When pressed on what exactly he meant by that, Crane said: "I didn't say it didn't impact the game." He had, of course -- 60 seconds earlier, for those curious about the capacity of Crane's short-term memory. And it did, clearly, as his team's shortstop,
Carlos Correa, would later admit.
"It was definitely an advantage," Correa said, one of many honest decrees offered by Astros players to reporters after Crane spoke. Outfielder
Josh Reddick, when asked about remorse, copped to not feeling it until The Athletic's November story that laid bare the Astros' scheme -- a real sort of admission that follows the logical path of this scandal: the Astros thought nothing of their cheating until they were caught. Redemption starts with an honest self-assessment of damage done by one's actions, and Astros players are not irredeemable people. They cheated at a game. It is wrong, and it is disappointing, and it is unfortunate. It is a transgression with clear casualties -- those whose careers were ended, livelihoods altered and lives changed. It will chase them, and rightfully so. But it is no mortal sin.
What's indefensible is asking for forgiveness while not abiding by its path. Crane zigzagged around his Thursday. His ruminations on accountability were particularly rich. He mused that Major League Baseball's suspension and his firing of general manager Jeff Luhnow and manager AJ Hinch served as satisfactory pounds of flesh because, though neither was responsible for implementing the scheme, both were responsible for overseeing the team's baseball operations. Never mind that Crane, as the team's owner, was responsible for overseeing Luhnow and Hinch.
"No," Crane said, "I don't think I should be held accountable."