Last month, Michael MacCambridge was good enough to include Tom Boswell's 1981 Inside Sports profile of Bill Veeck to Grantland's stellar "Director's Cut" series.
You may notice his wooden leg first, but it's his face that you remember. It's a wreck, as in Veeck. Here is a man with the gift of radiant homeliness.
"How can you be a sage if you're pretty?" rumbles Bill Veeck, with a rhinocerine laugh. "You can't get your wizard papers without wrinkles."
For thirty-five years, with various hiatuses for exile or illness, Veeck has been both baseball's most intellectual sage and its most gleefully vulgar wizard.
Though he has retired now — at sixty-seven, he no longer has the health of [sic] wealth to compete as he would wish — Veeck is still looked upon by baseball people with affectionate perplexity. The game would like to trundle him off to a safe corner as a sort of gadfly Long John Silver who built exploding scoreboards and sent a midget to bat.
And while we're talking family business, dig Pat Jordan's Garden & Gun 2012 profile of Bill's son, Mike: "The Funniest Man in Baseball."