Dustin Pedroia(notes) struts around the Boston Red Sox clubhouse, 5-foot-nothing with a balding head and a sharp tongue that’s his answer to Napoleon’s gun. From afar, David Ortiz(notes) steals a look at his teammate, one of the wonders of the modern baseball world, and marvels.
“You see this guy right here?” Ortiz says. “He’s one of the three best players in the whole game, and look at his size. But you know what he’s got? Right here, bro.”
Ortiz points to his head. He wields an unusual amount of respect for the brain: for its brilliance, its resilience, its ability to turn on the right and shunt the wrong – more than anything, for its gift to him.