As undeserved as it might seem to the 66 percent of the world that loathes him, the man just wants to get on with his life, legacy be damned. For Bush, that means attending the World Series, not endlessly revisiting the battles of his presidency. Like us, he seems glad the whole thing is over.
The injustice we might feel seeing Bush have a nice time at the game days after his war finally closes on Broadway offends far less than the dissonance of his time in office. At least he’s had the decency to step away. Or was he ever really there to begin with? Maybe sports, not statesmanship, was always his primary frame of reference, with Bush conceiving of himself as part Tom Hanks, part Roger Staubach. Realistically, he was always a cheerleader at heart. He shows up, eschews the luxury boxes, and enjoys himself. That’s more than we can say for Zooey Deschanel.
Somehow, George W. Bush is a straw man, one of many rich and powerful folks at sporting events with shit on their hands. Clueless destroyer that he was, he remains a jovial, well-meaning fan, with no armies waiting his command once the game winds down. The real power match-up is between the style of the two managers; that’s the moral question here.
Tony La Russa is a priggish reminder of baseball’s most irritating tendencies. I’ll even guess that his superstition is designed to ward off witches, and his Santana-gifted necklace was fashioned from recycled copies of Duets. Ron Washington, with his bouts of hyperactivity and a sense of engagement that acknowledges, rather than controls, the mysteries of baseball, is the hub of all charisma in this Series. La Russa’s face attempts to bend the game’s outcomes through the depth of his concern, like players leaning to keep a ball fair. Washington buzzes with possibility. Leapin’ and hoppin’ aside, Washington is the only person on the field who can reliably be counted on for something resembling levity, or irony. La Russa sits in judgment; Washington waits to be surprised.
It would be one thing if Bush-like La Russa-wore his convictions to the ballpark. Somehow, though, it’s washed clean, or at least neutralized, by his winning Rangers. There’s no story here, and only the most vapid face imaginable. Nolan Ryan knows how to wear his legend on the bloated mask he now calls home. Bush doesn’t. You can decide if that’s a minor miracle or yet another grave injustice.
The expansion of the universe is actually the expansion, or stretching, of space itself. We can picture this by imagining that space is like a rubber sheet, where galaxies are anchored. As the sheet stretches equally in all directions, it carries the galaxies along with it. If you are an observer in a galaxy, you will see the other galaxies moving away from you and conclude that the universe is expanding.
Cosmology has advanced to such an extent that we now can say with confidence that the universe appeared 13.7 billion years ago and that it has been expanding ever since, fueled by its energy and matter content. More remarkably, there are three main ingredients to the cosmic recipe: ordinary matter, the atoms you and stars are made off, makes up only 4 percent of the total; 23 percent comes in the form of dark matter, probably made of small particles that only interact with ordinary matter via gravity — we can “see” dark matter by the way it makes galaxies spin and how it bends light as it travels through space, but we still don’t know what it is; and finally, the rest, 73 percent of the stuff in the universe, is attributed to dark energy, the cause of the baffling cosmic acceleration. So, what the trio discovered in 1998 is the dominant source of energy in the cosmos, powerful enough to make it stretch faster than the speed of light.
“What causes a motherfucker to just straight up be a hater on these streets? What causes a motherfucker that you went to school with your whole life to want to shoot you and rob you? Jealous, envy, greed, wicked men, deceitful hearts, females with penises. Bitch ass niggas is what causes this shit. I remember a time when being a rapper was the thing to be, a rapper was an upstanding citizen, a cool cat. You had to be a cool motherfucker to rap. You had to be a cool motherfucker to wear that dookie rope chain and come around. You remember the pictures of Eric B & Rakim? Them niggas was cool motherfuckers. You had to be to get on a record. Just to touch the microphone you had to be a cold motherfucker. Now a person say “rapper” they think of a fugazi motherfucker, a fraud. A motherfucker that lies and talks about shit he ain’t never done. We done let so many fake motherfuckers come into this game and have embraced so much fraud shit and have gave awards and put crowns on so many pussy motherfuckers that to be a rapper now it ain’t even the thing to be. A rapper ain’t no upstanding citizen, a nigga gotta check your credibility. Back then, by the time you saw a rapper on a record, he already had paid his dues in the street. That motherfucker had already been tested or he wouldn’t even bubble to the top. Now it seems like the buster niggas get on earlier than the real niggas do. And that’s why there’s so much hate and envy in the game. Any time you put pussy into the equation you gonna have a pussy ass environment and a fucked up system of doing things. That’s why I see there’s so much division. Let me tell you something man, I don’t hear certain motherfuckers tripping off coasts man. If niggas having money I don’t hear them dissing the south. I was just on the phone with Cam’ron. Cam’ron ain’t trippin on the south. Cam’ron’s opening up a record company in the south. I don’t hear him complaining. I don’t hear Jay-Z on his record dissing the south. I don’t hear Fat Joe dissing the south, in fact I see Fat Joe embracing our sound. I don’t hear Scarface on records talking shit about the west coast. I don’t hear real niggas on the west coast like WC or Ice Cube dissing the east or the south. It be pussy motherfuckers with this bullshit. They keep saying “You niggas fucking up hip hop.” Man let me tell you something, everytime a man spit a rap, don’t make them records hip hop records, we making country rap tunes down here. And everybody want to be mad at D4L and Dem Franchize Boys. Guess what man? What’s the difference between them records and [Rappin’ Duke’s] “Da Ha Da Ha”?”—
Nowhere in sports is the superstar more vital than basketball, because the ball’s forever in the star’s hands and a singular talent has the most transformational impact. Let owners bid on the true value the elite stars bring to a franchise, to the league, and Wade was asked where he believes the bidding would rise per season?
“I’m sure it would get to $50 million,” Wade told Yahoo! Sports on Wednesday afternoon.
He’s right, and there’s still a compelling case that it wouldn’t properly compensate what a Kobe Bryant, a LeBron James, even means far beyond his own team. Privately, Jerry Buss has told people that Bryant – who will make a league-high $25 million this season under his current contract terms – is worth perhaps $70 million a year to the Los Angeles Lakers. James has been the most prodigious talent – the compelling serial character – the sport’s manufactured. This list is short, but the impact is immense. This is the largely unspoken truism of labor talks: The superstars are wildly underpaid, and the largely interchangeable rank-and-file players make far too much money.