The game asks that you trust it. You, in return, ask if what you see is real.
That’s the relationship.
It’s not about the money or the rules or the ad campaign or for how many hours one must endure a 19-inch plastic seat in order to witness an outcome.
Only, is the score honest? Are those guys there better than those guys over there today?
That is the competition. Everything else is tug of war with your puppy.
Anything less goes on your career gravestone.
The Houston Astros of three memorable baseball seasons — the games they won, the champions they were, the illusions they created — were gone in an hour Monday, first in the body of a nine-page missive from the office of their commissioner, then in the sober reaction of their boss.