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A black-and-white picture hangs on the wall at a local bagel shop.

The picture is from a movie, 1938's "Love Finds Andy Hardy." It shows a teen girl and lovelorn guy sitting at a soda fountain counter.

As soon as I saw it, I smiled.

Judy Garland is pictured on the left, while my pal Mickey Rooney is on the right.

OK, maybe "pal" is an exaggeration. But I share a connection with the screen and stage legend. I interviewed Rooney, then 88, in 2009 before he performed in concert in southern New Jersey.

I spent hours researching his life and roles ahead of our scheduled call, only to have him tank the interview with short answers (I was later told he wanted to eat his lunch, but given the that emerged following his death in 2014, who knows. Maybe it was just Mickey's way of getting out of an interview he really didn't want to do). Perturbed, and needing input to fill out my story, I called him again the next day and we had a more thoughtful conversation.

After the whole ordeal of jumping through hoops to talk to the man, his wife Jan invited me to their upcoming concert. I typically wasn't one to take free tickets, but my article wasn't changing either way, I felt this connection from all of the questions and coordination, and I thought it would be rude to reject the invite. Plus, who can say no to a night with Mickey Rooney, and biggest box office draw from 1939 to 1941?

So, I went. I was the youngest person in the room by 35 years.

Mickey's boyish looks and vocal range had long since been sanded away. But still, the man could put on a show. He sang and played piano and performed alongside Jan. It was inspiring to see him still going strong.

Near the end of the show, Mickey was dancing when his shoe landed awkwardly on the stage, and he started wobbling. He grabbed onto Jan for balance, but alas, Mickey and Jan toppled over in a heap. For a moment, I wondered if I might have to file an article about an acting icon getting injured.

Thankfully, Mickey and Jan rose and finished the show in good spirits. Whew!

I decided to wait for them afterward and tell them hi, or thank you, glad you're OK ... something. Mickey passed in a huff � maybe he was hungry again, or just generally tired from a lifetime of putting on shows. Jan walked behind him, waiting to talk to the supporters who'd stayed behind. I introduced myself and mentioned the article, and Jan gave me a big hug.

"We loved the article, Jeff!" she told me. "You did such a great job."

I was glad she liked the article. But who was Jeff? I'm used to being called Dave or Don or Doug. But Jeff? Even though Dan and Jeff were nowhere close to each other, I had no desire to correct her. I took the compliment and wished her well, she said goodbye to "Jeff," and I, confused, was on my way.

I stopped for gas on the drive home and picked up a local newspaper on the newsstand, and was flipping through when I found someone else's preview of the concert.

It was written by Jeff. This was Jeff. This was the article she was referencing.

After all the trouble, did they even read what I wrote?

I'm still proud of my article ().

I've told my Mickey Rooney story often in the ensuing years. But revisiting the story recently gave me new insight.

You see, in August 2009, Mickey and Jan filmed footage for a reality TV show, The Rooneys. While it was never developed into a full series, video still exists online.

At one point in the video, Mickey and Jan are eating at a restaurant when a woman approaches them.

"I just wanted to tell you, I've seen a lot of your movies," she says.

"Thank you," Mickey responds.

"And I think you're great."

"Thank you very much." Mickey says gruffly. He wants this conversation to end. Now. But the woman and Mickey's wife continue talking further.

"We just did our two-person musical in New Jersey," Jan tells her.

She's referring to the show I attended. That show in New Jersey. As the conversation continues, Mickey covers his forehead with his hand and grows more and more heated, as though he's going to .

The man just wanted to eat his meal in peace, which was the same lesson I learned when I first called him all those years ago.

It's interesting how we can interpret events and actions differently with the benefit of hindsight and more information.

And it's fitting that the guy who cared so much about his meals gets to peer down as I order my breakfast bagels.

Billy the Kid is finally a Hall of Famer.

Billy Wagner, a standout closer and seven-time All-Star, was elected Tuesday to the Baseball Hall of Fame on his 10th and final time on the ballot after garnering more than 82% of the vote. He's entering the Hall alongside Ichiro (who somehow didn't get unanimously elected), C.C. Sabathia, Dave Parker and Dick Allen.

Wagner when he received the long-awaited call. He tended to have that same effect on the hitters he faced.

Billy the Kid was an unlikely southpaw. He broke his right arm as a boy growing up in Virginia, and while his natural right arm was healing, he taught himself how to throw left-handed, and that left arm took him to the height of the baseball world.

He broke in with the Astros in 1995 and quickly became one of the league's most unhittable pitchers. His career WHIP (0.998), strikeouts per nine innings (11.9) and opponents' batting average (.187) are all among the all-time best. Only seven other pitchers have saved more games than Wagner's 422. He even used the same walk-up music, Metallica's "Enter Sandman," as the era's other most dominant relief pitcher, Mariano Rivera (Wagner started using it first).

Wagner was great for a long time and with lots of teams. After his meteoric rise with Houston, he starred for Philadelphia and the Mets before pitching in Boston and rounding out his career in Atlanta.

His first standout season was 1999, when he saved 39 games for a division-winning Astros team, struck out 124 batters and walked a miniscule 23.

His last season, 2010, he was just as stellar, saving 37 games and earning his final All-Star nod. The then-39-year-old could have hung on for another season or two, but he was committed to being a husband and dad full-time.

As he told me years ago for an interview for my book on his Astros teammate, Ken Caminiti, "I enjoyed baseball for what it was, but I didn't want that to define me as a dad or an individual. So when I retired, I was done."

All of these years later, and after coming up just short in previous Hall of Fame votes, Billy the Kid finally got the call.

United States of Baseball interview

I had the honor of chatting with . We talked about my baseball background, journey as a fan, and shifting perspectives on 1990s baseball. You can check out the interview .

Rickey was the greatest leadoff hitter ever.

Rickey was the superest of superstars.

Rickey was blindingly fast, the Man of Steal.

Rickey was a champion and a gamer.

Rickey had the best home run trot.

Rickey talked the talk and walked the walk (2,190 times), stole more often than the Dillinger Gang (his total of 1,406 steals is 50% higher than second-place Lou Brock's total), and scored more runs than any player in baseball history (2,295).

Rickey even made routine fly balls interesting with his snap catches.

Rickey famously talked about himself in the third person. Rickey's going to have a good day.

Rickey was the most quotable baseball figure this side of Yogi Berra. "If my uniform doesn't get dirty, I haven't done anything in the baseball game." The stories, both real and apocryphal, are attributed to "Rickey being Rickey." Like the story about the uncashed framed million dollar check (true) and John Olerud story (not true, but still great). And a million other stories. The one about him calling Harold Reynolds after Reynolds won the stolen base title is a classic.

Rickey was born on Christmas. How could he not be a gift?

Rickey was fit, flashy and fun at a time when most of the league was none of those things.

Rickey's crouch at the plate meant his strike zone was, as Jim Murray described it, "smaller than Hitler's heart."

Rickey's rookie card in 1980 Topps is one of the few truly iconic cards of the decade.

Rickey broke the all-time steals record on May 1, 1991, ripped the base out of the dirt, held it above his head and pumped his fist in adulation. Later that day, Nolan Ryan threw his seventh no-hitter. Both records are unlikely to ever be broken.

Rickey played seemingly everywhere, from his days with Oakland to New York (Yankees) to Oakland again, to Toronto, back to Oakland, to San Diego and Anaheim, back to Oakland once again, to New York (Mets) and Mariners, Padres, Red Sox and Dodgers, along with stints with the Newark Bears and San Diego Surf Dawgs.

Rickey was synonymous with Oakland Athletics baseball, and it's unfathomable that both he and the team are no longer here. Rickey was so alive. So present. So magic. He'd made public appearances in recent months and still looked great.

Rickey's larger-than-life persona and relative health made it hard to believe the rumors about his death at the too-young age of 65 bubbling up on social media Friday night and Saturday morning. Rickey? No! It couldn't be true.

It still doesn't feel true. Because Rickey was a legend. And legends are forever.

Baseball is a game of lineage and generations.

That fact was hammered home Sunday with the 24th pick of the MLB Draft, when the Braves selected left-handed pitcher Cam Caminiti, a two-way player who tore up Arizona high school baseball.

The last name should sound familiar. He's a cousin of Ken Caminiti's. And he was selected by the final team Ken played for in 2001.

While Ken passed away before Cam was born, it's special to see the 17-year-old Cam � one of the top high school players in this year's draft � carrying that torch forward.

“The next step in the journey, I couldn't be more excited,� he said after being picked.

Cam's talent is similar to Ken's in some ways. They both are known for bringing the heat � Cam can reach the upper 90s from the mound, while Ken sported a cannon from third base.

Cam, like his cousin, is athletic, with pop in his bat.

While Cam was projected to get selected earlier in the draft, his wait wasn’t as long as Ken’s, who slid to the third round of the 1984 Draft.

There was something surreal for me, a full-circle moment, about seeing Cam being interviewed Sunday by MLB Network's Harold Reynolds. Three decades ago, Reynolds interviewed Ken about his most famous play � you know the one, when he rolled on the ground and .

Ken reached the upper echelon of the sport, becoming a three-time All-Star, scooping up three Gold Gloves, and winning the National League MVP.

Cam Caminiti's professional baseball journey, meanwhile, is just beginning. And it will be so exciting to watch his journey unfold.

I’ve become a big fan of audiobooks.

It’s not always easy to find the time to sit down and read a book. Audiobooks, instead, allow you to digest a book’s information while driving or walking or cooking or doing other everyday tasks.

I’m proud to announce that the audiobook for “Playing Through the Pain,� my book about baseball star Ken Caminiti’s life and career, is available for only $10 � it typically sells for $24 � through June 3.

Check it out .

The next baseball season is as fresh and pristine as newly-chalked foul lines.

Opening Day is here again, finally.

Thirty teams are vying for immortality. And for the first time, my favorite team, the Rangers, doesn't have to dream about the impossible. They already lived it.

Today, the team is unveiling its first championship banner.

No team has repeated as World Series champions since the 1998-2000 Yankees. It's the longest stretch without a back-to-back champ in the game's history.

I don't know what's in store for the Rangers, whether they're a 75-win underperformer or 95-win powerhouse. I don't know whether they'll return to the World Series or fall short of the postseason. The pitching rotation resembles a typical Rangers staff of yesteryear � a few key arms short, at least until Max Scherzer and Jacob deGrom can return. But the lineup can mash, and the rookies are exciting, and for the first time, there's a sense of true contentment in the Metroplex.

As the Rangers started to show the makings of a winning team over the past few seasons by adding free agents like Corey Seager and Marcus Semien, bringing on manager Bruce Bochy, and drafting future stars like Wyatt Langford, I had the feeling that 2024 would be the Rangers' season.

I figured they would still be a few pieces short in 2023.

But then they snuck into the playoffs and went and took it.

Maybe 2024 will still be the year. Or maybe it will be the year for another team.

No matter how it goes, I'm just thankful that Opening Day is here again.

I’m excited to launch a new project.

No, it’s not another book (but trust me, I’m still working on books! More on those at a later date).

Instead, it’s watercolor painting, something I enjoyed during my childhood and picked up again over the past half-year. You can find my watercolor prints, some original paintings, and gifts at my new art website, .

I’ve always been drawn to art. It helped having a grandmother who was artistically inclined � my mom’s mom, Julie Zourides, enjoyed painting with oils and especially tinsel painting, in which she reverse painted on glass then added foil behind it.

My parents encouraged my passions, too. During my childhood, most of my art subjects .

I became pretty good at art and during my high school years.

But while I’ve carried art with me, it wasn’t something I was actively practicing until I went with my family to Oriole Park at Camden Yards in May 2023 to watch my favorite team, the Texas Rangers, play against the Orioles.

I took some awesome pictures of my son watching the game and wanted to turn them into artwork.

So I went to Michael’s and bought a bunch of watercolor supplies, including watercolor pencils and brushes, and got to work. The picture carries so much meaning � here is my son watching a game at a place that was central to my baseball fandom.

My son’s name is Dean, and one of his favorite players, Orioles pitcher Dean Kremer, was pitching that day. The artwork happens to show a tiny-sized Corey Seager batting; months later, he would become the World Series MVP in leading my Rangers to their first championship.

Making that picture came at a time when I was dealing with a stressful project, and working with watercolors helped me to mellow out after long days.

From there, I was drawn to painting other things. Flowers. Waterfalls. Houses. Beach scenes. I started seeing art in everything again.

But the more I compared my paintings against works by more established watercolor artists, I recognized a gap. My skills were coming along, but the brushes and paper I’d bought weren’t good enough to get the fine detail that I sought.

I reached out to a longtime friend, Carolann Van Wyen, my buddy Justin’s mom, who’s an established watercolor artist in central Pennsylvania (her artwork is amazing! You should check out her website ). She steered me to better supplies and worthwhile YouTube channels to follow and gave me guidance on establishing my website..

I’ve made a lot of strides by practicing with watercolors, being a student of the craft, trying new things and upgrading my supplies. After a lot of trial and error, I finally feel comfortable showing off my paintings.

I also started narrowing down my painting interests, from nature and city scenes to old black and white photos. I’ve purchased vintage photo albums on eBay that have inspired my artwork and allowed me to take a deeper look at life in mid-1900s America.

When reviewing 70- to 110-year-old family photo albums, they don’t feel so different from today’s Instagram feed. They represent the way people saw themselves and how they wanted people to see them.

Watercolor is a continuous challenge, a dance with the elements � water and air, color and value. With watercolor, control is fleeting. Too much paint or water could ruin an entire painting. You don’t always know how the paint will respond when you lay it down.

It’s a great challenge, and I’m here for it.

Beyond the enjoyment I get from painting, I’m also aiming to use my efforts for good � to donate a portion of the proceeds from each sale of my original paintings and giclee prints to meaningful charities.

My aim is for my art to help great causes.

If you head to my art website, , you can sign up for my emails and stay up to date on my latest artwork, special offers and other updates!

Bring on the happy tears.

Ken Caminiti is joining the Astros Hall of Fame, the team announced at their Fanfest on Saturday.

The honor carries so many emotions. Ken was adored by his Astros teammates and fans, and he established himself as a standout player from 1987 to 1994, especially on defense (he played with Houston again in 1999 and 2000).

Ken often felt like he didn't quite get the attention he deserved in Houston � that he was overshadowed or overlooked. Some of the reasons for that were self-imposed, some of them team-imposed, and some were just plain bad luck.

When Ken got shipped to San Diego after the 1994 season and became a superstar with the Padres, there was a bittersweet feel to it � from an Astros perspective, you wished more of his launch could have happened when he played in Houston, or that the Astros had kept him.

Saturday's announcement goes a long way in putting those feelings and frustrations to rest.

While Ken had his troubles and died at the much-too-young age of 41, I'm glad that the Astros � like the Padres have previously done � are honoring the man and player he was.

Ken was among the most special players in Astros franchise history alongside his buddies Jeff Bagwell and Craig Biggio, and now he's joining them with the team's ultimate honor. His Astros legacy has been affirmed.

And I can't stop smiling through the tears.

It's been special, as an author, to connect with people who were moved by my book about Ken Caminiti, even nearly a year and a half after the book's release.

One of the people I've had the pleasure to connect with is Barrett Snyder, a West Chester University graduate student pursuing a master’s degree in Exercise Science with a specialization in Sports Psychology.

I was honored to read Barrett's review of Playing Through the Pain in The Sport Journal.

As he wrote, "Good’s portrayal is unflinchingly honest, adhering to the principle of telling it like it is. However, a discernible undercurrent of empathy runs through the entirety of the 384-page narrative."

He continued, "Playing Through the Pain stands as an unflinching testament to the depths individuals can descend to either conceal their struggles or confront them with unhealthy vices. It serves as a poignant reminder that the private battles someone wrestles with behind closed doors, can forever elude the comprehension of even those closest to them."

You can read the full review .

I've been waiting 30 years for this. And yet, I still can’t fully grasp that my favorite baseball team since childhood, the Rangers, finally won the World Series.

I've been so used to the bottom dropping out, of losing painfully, that it hurt too much to consider the possibility of the team winning it all.

When pitcher Josh Sborz got his second strike against the Diamondbacks' Ketel Marte in the ninth inning of Game 5 on Wednesday, and the Rangers were one strike away ... whoo boy. They were up 5-0 and in complete command and I still couldn't believe this was actually real. They'd been this close before, only to see the championship snatched away.

The tough times stick with you. And for a lot of my fandom, the Rangers have felt tortured.

I didn't recognize that, of course, when I became a Rangers fan in 1993. I was 9 years old and drawn in by ageless pitcher Nolan Ryan and young stars like Juan Gonzalez and Ivan "Pudge" Rodriguez.

The fact that I grew up in central Pennsylvania only isolated me further. It was Phillies and Orioles country, and here I was, rooting for the Texas Rangers?!

It took until 1996, the franchise's 36th season � 11 in Washington and another 25 in Texas � to reach the playoffs for the first time. Division titles followed in 1998 and 1999.

But each time, they ran into a Yankees buzzsaw. They couldn't compete. The Bronx Bombers were historically great, complete teams, and playing at another level.

Years of futility followed. I got used to my team being bad. They scored and gave up lots of runs. Pitchers didn't want to play there. Free-agent signings and trades backfired.

My team kept losing year after year.

Then 2010 happened, when the Rangers extinguished the dreaded Yankees in the ALCS to win their first pennant. While Texas fell short in the World Series, it felt great to reach that next level.

When they made it back the following season � a tough task, given the postseason’s random, streaky nature � it was time to make that final step.

To get the final strike.

The final out.

But the Cardinals and David Freese didn't get the memo.

Getting within one strike, only to come up empty, was all stick and no carrot. Every single thing lined up for a Rangers championship except for the outcome. That loss made Rangers fandom historically painful. Freese became shorthand for Buckner and Dent and Bartman and Boone and Joe Carter, moments that meant joy victory for one team and pure heartbreak for another.

Over the ensuing seasons, the World Series teams were ripped apart piece by piece. October collapses and Jose Bautista bat flips gave way for my yearly ritual of rooting for the ex-Rangers with other teams in the Fall Classic � Mike Napoli and Mitch Moreland and Asdrúbal Cabrera and Ron Washington ...

It became increasingly painful as other teams won. The Astros � for half a century a Rangers counterpart in misery � became a premiere franchise, winning two rings. The Cubs and White Sox and Red Sox all broke their long October droughts. The Dodgers broke their 32-year dry spell in 2020 at the Rangers� ballpark, Globe Life Field, of all places, due to the COVID-19 pandemic.

Even though their home ballpark hosted a World Series, the Rangers kept on losing. Only the Phillies (77 seasons) and St. Louis Browns/Baltimore Orioles (63) had a longer existence without winning their first championship.

Over the past few seasons, the Rangers spent big to bring in major free agents like Corey Seager, Marcus Semien, Jon Gray, Jacob deGrom, and Nathan Eovaldi. But they'd spent big before on free-agents like Alex Rodriguez, Chan Ho Park and Prince Fielder, only to get burned. You can't buy your way to winning, but money � if spent wisely � can help get you closer.

The pieces started really falling into place under current GM Chris Young, a former Rangers pitcher.

Possibly the biggest addition came a year ago when the Rangers announced the hire of manager Bruce Bochy. Bochy is a proven winner, someone who guided the Giants to three championships (the first against the Rangers in 2010). He is also someone I'd spent a decade studying and appreciating for my book about his former player with the Padres, Ken Caminiti.

I gained so much respect for the way Bochy handled his teams and got the best out of his players (one of whom was Young for the 2006 Padres).

I interviewed Bochy in 2020. At the time, he didn't have a team to manage after leaving San Francisco the season before. Instead of going through the Giants media relations team, like I'd tried unsuccessfully in seasons prior, I pulled some phone numbers from online databases associated with Bochy and (gulp) called them.

One of the numbers rang. No one answered. I left a message. I saved the number in my phone: µþ´Ç³¦³ó²â?ÌýI had no idea if my message would ever reach the manager.

A week or two later, I received a call from Bochy? Was it a wrong number? Or the man himself?

I answered the call, not knowing what to expect, and there, in my ear, was the gravelly-voiced manager.

We spoke in full a few days later. Bochy was engaging and helpful and thoughtful.

At the time, I was struck by his comments about managing and his inner drive. He didn't use the term "retired" when discussing his managerial career, but "pause button." He was still interested in managing again.

Losing the 1998 World Series had fueled him � but even after winning three rings with the Giants, he wanted one more chance.

"It just made me so hungry to want to get back, have one more shot, and so 2010, that happened. And so you think, 'OK, I did it,' but then you want to win another one because you heard you were lucky. So you want to validate the first one, and so we won the second one, and now it gets you even hungrier to even do it again. And even after '14, after three, I wanted one more shot. It's like an adrenaline drug. There's nothing like it," he told me.

He wasn't content with his three World Series wins.

Somebody of Bochy's stature had the chance to call his shot and pick the right environment for him. He wasn't going to just sign with any team with an opening. He would have to choose a place with a winning culture and a commitment to old-school and new-school baseball methodologies.

A team that would let him manage his way.

You don't hire Bruce Bochy to change him; you hire Bruce Bochy so he can turn your team into a winner.

My team hired the manager I trusted and respected the most, and was building a strong roster; but again, there were so many unknowns of how the experiment would turn out and a franchise history full of coming up short.

I’d gotten my hopes up too many times before.

The Rangers started the 2023 season at a blistering pace. Through the season's first 50 games, Texas was 32-18 and pounding opponents � their run differential (+122) put them on a .

But then came the downturn. The high-priced, high-performance team had a vulnerability, an Achilles heel � their bullpen was putrid.

Without a good bullpen, it's really tough to win.

The bats went cold for stretches, too. deGrom was lost for the season and other key players missed chunks of time with injury.

The Rangers stocked up on arms at the trade deadline, picking up Jordan Montgomery and Max Scherzer. But for a while, nothing seemed to be working. An August and September swoon made an early playoff exit seem all but inevitable (again).

Hope seemed lost (again).

I was ready to count them out (again).

To have my heart broken (again).

I started looking to next year (again).

But unlike previous Rangers squads, this team had some magic left. All of the letdowns and disappointments had made them resilient. They went into October with something to prove, and they gelled at the perfect time.

And this time around, they had one of the best in-game managers calling the shots.

They breezed through Tampa Bay, slammed their way past Baltimore, and squeaked past their division and in-state rival, Houston, in a gripping, dramatic seven-game series.

And then it was on to the World Series to face ... Arizona? It was the unlikeliest of matchups. I was expecting Atlanta, Los Angeles or Philadelphia to win the National League crown, but the D-backs were chasing their own October magic, which made them especially scary.

Even after the Rangers reached the World Series and stole Game 1 with clutch blasts by Seager and superhuman slugger Adolis Garcia, it was difficult for me to believe they might actually win this thing.

The Diamondbacks ran away with Game 2 to send the series tied back to Arizona, and the momentum seemed poised to swing back in Arizona’s favor.

The Rangers eked out a win in Game 3 and jumped out to a huge lead in Game 4, hanging on to take a 3-1 series lead.

Then came Game 5 on Wednesday, when the Rangers faced a magnificent Zac Gallen. Arizona’s ace didn't surrender a hit through six innings. It was the kind of performance that can shift an entire series.

Eovaldi was just as magnificent, stranding runners and getting out of jams in a sloppy but scoreless outing.

In the seventh inning, the Rangers finally got to Gallen. Seager squibbed a single to left for the Rangers' first hit, and Evan Carter, the rookie outfielder playing well beyond his years, followed with a double. DH Mitch Garver came up next and squirted a ball up the middle to break the scoreless tie.

The score remained 1-0 until the ninth, when Texas piled on, scoring four gargantuan insurance runs and breaking the game open.

The Rangers carried a five-run lead into the bottom of the ninth, and yet, I still couldn’t believe that the game was in hand. I was too used to seeing Rangers seasons end in soul-crushing ways. They were perpetually one strike, one player, one season, one arm or one bat away.

That was the case until the third and final strike settled into catcher Jonah Heim's mitt.

In that moment, the years of frustrations and emptiness, of wishing and wondering, washed away. The Texas Rangers are, at long last, World Series champions. The painful wait made it that much sweeter.