Okay, I got so bothered this was going to be a George Steinbrenner-bashing book that I stayed up late at night and into early morning, reading it. Thus far I'm up to page 114 in the book.
It's a little slow going for me, because I was in the socialist paradises of the workers and peasants with free medical care for all, during the mid- and late-1990s, so the events as described, I remained unblissfully unaware.
Just as I was unblissfully unaware of the Nebraska Cornhuskers' glory years, when they won all those national championships in college football. I had no idea.
Being cut off from the civilized world does that.
So far, Torres seems to have treated his boss with at least formal respect, but then he gets in subtle little jabs.
For example, Torres describes meetings with George Steinbrenner just before a big game, during which time Steinbrenner is, obviously, nervous and sweating.
As if that's a character flaw in Steinbrenner.
I'll bet Torres sweats. I dunno anybody who doesn't sweat.
I'm sure there's worse to come.
By the way, since I don't pay much attention to specific baseball games, I learned something new in this book. Apparently it's a habit of basemen and other catchers to stand there arguing with an umpire as the ball rolls aimlessly away, and the runners run from base to base, ultimately getting home?
