“Among us”—how easy it is to insert myself back into the booth, to recall the smells of burned coffee and comped hot dogs and that neon-green relish, the anticipation of getting your stat sheet from some zitty media ops intern. How natural to put myself back in the postgame press conferences, Dorsey Paine bloviating in his charming way, Jimmy Cardozo cracking jokes, Jason, with his normal reticence, refusing to talk about anything but on-the-field action. He won’t talk about the Townsend trade or how he feels about that old-timer Monterrey starting again in center field. Won’t talk about the divorce or rumors that Nike is making him a shoe or anything at all about Frank Lloyd Wright. If I’d been granted access, if I’d been in the room, I’d’ve asked: Is it true you lost half a million on Thursday night after Dorsey dropped you off at the stadium to “get your car”? And another $500K on Friday, not even caring if people were watching you getting mopped? Sara’s not the only one to see him scuttling back across the bridge between the casino and the field, late for his 7:00 a.m. date; I’ve seen it, too. A guy who works security at Talking Stick, he tells me that Jason Goodyear is in and out twice a day, pregame and post, if not another time in the middle (and how, I wonder, does he manage that?). And it’s not like he’s sleeping there; only baby Goslin and his helicopter mom have sprung for the six-week suite. If given the opportunity at the presser, I’d’ve asked: What the hell are you doing?