"Hands in His Pockets: The Passion of Alan "Bud" Selig." My three-act play, in rehearsals. Kidding, but all my hatred of him was seriously diminished by the way he marked, but did not venerate, the Barry Bonds abomination. It was especially poignant given his relationship with Henry Aaron. (I also like the way he's resisted the Cult of Pete Rose). I'm bent up about his obeisance to the Steinbrenners and Reinsdorfs of the world when it comes to revenue sharing and then there's the Molitor thing, but for people of the Braves generation, I can see how holy a man would be that brought big-league baseball back to town. (One of the few fights I ever got into with my step-dad involved this quibble.) The way that he lied to the public, at the same time he was using money that could have gone to payroll and instead was retiring the equity of the minority owners of the team, thus seriously enriching himself, is a story that's never been told properly or fully. It's a particularly shabby narrative. But whatever. We have short memories. He's a (definitionally) scumbag used-car salesman who has been not particularly more or less moral than any other owner, and has made some inspired decisions along the way.