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When your landlord bats leadoff: Inside the cliquish world of baseball real estate 

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When your landlord bats leadoff: Inside the cliquish world of baseball real estate 

Shortly after haggling his way out of free-agent purgatory and into a new contract with the Los Angeles Dodgers, Kiké Hernández asked his wife, Mariana, to investigate another market. She contacted former Dodger Rich Hill’s wife, Caitlin, with a request: Could the Hernándezes live in the Hills’ house again? 

The Hills had bought the property, located in the Toluca Lake neighborhood, in 2017, soon after Rich signed a $48 million contract. The family decided not to sell it after Hill’s final season with the team in 2019. The house has since become a popular destination among Dodgers personnel. Catcher Austin Barnes lived there one season. Manager Dave Roberts has inquired about its availability. When Hernández rejoined the team at last year’s trade deadline, he moved into the house, which is a convenient 20-minute drive from Dodger Stadium, with access to three different highways. 

“It’s very appealing, because of the location,” Hill said. 

But that’s not its only selling point; almost as important is that the homeowner understands his tenants’ nomadic baseball lifestyle.

When searching for a place to live, players often rely upon each other’s recommendations, connections, and familiarity with baseball’s unique schedule and travel. That has led to a different kind of hot stove market each winter, when baseball players buy, sell and trade homes amongst themselves — swapping houses, directing young players to the right spots and passing certain key properties down as the cycle repeats itself.

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It is not uncommon for players to report to spring training without a residence for the regular season. Sometimes free agents sign later than expected; sometimes trades happen without warning. In the final days of February, Toronto Blue Jays infielder Justin Turner was still looking for a lease in the suburbs of Toronto to sync up with his one-year, $13 million contract. Caleb Ferguson, a New York Yankees reliever acquired in early February, was scrambling to find somewhere on Manhattan’s Upper East Side with a park nearby for his newborn son. Surprised by a Feb. 11 trade from the Miami Marlins, Minnesota Twins reliever Steven Okert said he had “no idea” where he would live in the Twin Cities. “I’ve never even been there before,” Okert said. 

The primary problem is the length of the lease. The regular season lasts about six months. Renting a house often requires a longer commitment. “It’s always a pain,” Yankees infielder DJ LeMahieu said. He described the process of finding housing as “throughout my time in professional baseball, one of the hardest things to do,” which is why his wife, Jordan, takes care of it. Spouses often shoulder the load: Yency Almonte, the reliever who was traded from the Dodgers to the Chicago Cubs in January, will live this summer in the Chicagoland home of Joe Kelly, the reliever who was traded from the Chicago White Sox to the Dodgers last summer; their wives brokered the deal.


Yankee Stadium is DJ LeMahieu’s on-field home; he rents another residence to his fellow ballplayers. (Alex Trautwig / MLB via Getty Images)

In the offseason, LeMahieu lives in the Detroit suburb of Birmingham, Mich., where he owns two homes. For nearly a decade, he has rented out the secondary residence to various Tigers. So many players have stayed there that LeMahieu has lost track. The first tenant was second baseman Ian Kinsler. The longest-standing resident was pitcher Daniel Norris. “I think they all left the places better than they found them,” LeMahieu said. “I came back and there was new stuff. Super clean. I was like, ‘Wow, this worked out really well.’”

In 2022, his final year in Milwaukee, reliever Brent Suter lived in a home once occupied by former Brewers teammate Corey Knebel. Suter rented a townhouse through VRBO for his 2023 season with the Colorado Rockies. When he signed for 2024 with the Cincinnati Reds, his hometown team, Suter did not need to search for a house. But he did have the ballplayer network to thank.

A few years earlier, while pitching for Cincinnati, Wade Miley purchased a four-bedroom home in nearby Anderson Township, Ohio. An older couple started building on a lot across the street. Miley eventually learned his new neighbors were Suter’s in-laws. He called his former teammate. “When I’m done with the Reds, I’m selling you this house,” Miley told Suter. Suter laughed at the offer. When Cincinnati placed Miley on waivers after the 2021 season, Suter received another text: “Go check out the house. We’ll open the garage for you.” Miley, Suter explained, “hooked us up with our dream house for life.”

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During his time with the Cleveland Guardians, first baseman Carlos Santana lived in Bratenahl, Ohio, an affluent suburb on the shores of Lake Erie. After Santana signed a three-year, $60 million deal with the Philadelphia Phillies heading into 2018, he rented his home to former teammate Edwin Encarnación. Santana did not last long in Philadelphia. The Phillies shipped him to the Seattle Mariners in December of 2018. Less than two weeks later, the Mariners traded Santana to Cleveland — in exchange for Encarnación. Santana moved back into his old house.


Edwin Encarnación and Carlos Santana were Cleveland teammates in 2017. After that, things got more complicated. (Duane Burleson / Getty Images)

Do not take total pity on these athletes, who play in a league where the big-league minimum salary is $740,000. Teams provide them resources, recommendations and real estate agents. Their own agents often do the same. The collective bargaining agreement contains provisions that compensate them for their living expenses if they are cut or traded. 

Their privilege still contains complications, and not every serendipitous swap ends happily. In the summer of 2005, the Boston Red Sox acquired an infielder named Alex Cora from Cleveland in exchange for fellow infielder Ramón Vázquez. The two Puerto Ricans were friends. They agreed to trade houses. “The price was the same,” Cora said. He had been living in a four-bedroom, two-story place with a yard. He was aghast when he moved into Vázquez’s apartment near Faneuil Hall. “It was a one-bedroom, a f—ing matchbox,” Cora said. 

The dollar does stretch further away from the coasts. Ferguson, the Yankees reliever, grew up about 20 minutes outside of Columbus, Ohio, the home of Cleveland’s Triple-A affiliate. He harbors dreams of renting his home there to one of the Clippers. He joked about his willingness to pay the utilities for potential tenants as long as they paid his mortgage. “I don’t want to make money off of you — I just want to stop losing it,” Ferguson said. 

Rich Hill stumbled into his role as the landlord of the Dodgers. During the 2021 season, Hill heard Barnes was commuting about two hours roundtrip to the ballpark. Barnes and his wife, Nicole, had a newborn son. The driving was draining. Hill mentioned that his place in Toluca Lake was empty. “It’s a really nice house,” Barnes said. “He just let us live there.” 

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Barnes had better luck than Roberts, who found the house occupied when he asked Hill about renting it. Hernández met the same fate after signing his new deal with the Dodgers. Hill was already renting to a family for 2024. Turns out, non-ballplayers need houses, too. 

“As much as I want to rent it to the guys,” Hill said, “I can’t kick the people out who are there right now.”

(The Athletic’s Fabian Ardaya, Chad Jennings, Zack Meisel, C. Trent Rosecrans and Sahadev Sharma contributed to this report.)

(Illustration by Dan Goldfarb / The Athletic; Photo of Kiké Hernández: Michael Zagaris / Oakland Athletics / Getty Images; Photo of Rich Hill: Will Newton / Getty Images; Photo of Wade Miley: Frank Jansky / Icon Sportswire )

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I Think This Poem Is Kind of Into You

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I Think This Poem Is Kind of Into You

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A famous poet once observed that it is difficult to get the news from poems. The weather is a different story. April showers, summer sunshine and — maybe especially — the chill of winter provide an endless supply of moods and metaphors. Poets like to practice a double meteorology, looking out at the water and up at the sky for evidence of interior conditions of feeling.

The inner and outer forecasts don’t always match up. This short poem by Louise Glück starts out cold and stays that way for most of its 11 lines.

And then it bursts into flame.

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“Early December in Croton-on-Hudson” comes from Glück’s debut collection, “Firstborn,” which was published in 1968. She wrote the poems in it between the ages of 18 and 23, but they bear many of the hallmarks of her mature style, including an approach to personal matters — sex, love, illness, family life — that is at once uncompromising and elusive. She doesn’t flinch. She also doesn’t explain.

Here, for example, Glück assembles fragments of experience that imply — but also obscure — a larger narrative. It’s almost as if a short story, or even a novel, had been smashed like a glass Christmas ornament, leaving the reader to infer the sphere from the shards.

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We know there was a couple with a flat tire, and that a year later at least one of them still has feelings for the other. It’s hard not to wonder if they’re still together, or where they were going with those Christmas presents.

To some extent, those questions can be addressed with the help of biographical clues. The version of “Early December in Croton-on-Hudson” that appeared in The Atlantic in 1967 was dedicated to Charles Hertz, a Columbia University graduate student who was Glück’s first husband. They divorced a few years later. Glück, who died in 2023, was never shy about putting her life into her work.

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Louise Glück in 1975.

Gerard Malanga

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But the poem we are reading now is not just the record of a passion that has long since cooled. More than 50 years after “Firstborn,” on the occasion of receiving the Nobel Prize for literature, Glück celebrated the “intimate, seductive, often furtive or clandestine” relations between poets and their readers. Recalling her childhood discovery of William Blake and Emily Dickinson, she declared her lifelong ardor for “poems to which the listener or reader makes an essential contribution, as recipient of a confidence or an outcry, sometimes as co-conspirator.”

That’s the kind of poem she wrote.

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“Confidence” can have two meanings, both of which apply to “Early December in Croton-on-Hudson.” Reading it, you are privy to a secret, something meant for your ears only. You are also in the presence of an assertive, self-possessed voice.

Where there is power, there’s also risk. To give voice to desire — to whisper or cry “I want you” — is to issue a challenge and admit vulnerability. It’s a declaration of conquest and a promise of surrender.

What happens next? That’s up to you.

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Can You Identify Where the Winter Scenes in These Novels Took Place?

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Can You Identify Where the Winter Scenes in These Novels Took Place?

Cold weather can serve as a plot point or emphasize the mood of a scene, and this week’s literary geography quiz highlights the locations of recent novels that work winter conditions right into the story. Even if you aren’t familiar with the book, the questions offer an additional hint about the setting. To play, just make your selection in the multiple-choice list and the correct answer will be revealed. At the end of the quiz, you’ll find links to the books if you’d like to do further reading.

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From NYT’s 10 Best Books of 2025: A.O. Scott on Kiran Desai’s New Novel

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From NYT’s 10 Best Books of 2025: A.O. Scott on Kiran Desai’s New Novel

Inge Morath/Magnum Photos

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When a writer is praised for having a sense of place, it usually means one specific place — a postage stamp of familiar ground rendered in loving, knowing detail. But Kiran Desai, in her latest novel, “The Loneliness of Sonia and Sunny,” has a sense of places.

This 670-page book, about the star-crossed lovers of the title and several dozen of their friends, relatives, exes and servants (there’s a chart in the front to help you keep track), does anything but stay put. If “The Loneliness of Sonia and Sunny” were an old-fashioned steamer trunk, it would be papered with shipping labels: from Allahabad (now known as Prayagraj), Goa and Delhi; from Queens, Kansas and Vermont; from Mexico City and, perhaps most delightfully, from Venice.

There, in Marco Polo’s hometown, the titular travelers alight for two chapters, enduring one of several crises in their passionate, complicated, on-again, off-again relationship. One of Venice’s nicknames is La Serenissima — “the most serene” — but in Desai’s hands it’s the opposite: a gloriously hectic backdrop for Sonia and Sunny’s romantic confusion.

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Their first impressions fill a nearly page-long paragraph. Here’s how it begins.

Sonia is a (struggling) fiction writer. Sunny is a (struggling) journalist. It’s notable that, of the two of them, it is she who is better able to perceive the immediate reality of things, while he tends to read facts through screens of theory and ideology, finding sociological meaning in everyday occurrences. He isn’t exactly wrong, and Desai is hardly oblivious to the larger narratives that shape the fates of Sunny, Sonia and their families — including the economic and political changes affecting young Indians of their generation.

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But “The Loneliness of Sonia and Sunny” is about more than that. It’s a defense of the very idea of more, and thus a rebuke to the austerity that defines so much recent literary fiction. Many of Desai’s peers favor careful, restricted third-person narration, or else a measured, low-affect “I.” The bookstores are full of skinny novels about the emotional and psychological thinness of contemporary life. This book is an antidote: thick, sloppy, fleshy, all over the place.

It also takes exception to the postmodern dogma that we only know reality through representations of it, through pre-existing concepts of the kind to which intellectuals like Sunny are attached. The point of fiction is to assert that the world is true, and to remind us that it is vast, strange and astonishing.

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See the full list of the 10 Best Books of 2025 here.

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