1. This is his third arrest in two years. Our owner, Mrs. Delaney, and the league commissioner, Elliott Pollock, are going to find a problem with that.
2. A judge will find problem with that as well.
3. If Cory is incarcerated on opening day and not in left field for us, we'll be missing a pretty potent bat.
4. More than one call has come in asking if I set the man up.
Note that Cory was arrested in a Kansas City nightclub. Since the city/town closes down at eight o'clock every night, I have no idea what kind of nightclub this was. That's Red Flag #1.
Red Flag #2: The other guys arrested with him have no connection to the sports world from what I can tell. I Googled their names. Nothing came up.
Red Flag #3: If shots were fired in the parking lot and a gun was found in Cory's car two hours later, the evidence leads to me being glad he hung up on my the other day.
I wish the best for Cory, whatever that is, and hope he can get his life in order. And no, I had nothing to do with calling the police. I get up now at 5:17 every morning. You think I'm going to call the cops at 1 AM to blow the whistle on a teammate who's mad at me for blogging? I'm sleeping at 1 AM, dreaming about cartoons.
In other news that's somewhat related, I got word that Felipe Castro's mother, while still being held captive somewhere in the jungles of Venezuela, had a brief conversation with Felipe over the weekend. She's apparently healthy, which is great. But I know Felipe must be going out of his mind trying to get her back.
My dad, "Red" Scott, the man who a month ago suggested he switch places with Mrs. Castro to save her and get him away from the Northeast winter, actually used whatever baseball connections he has to get in touch with Felipe and suggest it directly to the man. From what "Red" said, Felipe was very polite and thankful, but he declined the invitation out of loyalty to me. If Felipe would have asked my opinion, I would said two words: Take him.
But that horrible saga continues. And instead of sitting in a crumbling Venezuelan jungle hut, Dad/"Red" comes over to my house three times a week and complains to me that my vow of media silence will crush all of his plans as a broadcaster for the team this year. Hey, I tell him, it's hard for me. Before every sentence I say to him, I have to remind him it's off the record. It gets monotonous, and not just for he and I, but for the whole family, especially if we're at the dinner table:
Red: Want me to pass the potatoes, Jimmy?
Me: If we're off the record, then yes.
Red: Here you go, son.
Me: Off the record, I give you my thanks.
Red: How about that Cory Belle stuff?
Me: (mouth full of potatoes)
Mom: He's a bad man.
Red: Peggy - please!
Red: I'm sorry, dear. Jimmy, how about that Cory Belle stuff?
Me: (mouth still kind of full) Are we off the record?
Me: (after swallowing) Sorry, dear.
And so on. He suggested we eat dinner in front of a new blog posting so I can type the minutes of our meal together, like a court stenographer. I told him, off the record, that I can't eat and type at the same time. He grunted something and stormed off to the bathroom for fifteen minutes of solitude.
I doubt he's reading this, but I wish both Felipe and Cory all the best. I hope their immediate futures turn bright and they overcome either the bad men or the personal demons that have taken over their lives. If either of them want my help, I know a certain former ballplayer/current broadcaster willing to take one for the team - As long as he gets a good story out of it for his first telecast.
Good luck with that.