decades

For more than three decades, Liz Phair and Sleater-Kinney existed in parallel without ever quite meeting. They admired one another from afar, brushed shoulders only in passing, and, in some ways, represented opposing ways of challenging the limits placed on women in indie rock. Phair, who found novel and peerlessly smart ways to write about heterosexual skirmishes, used her ambitions to edge closer to the mainstream; Sleater-Kinney, one of the great duos of American rock, have succeeded in becoming the last band standing from the underground scene in which they emerged.

Both acts are about to share the stage for the first time, co-headlining a tour they’ve cheekily and earnestly named the Flannel and the Fury, with stops across the country, from El Cajon, Calif., to Ocean City, Md., and a night at Los Angeles’ Greek Theatre on Tuesday.

Yet, despite having spent more than 30 years orbiting the same world, they have had surprisingly little time together. This interview is one of a few substantial conversations they’ve ever had. It is, at first, slightly stilted. Carrie Brownstein and Corin Tucker (Sleater-Kinney) are in sync as always; Phair is clearly excited, but seemingly unsure of where to place herself in the dynamic. Now all in their 50s, the women have been asking similar questions of the same culture, and are only now getting the chance to compare answers.

“Sorry, I know you’re like, ‘Why aren’t you better friends?’ For me, that’s the point. I’m trying to be better friends,” says Brownstein. “Yeah, talk to us again when tour’s over,” Tucker adds.

Brownstein is sitting in a parking lot in Los Angeles, wearing a cardigan and glasses, people walking past her window, unaware of who’s inside. Tucker calls from her home, a blurred background behind her, wearing a white blouse and lipstick. Phair is at home too, makeup on and hair straightened, various musical instruments on the wall behind her. It’s a few weeks before their co-headlining tour, and Tucker has already loaded up all the equipment. She’s packed her suitcase too, full of socks she’ll throw away by the end of tour, and a wardrobe almost entirely of black.

“This is news to me,” says Brownstein. “I was thinking more of a chocolate brown. I will be all brown town.”

Phair is going for wine-like jewel tones. “A Cab Sav,” to be specific.

Phair, who’s had an on-and-off relationship with touring, is noticeably more nervous than Brownstein and Tucker. “It takes me two or three shows to get into it. At first I’m like, why are you all staring at me?”

Phair had been sitting on the idea of a co-headlining tour with Sleater-Kinney for a few years. She sheepishly says that she didn’t reach out herself, but got her manager to do it while she was working on the second half of her memoir. She’s been keen to share a bill with Sleater-Kinney ever since she heard their 1996 album “Call the Doctor.”

“By then, I’d started to pull back from indie rock,” says Phair. “I had gotten married, and I didn’t know I was pregnant at the time, but I was starting to drift out of this scene, and then they put out this kick-ass record, and I just remember thinking, I kind of want to be back in the game. It inspired me. It stuck with me.”

Phair felt she was atomized from the female coalitions of the ’90s, and that this co-bill might be a way to rectify that. “I’d love to be able to go back and sew it together again,” she says. “Here’s a band I was a fan of that meant something to me and now I can play with them.”

For Sleater-Kinney, Phair has long been more than a neighboring act. Tucker and Brownstein describe her as one of their “biggest inspirations.” Both have the same Phair favorite song: “Divorce Song.” “It’s a perfect song,” says Tucker. “I think I’ve put it on every mixtape I’ve ever made,” Brownstein adds.

By the time Phair released her debut album, “Exile in Guyville,” in 1993, she was the one of the two acts edging toward the mainstream. Within a year, she was on the cover of Rolling Stone.

“I still have a copy of the magazine,” says Brownstein. “We were all so excited. Like, an actual artist made the cover.”

Nirvana had made this small corporate alliance permissible a couple of years earlier, finding a loophole as Cobain wore a T-shirt that read “Corporate Magazines Still Suck” on their Rolling Stone cover. It was a time when an antiauthoritarian stance was the only artistically credible one. Before we started calling one another “performative,” Tucker, Brownstein and Phair came from a time when “poser” was the worst insult and sin. They came from a scene of ideological puritanism.

“You know when people die their life flashes before their eyes, sometimes, it’s like that when I do a deep dive, and I’m like, God, there were a lot of rules. There was a lot of fear. And I don’t think anyone who wasn’t there would be able to picture it,” says Brownstein. “It took us a long time to get over it.”

“OK, can I ask the question? Can I get right in here? Because I want to know,” Phair chimes. “Do you think that’s because there weren’t enough women? You think women would have brought the inclusivity to inclusivity?”

“Unfortunately, no,” replies Tucker.

“We had these all-female festivals in Olympia, and we had our own publicist, and they were like, how dare we?” says Brownstein. “You know, it was just gatekeeping, that now seems sort of repugnant. But it was also a way to establish yourself in opposition to what felt like the only way to be.”

It’s part of why Sleater-Kinney declined an invite to play Lilith Fair, the mainstream precedent for so-called female solidarity in music. One of history’s most famous traveling all-female festivals, Lilith Fair was considered by many in the Riot Grrrl movement to be an early symbol of the commodification of “girl power,” female solidarity aligned with corporate ideals.

Sleater Kinney

(Robin Laananen)

“It seems like they haven’t really given credit to women in an independent milieu who have organized a lot of female-only shows for years,” Brownstein told the Dallas Observer in 1998.

“I think at the time we thought we were too cool to play Lilith,” Tucker reflects.

“I’ll just leave your answer,” says Brownstein.

Then she changes her mind four seconds later.

“I saw the Lilith Fair documentary last year and got FOMO, I kind of regretted not playing” she says. “But at the same time we had a handicap from a small indie punk community that was kind of didactic, there was a real rigidity to what you were and weren’t allowed to do. Even us signing with Matador in the U.K. was considered too big.”

Selling out, they all conclude, is no longer a concern for anyone. Phair’s son, who is Gen Z, often says the phrase “it’s time to get the bag.”

“You know, every artist has the right to get their bag,” says Phair. “I always felt that way and I was especially vilified for it.”

That vilification reached its apex when she released her mainstream-aspiring self-titled album in 2003, an album Sleater-Kinney said they hated in an interview with Rolling Stone that year, and which Pitchfork gave a rare 0.0 score in one of its most notorious reviews.

“I’d be on tour doing 10 interviews a day back-to-back, and I almost had to give these interviewers therapy, because they were so sad about my turn from indie rock,” says Phair.

Phair is adamant she made her mark on “every one of those songs, except maybe ‘Favorite,’” she says, referencing the chintzy, awkwardly phrased track where she sings about her underwear. Maybe it’s a metaphor, but more likely, it is just a song about her underwear. Safe to say it won’t be on the show’s setlist: “I will never play it live.”

The old argument about selling out now sits inside a very different touring economy. Sleater-Kinney and Phair’s co-headlining tour happens to follow a flood of co-headlining tours this year, from indie acts like Waxahatchee and MJ Lenderman to big marquee names like Usher and Chris Brown. With higher ticket prices and more competition — not only with other touring bands but with the allures of home comforts — audiences need a bigger draw. Artists want an opportunity to play to big audiences, as well as a better chance of “getting the bag.”

All three artists insist they won’t necessarily bring home the bag, nor is that why they’re doing this.

“All our budget’s gone on to the lighting designer,” jokes Brownstein.

“When I do these interviews with you guys, I get kind of excited and nervous because I feel challenged in the best way,” says Phair. “I think co-headlining bills, it does let you go into bigger venues than you could by yourself. But it also, for me, gives me creative food, like nutrition. It makes me grow.”

Aug. 28 (UPI) — New York City police on Friday said they seized 580 pounds of cocaine worth $10 million, the largest cocaine seizure in the city in decades.

Nelson Salcedo, 35 of New Jersey, was arrested while moving several boxes hiding cocaine from a self-storage facility in Queens.

“This was a massive shipment of narcotics, tied to an interstate trafficking network with connections across the country, including in New York and New Jersey,” NYPD Commissioner Jessica Tisch told the New York Post.

“And because of the work of the investigators standing with me today, those drugs will never make it into the streets of New York City.”

Police began following Salcedo on Aug. 12, when he was spotted dropping off packages believed to contain drugs near the north end of Central Park.

Then on Wednesday, officers spotted the suspect loading boxes into a van registered to an elevator repair company.

Police and Drug Enforcement Administration agents recovered 230 bricks containing 580 pounds of cocaine.

“This appears to be the largest single cache of cocaine my office has seized in 20 years,” Special Narcotics Prosecutor Bridget Brennan told the New York Daily News.

“Thanks to our investigators and our law enforcement partners in this case, these drugs will never make it onto the streets of New York City.”

Salcedo and two suspected accomplices were arrested.

He was arraigned on charges of criminal possession of a controlled substance.

Jason Heyward didn’t give Freddie Freeman the heads up that he’d secured a job in the Dodgers’ front office. He hadn’t told any of his former Dodger teammates. But Freeman, who’s known Heyward for two decades, now says he’d heard rumblings. He was just going to let his longtime friend break the news himself.

On May 13, midway through a home series against the Giants, Freeman walked into the food room at Dodger Stadium, and, to his surprise and confusion, there was Heyward.

“What are you doing here?” a slack-jawed Freeman asked.

“Well, I’m working,” Heyward said.

No text. No call.

“He waited to tell me in person,” Freeman said.

Heyward technically started his job as a special assistant at the beginning of May, but he was on site for the first time a couple of weeks later. That game against the Giants, with Heyward looking on as a Dodgers special assistant for the first time, Freeman stole a base — a rarity in recent years.

“I wanted to ask him, what was my grade?” Freeman said. “What do you give me, a 70 on the 20-80 (scouting) scale?”

Freeman chuckled. Though he has long been an adept baserunner, it’s never been because of his speed — not even in high school, when teams were scouting him for the 2007 MLB draft.

Jason Heyward, who joined the Dodgers as a special assistant earlier this season, stands on the field before a game against the Seattle Mariners at Dodger Stadium last month.

(Jayne Kamin-Oncea / Getty Images)

That’s when Freeman and Heyward first met, the summer before their senior year. They had no way of knowing that they’d go on to experience baseball and life milestones together for the next two decades and counting.

They were both drafted by the Braves, Heyward in the first round (No. 14 overall), and Freeman in the second (No.78). They became roommates and teammates, debuting in the same year.

Over the course of two long and decorated MLB careers — which includes Heyward’s five Gold Gloves, Freeman’s 10 All-Star selections, and five World Series rings between the two of them — their paths diverged and reconnected multiple times.

In this most recent chapter, Heyward has ventured into the front office, Freeman is adding to his Hall of Fame candidacy, and they’re once again on the same team.

“To see us now, it’s crazy,” Freeman said. “It really is.”

Strangers

It’s rare for friends of 20 years to be able to pick out the details of their first encounter. Over the decades, fond memories start to jumble and fade.

But not for Freeman and Heyward.

Without hesitation they’ll bring up August 2006, when they were both 16 and played on opposing teams in the Aflac All-American Classic, held that year in San Diego. They really got to know each other during the down time that week, hanging out in the communal game room in the hotel.

When they met, Freeman was playing Pop-A-Shot.

“That’s where he was most of the time,” Heyward said.

The group could gravitate to another part of the room to “trade cards, sign autographs, talk a little shop,” and Freeman would somehow end up back at the Pop-A-Shot.

That, however, didn’t stop Freeman and Heyward from hitting it off.

On the surface, they were an opposites-attract kind of duo, in pretty much every category but height — listed as 6-foot-4 and 6-5 during that showcase. Heyward grew up in the Atlanta metropolitan area, playing on the East team, and Freeman was an Orange County native, representing the West.

Their priorities and aspirations pulled them together.

“You kind of look around and see all the other guys there and see what they’re doing, how they talk, how they act,” Freeman said. “And then you run into Jason, and then, I’m like, ‘That’s who I want to hang out with.’ He had everything figured out at such a young age.”

Heyward was the more hyped prospect, and the star of the East in that game, with four stolen bases, a pair of hits and two RBIs.

The second time Heyward reached first base, Freeman said to him, “You’re not going to steal again.” Heyward’s response: “I’m going again.”

“I looked down, he was kicking dirt on my shoes, all that,” Heyward said. “So, same guy who he is today on first base, that’s who he’s always been.”

Even in practice, Freeman’s competitiveness stood out to his new friend.

“One hundred percent competitive, but it was fun for him to be competitive,” Heyward said. “Not competitive in like, ‘Get off me,’ [stuff] like that. He welcomed me.”

Though they became fast friends, and ran into each other on the showcase circuit throughout their senior year, who knows what would have happened if the 2007 draft had played out differently?

Dodgers first baseman Freddie Freeman takes his shoes off after batting practice during spring training at Camelback Ranch in Phoenix in February.

(Eric Thayer / Los Angeles Times)

Draftees

Freeman was scheduled to take a final exam the day he was drafted.

That year, the draft made its television debut. The first round — including the Braves selecting hometown kid Jason Heyward — was broadcast on ESPN2. Heyward’s selection wasn’t a surprise — “We know the Braves have a history of drafting young players from the area,” he said.

But Freeman would have to be in front of a computer to track the subsequent rounds. He finagled permission to go home until he was selected, and then return to school.

“We were going along, and I had some other teams calling for me as a pitcher,” Freeman said. “And I was like, ‘I don’t want to pitch, let me hit first.’”

Eventually the Braves called, with their second pick of the second round approaching. Freeman, wasting no time, kicked off the conversation with: “I don’t want to pitch.”

“And they’re like, ‘Good, because we don’t want you to,’” Freeman recalled.

Finally. The excitement began to set in.

Even after the Braves drafted Freeman, it wasn’t a done deal on his end.

He’d committed to Cal State Fullerton, the alma mater of his father, Fred Freeman. And Freddie had his sights set on becoming a CPA and taking over his dad’s business.

A couple days after the draft, at 2 or 3 a.m., Freddie knocked on Fred’s bedroom door with a decision.

“Dad, I don’t want to go to college,” he said. “I want to play baseball.”

They talked for a while. And though Fred had wanted his son to pursue an education, he softened his stance, supporting Freddie’s dream. They agreed, Freddie remembers, that if he didn’t make it to the big leagues in four years, he’d quit to follow the original plan.

“Back then, I was like, ‘Oh, yeah, that’s fine,” Freeman said. “And now you think about it — that was crazy to think, right? Four or five years in the minor leagues, that’s what the norm is. … We didn’t know any better.”

That set Freeman and Heyward on course to reunite, this time as teammates.

Heyward, poised to sign for above slot value, had to wait until mid-August to sign his contract ($1.7-million bonus). So, when he finally joined the Gulf Coast League, for all of eight games before finishing the season with rookie-ball Danville, he remembers Freeman greeting him with a disgruntled, “Hey, man, I’ve been waiting on you. I’ve been here, it’s been hot.”

“My bad,” Heyward said. “I couldn’t control it.”

Freeman broke into laughter.

After the instructional league that fall, Freeman and Heyward decided to room together in spring training. And though the accommodations changed throughout the years, they’d remain roommates through 2010, their debut season in the majors.

Roommates

Outfielder Jason Heyward, left, and infielder Freddie Freeman celebrate before the start of a spring training game against the Toronto Blue Jays in March 2010.

(Al Messerschmidt / Getty Images)

There’s no better way to quickly learn a person’s idiosyncrasies than living with them.

In terms of morning routines, Heyward and Freeman were on far ends of the spectrum. If Heyward was going to start getting ready at 12:30, Freeman was waiting until 12:48 — and it was always something that specific too. Extremely structured to this day, if something throws off Freeman’s schedule, his “robot mind,” as he puts it, malfunctions.

While Heyward would marvel at how close Freeman was willing to cut it, Freeman would give Heyward grief for how long he’d take to get ready.

“In the minor leagues, we had to shave, had to keep it low,” Heyward said. “And I’ve been, at that time, shaving since I was 15. So sometimes I had to shave twice a day, otherwise it was just freaking uncomfortable.

“So, yeah, if I may take a long time to get ready, ‘You’re rocking with what you’re rocking with; you can just get out of bed, literally wet your hair, and then go.’”

On the road, Freeman still jokes, Heyward’s BlackBerry phone came into play. The team would put the players up in hotel rooms with two beds, subjecting Freeman to the incessant clicking of Heyward texting.

“Anybody can nitpick something, but if I complain about a BlackBerry texting, that’s not really anything,” Freeman said. “‘Sorry, I had friends,’ he would say.”

Freeman and Heyward were inseparable. They’d hit back-to-back in the lineup, and then get on the bus for a 13-hour ride and sit right next to each other.

They rose quickly through the farm system, one after another, sharing the highs and lows.

“There was some irony in the fact of how he was treated in the South, versus how I’m treated in the South, even though I’m from there,” said Heyward, who is Black. “And that goes back to even in the minor leagues.”

A road trip to Savannah, Ga., in 2008 immediately came to mind for Freeman, who is white. From first base Freeman could hear everything the crowd said to Heyward in right field — including the racial slur a fan yelled in the middle of a game.

“It was the first time I ever heard the N-word,” Freeman said. “It was crazy to me. And I was almost in tears. I wanted to run into the stands.”

In fact, he started walking over there, before Heyward stopped him.

“For me, obviously, that’s been my whole life, especially growing up where I grew up,” Heyward said. “But it’s just a good perspective on him not hearing it before. And I think that’s it.

“But, yeah, if anybody would have tried him on anything, I’m fighting them too. … What’s understood didn’t have to be explained there.”

The fact that Heyward could remain so calm was eye-opening for Freeman. The pair came away from that incident, and more subtle slights (like having to wait 20 minutes to be seated in a mostly empty restaurant), with a better understanding of each other.

“For an 18-year-old to have that be a normal thing is even more saddening,” Freeman said. “To this day, it’s hard to even talk about. That those kids, or young adults [in the stands] grew up thinking that was an OK thing to say, it’s just baffling to me.”

Teammates

Heyward’s highly anticipated MLB debut came on April 5, 2010, opening day at Turner Field. And in his first major league at-bat, he smoked a three-run home run to right field.

Freeman, on the other hand, started the season in triple A. But that didn’t split up the roommates. Freeman made the 35-minute drive northeast to Gwinnett, and Heyward headed south for 15 minutes.

By late August, it was obvious Freeman would be among the Braves’ call-ups when rosters expanded on Sept. 1.

Sure enough, Heyward and Freeman both headed south that day — still driving separately because of their differing morning routines.

Freddie Freeman, left, Jason Heyward, center, and Brian McCann chat during a workout at spring training in Kissimmee, Fla., in 2011.

(Phelan M. Ebenhack / Associated Press)

“I walked into Turner Field, and saw my name in the lineup, hitting sixth, and I almost threw up,” Freeman said.

Seeing familiar faces helped. Freeman knew many of the coaches and his new teammates from major league spring training the past two years. And, of course, there was Heyward.

“Just a special day,” Freeman said. “I didn’t get any hits, but I didn’t care.

“Jason got all the hits for us, he went four for four. He was so happy I was there. He took all my hits.”

As Freeman went through his big-league firsts, he appreciated having Heyward, who’d already checked them off for himself, by his side.

Freeman looks back fondly on their plane rides. He and Heyward would sit together, eating Chick-fil-A.

Raising the level of decadence, the next year, Freeman had his first “show dinner” with Heyward and veterans such as Eric Hinske and Chipper Jones at a steakhouse in Seattle called El Gaucho.

“I was like, this is the coolest thing ever,” Freeman said.

“Those were both of our ‘college years,’” Heyward said. “So seeing the real world a little bit, spending time on flights, clubhouse, dinners, enjoying teammates, becoming young adults.”

Jason Heyward, right, high-fives teammate Freddie Freeman after scoring off a single by Justin Upton in the first inning of a June 2013 game against the Arizona Diamondbacks.

(David Goldman / Associated Press)

They were also playing well. Heyward and Freeman finished No. 2 in NL rookie of the year voting in consecutive years. And they started filling up their own individual trophy cases, while the Braves made it to the postseason three times in five years.

“Everyone has fun playing baseball,” Freeman said, “but to experience the big leagues with your best friend, I don’t know if you can get much better than that.”

Rivals

As soon as the Braves were eliminated from the 2014 postseason chase, the team fired general manager Frank Wren. Plunging into a rebuild, new president of baseball operations John Hart’s first big move was to trade Heyward to the Cardinals for pitching.

“That was the first time I saw the business side of baseball,” Freeman said. “Sad day. But it opened my eyes to, this isn’t just fun all the time. The fun has to end at some point.”

Freeman and Heyward kept in touch and celebrated each other’s successes. But it wasn’t the same.

“That was like, ‘Alright, this is becoming more of a job,” Heyward said.

Heyward leveraged that platform season in St. Louis into an eight-year free agent contract with the Cubs worth $184 million, setting a franchise record.

The Braves extended Freeman. Then when he finally hit free agency after the 2021 season, he became the first infielder to sign a $100-plus million deal with the Dodgers, signing a contract for six years and $162 million.

For eight years, Heyward and Freeman played for opposing NL teams. Then, an unexpected turn of events set the ball rolling for a reunion.

In early August 2022, when Heyward had already been on the injured list for over a month with what the Cubs called right knee inflammation, president of baseball operations Jed Hoyer announced that the team intended to release the veteran right fielder from the final year of his contract after the season.

Freeman saw an opportunity. And for the rest of the year, he didn’t let Dodgers president of baseball operations Andrew Friedman or general manager Brandon Gomes walk by without hearing his pitch for Heyward.

“I’ll shoot you straight,” Freeman told them. “I don’t know what you’re going to get from the baseball player Jason Heyward, but I know what you’re going to get from the person Jason Heyward, and what he would mean inside of a clubhouse, and what he can do to young guys and help them. There’s no one better to be in this clubhouse than how you are envisioning clubhouse culture and chemistry than to bring this guy in.”

Friedman doesn’t have an exact count on the number of times Freeman mentioned Heyward to him in those months, “but it was definitely a lot.”

Friedman and Gomes were intrigued enough to have their group dig into the evolution of Heyward’s swing. But they still had questions, like how open was he going to be to diving into adjustments with their staff?

Soon after he was officially released, the Dodgers set up a Zoom.

“He was all-in,” Friedman said, “in terms of open-mindedness, desire to change some of the recent narrative, and he was excited about the prospect of working with our guys and doing what he could to help us win games, both on and off the field.”

Heyward said he heard from the Dodgers three times before he heard from any other team in free agency.

“That was how persistent they were,” he said.

Jason Heyward, left, celebrates a run with Freddie Freeman against the Texas Rangers in June 2024.

(Ronald Martinez / Getty Images)

Heyward signed a minor-league deal with the Dodgers in early December. He spent time in Southern California over the offseason to get a head start on overhauling his swing. And he met Freeman in Newport Beach, to hang out, hit and work out together.

Heyward’s efforts paid off. He made the team out of spring training. And he and Freeman were officially teammates again.

“It was so fun,” Heyward said.

Their reunion on the field was brief — the Dodgers re-signed Heyward for the 2024 season and then, his first half derailed by injuries, released him in August — but it was still sweet.

“You go from sitting together on a bus coming from Rome, Ga., going to Wilmington, Delaware — and like now you’re on a first class flight with the L.A. Dodgers, and traveling from West Coast to East Coast, wearing the jumpsuits, all that stuff,” Heyward said. “That was a very cool experience coming from being 16-years-old, Aflac All-Americans, to now sharing a World Series ring.”

Co-workers

Heyward finished 2024 with the Astros and spent the next season with the Padres. He trained this past offseason to be ready for spring training if a team gave him an offer. But in the final weeks, he also started laying groundwork for a post-playing career in case the phone never rang.

“This year I said, ‘If we get a Super Bowl weekend, that’s it, and I’m content,’” Heyward said. “Not complacent; I’m content. I let it run its course, and now I have clarity to go do whatever else it is.”

He said he reached out to the Cubs first about a non-playing role, and had cursory conversations with the White Sox. He exchanged texts with Friedman, reviving conversations they’d had in his stint with the Dodgers. In many ways, it came down to timing.

Heyward had already been planning on meeting up in spring training with Dodgers manager Dave Roberts, a former player, to pick his brain about the transition.

They went to dinner, with both their wives, and stayed for six hours.

“I basically was just honest with him, in telling him that, No. 1, I think it’s great that he wants to stay in the game,” Roberts said. “But No. 2 is that when you’re a player, you look at certain things in a certain lens, but for him to be good at this job in the front office, he’s got to be really open-minded to learn.”

Roberts came away from the conversation excited by how earnestly Heyward embraced that message. And he mentioned to Gomes: “Someone with his character that has his desire to work could be a huge asset for us.”

Two and a half weeks later, Heyward stopped by Dodgers camp at Camelback Ranch to catch up with old friends and teammates.

“I was here for two years, and it felt like I was here for 10,” Heyward said. “And that’s family included — my family, my kids, my wife … So, what I thought was going to be natural, this was even more organic.”

Friends

Dodgers outfielder Jason Heyward, right, congratulates Freddie Freeman after bringing him home on an eighth-inning sacrifice fly against the Colorado Rockies at Dodger Stadium in a June 2024 game.

(Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times)

Life changes dramatically between the ages of 16 and 36.

“Single guys trying to make it, to married with many kids,” said Freeman, who turns 37 next month. “And we’re still as close as ever, which is really, really special for me.”

Then, he added: “This is going to be friends forever.”

Their wives, Chelsea Freeman and Vedrana Heyward, are close too. The Freeman’s middle children are just a little over a year older than the Heywards’ eldest. And the families’ newest additions were both born months apart.

Freeman and Heyward are already coordinating family schedules and travel — the Heywards are based in Chicago — to all get together in California this offseason.

They’re no longer those high schoolers bonding between rounds of Pop-A-Shot. In June, Freeman surpassed 2,500 career MLB hits.

“The way Free’s done it, winning is all over it,” Heyward said. “I think that’s one of those unique abilities, to this guy is playing the game first, winning first, and then he’s getting a result, then he’s having the big at-bat, doing it obviously in the postseason. So I’m just happy to see him get the recognition that he’s earned the time he put into it. I’m happy to see his stubbornness pay off.

“It’s not easy to do. It’s much easier said than done.”

Heyward, moving on from a 16-year major-league playing career, would love to be a general manager one day. But he’s keeping an open mind. He took Roberts’ advice to heart and is using his first year as a special assistant to learn and explore the possibilities.

Heyward has been around the major-league team for a handful of series in Los Angeles and Chicago (even giving Freeman advance notice before the White Sox series to make up for his May drop-in).

Trying his hand at player evaluation, he sat in the stands during the Southeastern Conference tournament. And as he pops in on affiliates, the Dodgers also see the time he spends with their outfield prospects — the biggest strength of their farm system — as invaluable.

“Whatever he wants to be in the front office, he’s going to be it, because that’s just who he is,” Freeman said. “Because he is a special man, he works hard, he cares, he wants to be the best.”

Freeman has already seen Heyward manifest his dreams once — and vice versa.

Being drafted, making it to the majors, winning championships, those were just dreams 20 years ago this month, when they both wandered into the communal activities room between All-American Classic obligations.

“That week in San Diego,” Freeman said, “obviously we’ll never forget it.”

Despite being officially retired in 2008, a pocket fleet of U.S. Air Force F-117 Nighthawk stealth jets has continued to operate from the secretive Tonopah Test Range Airport in Nevada. The service has said it plans to keep flying the aircraft for research and development, test and evaluation, and especially training purposes through at least 2034. This, in turn, requires continued maintenance and logistics support, and a recent contracting notice has now put a spotlight on one of the aircraft’s more obscure features: an emergency tailhook that deploys with the help of explosive charges.

Earlier this week, the Air Force released additional details regarding a planned sole-source contract for new “CAD/PAD” – cartridge-actuated devices and propellant-actuated devices – in support of the F-117 fleet. CAD/PAD is a broad category of explosive and other pyrotechnic ‘devices,’ all of which have a shelf life and have to be regularly replaced for reliability and safety reasons.

CAD/PADs found on modern military aircraft are most typically associated with emergency egress systems, especially ejection seats. The Air Force’s planned order for these ‘devices’ for the F-117 fleet does include ones that help blast the canopy clear away from the aircraft so the pilot can safely eject. The Nighthawk’s canopy is a notably heavy component, as highlighted in the video below.

Opening the Canopy of the F-117A Nighthawk

The F-117 CAD/PAD order list also includes what are described as the “Tail Hook Panel Pyrotechnic Assembly” and “Tail Hook Panel Initiator.” These small shaped explosive charges and electrically-initiated detonators, respectively, and are completely unrelated to the F-117’s ejection system.

To take a step back quickly, most land-based combat jets in U.S. service today, as well as many in service elsewhere globally, have tailhooks. Unlike their carrier-based counterparts, these aircraft have the hooks for emergency use in combination with arresting gear installed on runways on land.

On non-stealthy land-based combat jets, the integration of an emergency tailhook system is relatively straightforward since it can simply be installed externally or semi-externally at the rear end of the aircraft. It is a more complicated proposition for stealth designs where a hook protruding, even partially, from the underside of the fuselage would negatively impact the jet’s radar cross section.

On the F-117, the solution to this was to fully encase the emergency tailhook inside a compartment behind a fixed, flush-mounted panel. When the decision is made to deploy the hook, the aforementioned explosive charges send that panel flying, and then it drops down. After deployment, the system has to be reset on the ground.

Did you know the F-117 has a tailhook? #f117 #usaf #pimaairandspacemuseum #boneyardsafari

An actual carrier-based derivative of the Nighthawk, referred to variously as the F-117N/X and the Seahawk, was proposed to the U.S. Navy in the 1980s. The Navy did not ultimately pursue this aircraft, which would have featured a more robust tailhook among a host of other major changes compared to the original F-117.

There are many more fascinating and sometimes obscure aspects of the F-117’s design. This includes accommodation for radar locator antennas that were also designed to flip down only when in use to help preserve the jet’s low-observable (stealthy) characteristics. As the first-ever operational stealth combat jet, the Nighthawk played an extremely important role in laying out basic parameters for what the design of any such aircraft would entail, inside and out.

Today, the Air Force’s F-22 Raptors and F-35A Joint Strike Fighters also have emergency tailhooks tucked away inside compartments with flush coverings to avoid disrupting their stealthy moldlines. It is not immediately clear whether CAD/PADs are part of the tailhook systems on either of those aircraft. As an aside, the carrier-based F-35C variant of the Joint Strike Fighter has a completely different and more robust tailhook system designed for routine use.

F-22 Raptor Catches Aircraft Arresting System • Pearl Harbor-Hickam

Fighter Tail Hooks in Action – Sparks Fly in Emergency Landing Test on Runway

As noted, the Air Force continues to operate the F-117 despite the type’s official retirement, now nearly two decades ago. While the Nighthawk’s design is dated, the jets have distinct radar, infrared, and other signature profiles that continue to offer benefits for various testing and training purposes. Since 2008, the aircraft are known to have been used as ‘red air’ aggressors and as surrogates for stealthy cruise missiles during large-scale exercises. In many of these contexts, the F-117’s signatures are likely to be extremely dissimilar to what pilots and air defense system operators are used to encountering. As a test platform, the Nighthawk also offers something of a control variable, as its baseline signatures are extremely well studied.

Keeping a pocket fleet of F-117s operational has had other knock-on effects, too. This includes the certification of the KC-46 Pegasus tanker to refuel the Nighthawks in flight. The first KC-46 was delivered to the Air Force in 2019, more than a decade after the F-117 left frontline service.

Altogether, the CAD/PAD contracting notice offers a little insight into what must be a fascinating boutique maintenance shop that keeps the remaining F-117s, and their subsystems and stealthy skins, in an operational status.

With the F-117 now set to remain in this more limited service for nearly another decade, at least, the Nighthawk’s story is still far from over. The Air Force will continue to need to sustain the remaining pocket fleet of jets during that time, including with orders for new explosive charges to make sure their emergency tailhook systems remain reliable and safe.

Contact the author: joe@twz.com