A while ago I went on a few dates with a retired professional baseball player. I met him while I was soaking my legs in an icy river after a long run. There were a couple of young guys near me, fishing in a half-hearted way, and we started chatting. Turns out they were rookie-league players, in town for some games. Who’s the old dude, I asked, nodding at the middle-aged fit guy casting a line downriver. He’s our coach, they said. He’s a legend, they said. He won a Cy Young award.