The epic whining heard across MLB over the Tarik Skubal acquisition is evidence Andrew Friedman and Dodgers management are a masterclass in demonstrating creative leadership to cultivate a winning ballclub. If you doubt this, check Steve Cohen’s Mets: monster payroll, less than .500 record.
Any talk of changing the rules, salary cap or otherwise, to put reins on this kind of success would propagate underperformance and penalize this fascinating culture of constant improvement. No one’s breaking rules. Any team could be doing what the Dodgers are doing if they had the wherewithal.
Valerie Martinez-Bencomo Claremont
Unlike the Saturday evening shocker that occurred when the Lakers acquired Luka Doncic, it was no Saturday night surprise to learn the Dodgers traded for Tarik Skubal.
What was a surprise was the relatively minor amount the Dodgers had to give up to acquire the reigning two-time AL Cy Young Award winner. It is highly doubtful that Zyhir Hope will turn into the next Yordan Álvarez, or that River Ryan or Brady Smith will develop into the next Pedro Martinez.
Irrespective of whether Skubal signs a contract extension, as long as he does not complain of a ‘dead arm’ or sustain another injury, this appears to be an excellent deal for the Dodgers.
Ken Feldman Tarzana
The Dodgers’ acquisition of Tarik Skubal is just another example of the team’s willingness to cause a lockout and blow up the 2027 season.
I understand why. Destroying the 2027 baseball season will give the team’s starting rotation a full year to recover from its numerous injuries.
Ed Kaz Oak Park
The excitement over the Dodgers getting Tarik Skubal should be tempered by a couple of factors.
Skubal could care less about a Dodgers three-peat. Sure, he wants to show he hasn’t lost anything because of injury. He will have several starts during the rest of the season to do that.
His main priority will then be to avoid any injury that might compromise his value in the marketplace. (Remember Max Scherzer?)
Some of the other top-notch Dodgers starters might also be unhappy if denied a chance to start a postseason game.
I was feeling good about UCLA football, until Bill Plaschke promised Bruin greatness. Hey, Uncle Bill, could you please retract your prediction, considering your track record? Maybe then, the Bruins will have a chance!
Jack Wolf Los Angeles
Despite his middling record, Times columnist Bill Plaschke has once again entered the prediction business. Unrestrained as ever, he predicts greatness for UCLA football, courtesy of its new head coaching hire, Bob Chesney. However, Bill fails to quantify what he expects the team to achieve? Is it simply a winning record? A victory over crosstown rival USC? Or, dare I mention, a national championship? I guess we’ll all have to wait.
Rob Fleishman Placentia
Bob Chesney has won before. Winning at UCLA is another matter. But when Bill Plaschke starts pumping sunshine, history warns against climbing aboard the Bruin bandwagon unless it comes with an extended warranty and roadside assistance. Until then: “Westwood Ho!”
Last things first: Eve Babitz is a major minor L.A. writer who died five years ago at age 78. She spent nearly a quarter-century as a recluse, having suffered in 1997 a shocking and disfiguring accident while striking a match to light her Tiparillo. Her thin Indian skirt caught fire searing her panty hose into her flesh, leaving her with third-degree burns over more than half her body. She never published again, though many championed her gifts, including me. At the time of her misfortune, I was book editor of the Los Angeles Times. I had long admired her, especially the rollicking and indispensable “Slow Days, Fast Company,” first published in 1977, a charming and insightful series of stories bursting with pluck and sass. I recommended to John Carroll, the then-editor of the paper, that he make her a columnist and urged Babitz to write him directly. She did, and that letter from October 2000 is the last included in “Too L.A.: Letters Never Sent (But Some Were),” a book of letters expertly edited and chosen by Lili Anolik. Babitz tells Carroll that “what the paper needs is some writers that cause such an uproar, people will have to read it in order to stay abreast of the edge.” Babitz knew what she was talking about. She’d been living on that edge since she was a teenager at Hollywood High in the late 1950s.
Book Review
Too L.A.: Letters Never Sent But Some Were
By Eve Babitz; edited by Lili Anolik New York Review of Books: 448 pages, $19
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The posthumous resurrection of Babitz’s writings is most welcome. Yet there is a risk of overpraising her merits. She was an unabashed booster of the glossy L.A. that became synonymous with a rising creative elite whose élan and narcissism she found irresistible.
Lili Anolik makes the case in her perfervid introduction: “The letters are everything you could want” and often “profound” and “frequently brilliant, invariably amusing.” She says they deserve to be put on the short shelf next to Virginia Woolf’s imperishable “A Room of One’s Own” for they are “every bit as candid, every bit as lucid, every bit as brutal, every bit as delicate as Virginia Woolf’s celebrated manifesto.”
If only.
“Too L.A.: Letters Never Sent (But Some Were)” by Eve Babitz
(New York Review Books)
Regrettably, Anolik, who is almost singlehandedly responsible for Babitz’s literary exhumation, has so fallen in love with her subject as to almost blind her to Babitz’s defects, both with respect to her writing and to the life. With two previous books — “Hollywood’s Eve” (2019) and “Didion and Babitz” (2024) — prompted by Anolik’s riveting March 2014 Vanity Fair profile, Anolik has become Babitz’s greatest champion. Now with “Too L.A.,” a title taken from Babitz’s own over-oxygenated writing, she has gathered and edited a trove of letters. They brilliantly reveal Babitz’s eye for the deep shallow as well as explore the porous boundary between the largely self-inflicted injuries of her private life and the glittering sheen of her public persona. Babitz herself, on the strength of these 197 letters, only 30 of which she ever mailed, understood in a way Anolik doesn’t the limitations of her talents, even as she strives to slip the shackles of a mansplaining culture which at almost every turn tried to blunt her ambitions, both artistic and writerly, even as her editors and admirers sought (often with her ardent encouragement) to slip between her sheets.
Eve Babitz was born in 1943 to Hollywood neo-royalty. Her Brooklyn-born father, Sol, was first violinist for both the Los Angeles Philharmonic Symphony and then the 20th Century Fox Studio Orchestra. Sol would ultimately marry Lily Mae Laviolette, a beautiful Cajun Catholic shiksa willing to convert to Judaism. Eve’s godfather was Sol’s good friend Igor Stravinsky. When puberty burst upon her at age 14, Babitz’s blossoming made her a prime candidate for induction by the fast-track girls at Hollywood High who called themselves the Thunderbird Girls and cruised the Sunset Strip in their cool cars, looking for the main chance.
From left, Sol Babitz, Mae Babitz, Mirandi Babitz and author Eve Babitz gather at a launch party for her book “Slow Days, Fast Company” in 1977.
(Photograph by Paul Ruscha; courtesy of Mirandi Babitz / The Huntington Library)
At 20, Babitz posed nude playing chess with the fully clothed Marcel Duchamp to promote Duchamp’s retrospective exhibition at the Pasadena Art Museum. At the time, Babitz was having an affair with the museum’s 32-year-old married director, Walter Hopps, which perhaps explains Babitz’s reluctance to have her face photographed so as not to give the game away to Mrs. Hopps, who attended the opening. A month later, Babitz confides in an (unsent) letter: “Everything’s so fabulous for me now I can’t believe it. There’s nothing like two boyfriends to do it for you every time. There are such fabulous boys around and they take you out on dates and to movies and I feel just like a teenager. (I’m recapturing my lost youth.) I get to get dressed up and I flirt outrageously and put people on and I do things like look soulfully out the window and man it’s just too hoozie for words. … If only all of this could last forever — not that it will, but I can.”
She spent the rest of her life torn between the excitements of everyday life — cruising the hangouts du jour (Barney’s Beanery in the early 1960s where she met many of L.A.’s up-and-coming artists — Ed Kienholz, Billy Al Bengston, Laddie Dill, Peter Alexander, and the Ruscha brothers, Ed and Paul, both of whom she’d bed, Paul becoming an on-again, off-again boyfriend whose bisexuality made for a sometimes tenuous connection; and after seducing Jim Morrison before he became famous and later the Troubadour in the late 1960s which was a happy hunting ground — Steve Martin, Glenn Frey, Don Henley, J.D. Souther, Country Joe Mcdonald, Jackson Browne, to name only a few, and then Ports restaurant where she anchored a corner table) — and the seductions of drugs — uppers, acid (which she seemed to ingest with an alarming frequency), pot, of course, and then by the mid-1970s, tragically, an Everest of cocaine. She had entered what she aptly called the era of “squalid overboogie.”
Eve Babitz and her frequent companion Paul Ruscha celebrate the 1977 release of Babitz’s seminal “Slow Days, Fast Company.”
(Photograph courtesy of Mirandi Babitz / The Huntington Library)
The name-dropping is relentless and if, like me, you have an insatiable appetite for hoovering them up, this volume will not disappoint. Still, there are many pages of vapid jottings — “I cleaned the house, did the laundry, and vowed to quit smoking” — that suggest why Babitz was a failure as a novelist (see her dud “Sex and Rage”) and a superb writer of short stories and essays that stylishly plumbed the depths of her own sensibility precisely in the degree to which she was uninterested in other people.
Nearly 30 years after she stripped to please her married lover and startle the unsuspecting Duchamp, the father of Dada, and eight years after she joined AA in 1982 — the year her beloved father died of Huntington’s disease at age 70 which ultimately would also kill her — and gave up drugs and alcohol and (almost entirely) writing as well, which had always been seen by her as enabled by dope of one kind or another, she boasted that, looking back, “Everybody wanted to be me — they looked at me with yearning faces, and said, ‘Boy, you sure had fun.’ ” She was not entirely wrong. She had struck many admirers both then and now, as the quintessential California girl, a daughter of Dionysus, whose devotion to pleasure was free of misgiving or regret. She detested the East Coast avatars of apocalypse, like Nathanael West, who saw only doom and gloom in sunny L.A. Babitz, by contrast, saw things sunny side up. If Joan Didion was unsettled and made anxious by the hot Santa Anas that regularly kicked up, Babitz luxuriated in them, recalling how she and her sister would as young girls rush to embrace them, spinning madly round and round. In a 1977 unsent letter to Joseph Heller, who had championed her work when she had sent him an unsolicited fan letter after having read “Catch-22” when it was first published and she was barely 20, she declares proudly: “I’m a gossip storyteller who likes L.A. rather than hates it.” She refers to her “shallow nature,” writing that “I feel like an upstream salmon, determined to reach the shallow water, no matter how fast the river is running the other way.”
Eve Babitz, the ultimate Hollywood reveler, on Sunset Boulevard in 1980.
(Los Angeles Times)
On the evidence of these letters, she had two great loves: Ahmet Ertegun, a principal founder of Atlantic Records, and Tom Dowd, renown recording engineer and producer who worked for Ertegun. Of the two, Ertegun had the edge, if for no other reason than he came with buckets of dough, making possible assignations at his regular bungalow at the Beverly Hills Hotel with limo pickup and dropoff services, and the best champagne and other assorted stimulants. Ertegun was effortlessly elegant and erudite, and there was no one he didn’t know and who wouldn’t return his calls. He was married, age 45, 20 years older than Babitz, when they fell for each other in 1969. She began sleeping with him even as she agreed to profile him for Jann Wenner’s newly launched Rolling Stone. The writing didn’t go well. Wenner wanted a tougher piece than she was willing to write. Ultimately, she abandoned the assignment, claiming (not unreasonably) that she didn’t see how she could write objectively about a man she loved.
Babitz courted danger with heedless bravado and exemplary recklessness. She once had the moxie to rid herself of a would-be rapist: When told not to scream, she said with unimaginable sangfroid: “Why not?” The man bolted. It might be said of Babitz, as Oscar Wilde said of his life, that she spent her talent on her writing and reserved her genius for her life. Sculpting her natural gifts of wit and brazenness into a living artwork dazzled all who came within her orbit. Her lust for life was palpable. The letters are proof. She came at people without fear. She left them without apology. She was the boss of herself. She was the girl who seemed to have it all. The only thing she lacked was inexperience.
Dear Dave Roberts: I was totally disgusted to see you at the Dodgers’ White House ceremony pandering to Trump. As far as I was concerned, you made a complete fool of yourself. I’m sure many Dodgers fans were equally horrified with your behavior.
Susan Stann Temecula
Today’s visit to the White House was baseball, not politics. It was a boost for MLB, not columnists who try to be political hacks with personal bias. If the hacks or detractors listened to the references it was all about achievement in what the team did to win. The Dodgers are part of the entertainment industry which annually draws maybe a billion fans or more and certainly billions of dollars. The hacks and detractors will not be convinced otherwise but if you line up any 50,000 fans at a game, you will see a positive vote for the privilege of going to the White House. Baseball wins, sports wins, the entertainment industry wins, and America wins. Boo the hacks and the ignorant detractors.
Bill Koury La Cañada
Dave Roberts justifies his appearance with Donald Trump because it is a “baseball tradition” that should be honored.
I didn’t hear him protesting to uphold other baseball traditions such as banning Black players from baseball, not having designated hitters, or starting with a runner on second base in extra innings.
Traditions come and go. It seems Mr. Roberts traded his moral compass for a trip to the White House lawn.
David Griffin Westwood
In my dreams Dave Roberts says, “Nope, not gonna go to the White House. If they want to fire me, let ‘em.” Dream on.
Jay James Pico Rivera
I will suggest the nuclear option. The Dodgers should never again visit the White House. No matter who is president.
It is difficult to find words to express my disgust for the coming White House visit. Like the man they are going to see, the Dodgers are without honor.
Rico Gardiner San Diego
Sports do not transcend or evade association with politics, especially in the current period of America’s decline under President Trump. It’s disgraceful that the Dodgers would again honor a rank authoritarian, a brazenly corrupt kleptocrat, criminal, malignant narcissist and wrecker of our democracy and rule of law.
Trump is not honoring the Dodgers; he’s using their presence to honor him and give him a bit more gaslight glory. The organization has smeared itself with the dishonor, serving the PR agenda of our vainglorious tyrant. If they cared about the optics, their civic duty and the good of the country, they would decline.
T.R. Jahns Hemet
Dodgers, you are out. Out of our house. In normal times, a White House visit is a grand honor for a championship club. I get that. These are NOT normal times. For you to pretend they are and honor this man with your presence is unforgivable. Spineless. A statement that makes the wrong statement. We will not be watching or rooting for you this season. You are out at home. Our home.
William Lewis Burbank
Ever since the Dodgers accepted their World Series visit to the White House, they’ve been error-prone on the field, and losing most games. In the All-Star Game, the players were hitless and the pitcher served up the only home run. To add more insult, their former player received the MVP award! Most importantly, is the disappointment and loss of respect from the fans. Karma has a way to haunt.
Robert Torres Torrance
Your letters to the editor section regarding the Dodgers’ planned visit to the White House continues the left bias of the L.A. Times. Four letters were published praising the article and one was published critical of the article. I doubt that the 4-to-1 ratio reflects the opinions of the L.A. population, but it may reflect the opinions of readers that your left-leaning paper attracts. I read the paper only to see what the lefties are up to.
I am a lifetime resident of Los Angeles and my family has always rooted for the Dodgers. Last year we gave them a pass when they went to visit Trump at the White House. This year after Trump’s attack on our community we cannot accept the Dodgers visiting Trump again. Dave Roberts should know that the first obligation of a patriot is to stand up against tyranny. Shame on him and any other Dodger who goes to the White House this year. I will be canceling my Spectrum service. I’m not playing with the future of our democracy.
Felipe Caceres Los Angeles
If the Dodgers kowtow to Donald Trump yet again, Angelenos should consider boycotting the team for the rest of the season. Yes, they are an exceptional team and might return to the World Series yet again. However, other great athletes, such as the recent U.S. women’s Olympic hockey team, have displayed their courage and integrity in refusing to bow down to that dangerous tyrant.
By serving, as too many others continue to do, to support and enable the thug, they are enabling him in his inhumane and destructive policies and actions. As well, Trump invaded L.A., and the Dodgers did little to support the city they allegedly represent. If they return, it is more than a slap in the face of every sane and thoughtful Angeleno.
Barry Cutler Palm Desert
I have always paid for the Dodgers’ games on mlb.tv, but this year when the Dodgers did not decline the White House visit, I did not. I was holding out hope they wouldn’t squeeze a visit in on their road trip after the All-Star Game and I’d get half a season. Instead I’m listening to the games on the radio. I’ve heard the players say things like “you never know when this might happen again” or “it’s tradition.” I don’t get either one of those excuses. Is Mookie Betts going to ask Trump why he posted the picture of the Obamas as monkeys? Or any of the players going to stand up for anything?
How about be like the women’s Olympic hockey team and stand up for what is right? Don’t be a pawn for another photo op for this dysfunctional White House. Please?
Marnie Jernagan Fresno
Columnist Bill Plaschke wants to impose his political views on us and the Dodgers. Let each player decide if he wants to go to the White House, and if some players don’t want to go, then fine — don’t go. But why should all the players be confined to Plaschke’s view of politics?
David Waldowski Laguna Woods
I was a huge Dodgers fan until last year when they visited the White House. What a happy crowd they looked, even presenting President Trump with his own jersey, No. 47. That wasn’t enough? They’re off again, with Dave Roberts talking about “respecting the highest office in the land, it doesn’t matter who’s in office” while Clayton Kershaw, who presented the jersey is so “excited to go” again. Roberts had previously talked about it being a tradition. Nothing about this White House or this president is traditional, and not going is not making a “political” stand. It would be a stand for decency and normalcy. While visiting the East Wing maybe they can present Trump with the inaugural Baseball Peace Prize. Shame on the Dodgers!
I will miss watching the greatest maestro and savant in the history of basketball, LeBron James. He is to basketball what Van Gogh was to painting, Coltrane to music, Hemingway to literature. He came from poverty and rose to a global hero and gave back. His after-game interviews were always intelligent and sometimes humorous. To all his detractors and haters? Eat your hearts out, he is a happy man.
Dell Franklin Cayucos
I have always been in awe of LeBron’s athleticism and basketball IQ. And I greatly admire his dedication to maintaining his physical abilities throughout the years and his philanthropic pursuits.
But, as a lifelong Lakers fan, I will not miss LeBron. He was never a true Laker. He made it clear when he announced that he was taking his talents to South Beach that he cared only about LeBron, not the team.
So, as he closes out his career elsewhere, I will enjoy watching his superior playing prowess from afar. But I will be grateful that I can now cheer for my Lakers without the drama LeBron brings to every team he’s been on.
Linda Salzman Rancho Palos Verdes
I agree that it was probably time to move on from LeBron simply in the interest to pursue a long-term player versus one more year from the King. But Bill Plaschke’s argument that he was tired of the mind games LeBron supposedly was playing is a terrible take. Losing 27-7-7 is not replaceable overnight, if ever.
George Metalsky Redondo Beach
While acknowledging LeBron James as one of the greatest basketball players of all time, it never really felt as if he was selflessly committed to the Purple and Gold team concept like so many of the legendary players that preceded him.
During his eight years as a Laker there seemed to be countless occasions when Lakers brass capitulated to his “demands.” Year after year we endured a mishmash roster with his hand-picked players, just to appease LeBron.
During the Lakers’ dynasty we had championship teams. With LeBron we had a king shaping his fiefdom to first and foremost best serve him.
He’s a great player but a horrible GM. The Lakers will be a better team without him.
David Griffin Westwood
I only have one question regarding LeBron James: What happens to Bronny now?
We’ll never know, of course, but it wouldn’t surprise me if Yoshinobu Yamamoto was relieved to lose the no-hitter in the ninth inning so that Mookie Betts wouldn’t have to bear the stigma of spoiling a perfect game. Yamamoto is a 100% class act.
Jay James Pico Rivera
There’s only one MLB club that could possibly overcome all the Dodgers injuries in the first half of the season.
That team is in fact the Dodgers.
Fred Wallin Westlake Village
I thought Bill Shaikin’s column on the Dodgers ruining baseball was good and provocative. For me, I do not believe the Dodgers are ruining baseball, but sports are much more fun and compelling to watch when they are competitive and each game means more.
It is easier to sustain competitiveness when one team or a few teams do not have a huge financial edge over other teams. I think the NFL, NBA, and NHL have been better at dealing with this issue than baseball.
Bill Plaschke’s and many Angel fans’ desire for Arte Moreno to sell his ownership of the Angels is an overkill. Granted, us Angels fans have suffered under Moreno’s ownership, and the Angels would be better off with new ownership, but over the years Moreno has done many positive and charitable things. I suggest that the Angels provide Moreno with a 10%, non-voting interest, regardless of who the new owners might be. That way the fans are happy, and Moreno will still have a rooting interest.
Michael Gesas Beverly Hills
Bill Plaschke’s column urging Angels owner Arte Moreno to sell the team hits the bull’s-eye. Clear, concise and comprehensive, it highlights most factors leading the Angels to the bottom of MLB. Most factors, except a significant one: Moreno’s ownership incompetence has been facilitated by the group of sycophants he has apparently surrounded himself with. These same people are now hard at work imploring Moreno, “just don’t read The Times today.”
Rob Fleishman Placentia
If Bill Plaschke were an attorney delivering closing arguments at a jury trial, his recent article regarding Arte Moreno’s ownership of the Angels would certainly produce a verdict. The jury has reached its decision: the defendant must sell the team.
Wayne Muramatsu Cerritos
Dear Angels,
I’ll start off by saying it’s not you, it’s me. I tried staying faithful to you but Arte Moreno’s interference in our relationship has clouded my better judgment. I thought I could stick it out knowing how hard you are working trying to reel me back in. It’s not working and I must now turn my back and walk away. What we have now is a shallow affair and it’s not fair to you that the charade continue. In the end, I take great comfort in knowing someday, somehow you will find what you are looking for.
Three weeks ago The Times published an article in which general manager Perry Minisian said the Angels are “very competitive” and “our best baseball is in front of us.” He then cited run differential and team ERA as examples. After getting swept by the Dodgers by a combined 31-3 the Angels had the worst run differential, worst won/loss record and are at or near the bottom in all pitching and hitting categories in MLB.
Since owner Arte Moreno believes that “winning is not a top priority,” he must be very pleased with both the work of his GM and the team’s performance so far this season. That the three games against the Dodgers were sold out was not because of fans’ desire to see this “very competitive” Angels team.
Rob Nelson Dana Point
The Angels’ ultimate indignity is its own hometown newspaper doesn’t regard it highly enough to staff its games with a full-time writer. The Angels are irrelevant in Southern California and the owner isn’t self aware enough to realize it.
Ron Yukelson San Luis Obispo
I just wanted to give praise to the Angels TV and radio broadcast teams. Even with the Angels having the worst record in baseball, and having suffered 10 straight losing seasons, the broadcast teams approach the games professionally and always with a positive attitude. As a lifelong Angels fan, it always reminds me of that saying “hope springs eternal.”
Losses by 6-0. 15-2. 10-1. How do you want to spin the Angels now, GM Perry Minasian? Are things still grand in Arteville?
Humiliations galore!
Jim Fredrick Manhattan Beach
Really? The Angels cannot hit, cannot pitch and certainly cannot field. Their hitting coach, pitching coach and manager Kurt Suzuki‘s terrible management are much higher on the list of what’s wrong with this miserable team this year. So sad.
Michael Reuben Anaheim Hills
The recent emergence of shirt-waving fans at Angel Stadium urging ownership to “sell the team” is an opportunity for reflection. With the long ago departure of the controversial former Clippers owner Donald Sterling, is Arte Moreno now truly the worst owner in sports? Sterling was truly detestable in his time, but at least he fielded a highly competitive and exciting Lob City squad led by legendary coach Doc Rivers. For the 2026 Angels, the dog days have already begun — before Memorial Day weekend.
Rob Fleishman Placentia
Going into Memorial Day weekend, the Dodgers are in first place and the Angels are in last place. Plus the Angels’ shirtless fans in the stands are screaming at owner Arte Moreno to “Sell The Team!” The more things change, the more they stay the same. Ho hum.
It’s sad and stony-hearted that the Lakers should unload LeBron James, recoup resources, unload his albatross-like salary, and build a championship contender bolstered by Luka Doncic. Yes, James is still a top-15 player, but unable to lead an ill-balanced team to the NBA Finals.
The Lakers allowed sentimentality toward Kobe Bryant to distort their vision, signing Bryant to a two-year, $48.5-million extension. Bryant missed 39% of the games while the Lakers won 38 times in the two seasons. Abysmal.
The Lakers should use James’ $52.6-million salary to sign long, athletic players who can drain threes with regularity.
James might make a great addition to a championship contending team like the Cleveland Cavaliers. Otherwise, thank him for his greatness as a Laker.
Marc D. Greenwood Opelika, Ala.
Some legendary athletes, like Jim Brown and Sandy Koufax, retired at the peak of their careers. Other greats, like Muhammad Ali, Johnny Unitas and Willie Mays, waited too long. Memo to LeBron James: Which camp will you choose?
Denny Freidenrich Laguna Beach
After reading Bill Plaschke’s article about LeBron James — which closes with the line “Anywhere but here” — I have a better idea. Keep LeBron, get rid of Bill. Let him write anywhere but here.
Tom Irish Rancho Palos Verdes
Father Time is as undefeated just as Bill Plaschke is winless with predictions. Many before Bill have buried LeBron James, only to see him rise to the occasion once again and prove them wrong.
If this is in fact LeBron’s last go-round, it’s been epic! Thanks for the memories. If not, let’s see him alongside an injury-free Luka Doncic for a full run to next year’s championship!
