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This puts SpaceX on track for a late June listing after the typical 3-month SEC review. The pitch focuses on three explosive businesses: space launch, Starlink, and orbital data centers. This is moving forward on schedule for a June or July listing.
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Complex ranks the 20 greatest MLB players of all time
Complex was out with a piece naming what they call “The 20 Greatest MLB Players Of All Time,” and if you’ve lived long enough to remember when a kid could rattle off batting averages the way he now rattles off passwords, you already know what a list like that really is: a little bit of argument, a little bit of memory, and a whole lot of longing.
From what Complex lays out, the story is a straight-ahead ranking—an attempt to put order to something that’s always been more poetry than math. It’s the usual tightrope walk between eras: the dead-ball legends and the integration-era giants, the expansion years, and the modern game where velocity is up, strikeouts are up, and careers can feel shorter even when the money is bigger. Any “top 20” inevitably mixes the clean numbers—home runs, wins, WAR, rings—with the harder-to-measure stuff: fear factor, aura, the way a name sounds when an old announcer says it.
And, like any list worth reading, it isn’t just a museum placard. It’s an invitation to disagree. These rankings always turn on the same questions: How do you compare a center fielder who played on trains and grit to one who flew charter and studied spin rate? Do you dock a player for an era’s sins—or credit him for dominating the world he was born into? Is greatness peak, longevity, hardware, or the way the sport seemed to bend around a person for a decade? Complex is betting that baseball fans still want to hash that out, and I’m glad they do.
✍ My Take: I’ll tell you what I think matters about a list like this: not whether they got the exact order “right,” but whether it reminds us what baseball used to do for the country. My dad talked about inflation in 1979 the way people talk about the weather—like it was always there, just something you dressed for. Gas lines, grocery bills, rates climbing. But you know what didn’t change? The radio on in the garage, the box score on the kitchen table, and the sense that summer still belonged to the ballpark. When money felt tight, baseball felt steady. A list of the “greatest” is really a list of anchors—names that helped people keep their footing when everything else shifted. I also think these rankings reveal how far we’ve drifted from Main Street’s old rhythms. Before the big-box stores and the endless screens, Saturday had a shape: hardware store, diner, maybe a stop at the local sporting goods place where you could buy a glove and hear three men arguing about whether Willie Mays was better than Mantle. Now the arguments happen online, louder and faster, and half the time the people arguing haven’t actually watched nine innings all the way through. That’s not a scold—it’s just the times. But I’ll say this quietly and plainly: a sport survives when it stays rooted in ordinary life, not when it becomes just another content stream. What happens next is predictable and kind of wonderful: everybody will make their own list, and in doing so they’ll reveal what they love about the game. Some folks will lean on numbers. Some will lean on stories—how a player carried a team, how a swing sounded, how a pitcher looked when the bases were loaded. If we’re smart, we’ll let the disagreement do what baseball always did at its best: get people talking across generations. A grandfather and a teenager can disagree about the top 20 and still end up watching a game together. In a country that spends too much time sorting itself into corners, that’s no small thing. Read the full story at Complex.
Read the full story at Complex →
Until next time, keep your heart up and your eyes on the good that’s still out there.
— Jack Reynolds