradictions, as the most fascinating subjects usually are. Sometimes I think about those final three 1977 World Series homers as I drift away to sleep (look where the third one lands; utterly ridiculous).
I remember doing a book report on Jackson, fifth grade. Handed out Reggie Bars. Talked about his run-ins with Charlie Finley, Dick Williams, Billy Martin. Reggie isn't without his flaws, but to survive, and thrive, amidst the chaos of his professional career, it's remarkable.
Today is Reggie's 68th birthday - I could forget a thousand birthdays of various people, but May 18 just sticks out to me.
Maybe this all means nothing to you. You're just here for the fake baseball chat, and that's fine. We'll get to that. We'll also go off the board and talk about pop culture, food and drink, music. Silliness is guaranteed. Actionable fantasy advice, that might happen too. At least I won't tell you to trade Brian Dozier for Martin Prado.
Put on your sunglasses and swing by at 10 pm ET, swingers. Don Draper (and the Mets) can wait. Today, we show sympathy for the pinstripes.