Lurve the Swerve

The first thing I imagined when Miguel Cabrera played Saturday night with a mysterious cut under his eye was some sort of bar altercation with a smug heckler who tried to cross the divide between fan and player. Turns out it was a wife fight, hot gossip!


Blood alcohol holdin steady at .26 early Saturday morning, apparently he came home crunked and woke up his kid, so his wife dealt some harsh cards (he did too). Now, fighting your wife is one thing, but coming up empty in a loss to the White Sox that evening when your team's shit is far from secure gets the no no.

If he went out there and tore it up, he might've been on his way to building some kind of drunken hero legacy, but that's not the way the cookie crumbled.

(The Diamond Conspiracies doesn't condone woman beating, by the way, unless we're talking about Whoopi Goldberg, Ann Coulter, or your mother).