This is from a rather sad article about Cory Lidle, featured on the front page of ESPN.com. It was written by Alan Schwartz, who befriended the pitcher recently. Cory Lidle seemed like the nicest guy, one of those guys you're glad to see make it big. Truly a sad story."Where do you live?" he asked me, knowing I lived in Manhattan.
"Upper East Side," I said. "90th and Third."
"Dude" -- Cory was from Southern California -- "you should really come up with me. We can fly right past your apartment building. You've never seen Manhattan 'til you've flown right up the East River. It's beautiful. We can do it one day before a game."
He wasn't kidding. Sufficiently convinced -- and, frankly, flattered -- I mentioned how I've always longed for the guts to skydive. But I had a baby boy in May. I will barely roll craps dice, let alone those.
"My wife would kill me," I said with a wink. "Small planes, you know."
I'd said that a little too flippantly, I guess, because Cory got somewhat serious.
"Totally exaggerated," he said. "You only hear about the crashes."
Having made his point, he said more lightly, "The kind of plane I have will be safer than the cars on the FDR Drive below us."
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