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Who Is Javy Baez's Wife? Irmarie's Relationship History Explained

Who Is Javy Baez's Wife? Irmarie's Relationship History Explained

Yahoo20-05-2025
Curious to learn more about wife? The professional baseball player from Puerto Rico is celebrated for his exciting performances and dedication to the game. Nicknamed 'El Mago' (The Magician) for his outstanding defensive and base-running skills, he is a captivating figure in Major League Baseball. Fans are also interested in Baez's personal life, especially his enduring relationship with his partner.
So, here's all the information fans should know about Baez's spouse, including her professional background and the couple's relationship history.
Javy Baez is married to Irmarie Baez. (née Marquez)
Irmarie Baez is a Puerto Rican beauty influencer and content creator who shares videos on travel, lifestyle, and motherhood, and also offers beauty product advice to her 168k followers on Instagram. Through her posts on the social media platform, she shares insights into her family life, fashion choices, and personal achievements. Irmarie also serves as an inspiration for many young women as they navigate motherhood and relationships in the spotlight.
Javy Baez and his wife Irmarie Baez first met in middle school, when they were in seventh grade.
As per USA Today, the two were initially friends and began dating six years later. Irmarie later joined him in Chicago, where he played for the Chicago Cubs. Moreover, the couple would spend the winter in their native Puerto Rico.
In April 2018, Javy proposed to Irmarie, and they tied the knot in January 2019 with a lovely ceremony in San Juan, Puerto Rico. The duo welcomed their first child, a son named Adrián, in July 2018. Meanwhile, their younger son, Aiden, arrived in December 2020.
Speaking about the importance of family after their engagement, Javy told the outlet, 'It's like it doesn't matter what happens on the baseball field, your family is always there for you. That's the most important thing for you in life.'
Over the years, Javy Baez and his wife have supported each other through everything, with Irmarie being a constant pillar of strength for the MLB star. The couple recently celebrated their sixth wedding anniversary and are going steady as of writing.
The post Who Is Javy Baez's Wife? Irmarie's Relationship History Explained appeared first on ComingSoon.net - Movie Trailers, TV & Streaming News, and More.
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Baseball, and the Vanishing Art of Forgiveness
Baseball, and the Vanishing Art of Forgiveness

Yahoo

time10 minutes ago

  • Yahoo

Baseball, and the Vanishing Art of Forgiveness

In this long national moment of plummeting societal trust, institutional collapse, and life-and-death political acrimony, can something so gloriously frivolous as baseball teach us a thing or two about the lost art of forgiveness? That's an intriguing subplot to this weekend's annual Hall of Fame induction ceremony in Cooperstown, New York. Two of the most controversial and polarizing players of their generation, Dick Allen and Dave Parker, will be enshrined there Sunday (both posthumously, alas), just 10 weeks after Major League Baseball (MLB) removed from its "permanently ineligible list" the two most famous players on the outside of the Hall looking in: Pete Rose and Shoeless Joe Jackson. The cases of Rose and Jackson—both banned for life after violating the MLB's ultimate taboo against gambling on baseball—are well-known even to nonfans at this point, having been subject to numerous books, documentaries, and feature films. The lesser-known cases of Allen and Parker suggest a different moral calculation: How do we treat and assess players who sabotaged their own massive talent, sowing division within their clubhouses and wreckage among their teammates? Dick Allen in 1964 had the best rookie season of any player in the 20th century, propelling the previously lackluster Philadelphia Phillies to within a game of the National League pennant. From then until 1974, there was no better hitter in baseball, not even such Hall-bound sluggers as Hank Aaron, Frank Robinson, and Willie McCovey. An intimidating presence who swung the game's heaviest bat, Allen won a Most Valuable Player award, made seven All-Star teams, and led his league at various points in runs, homers, RBIs, walks, triples, on-base percentage, slugging percentage, and more. That's the nice way of talking about Dick Allen. Less-flattering details would include: regularly skipping practices, showing up late to games, refusing to play when managers asked, boozing and smoking at work, hanging out at the racetrack, and on three separate occasions skipping out on his team in mid-season for weeks at a time. He was a part-time player by age 33, out of baseball by 35, and never once received as much as 20 percent of the Hall of Fame vote (you need 75 percent to get in) by the Baseball Writers' Association of America. (His election this past December was by the ex-player-voting Veterans Committee.) As the baseball analyst/historian Bill James wrote in a notorious passage of a 1994 book, "He did more to keep his teams from winning than anybody who ever played major league baseball. And if that's a Hall of Famer, I'm a lug nut." Hyperbole, yes; but that was also the majoritarian view of Allen's career for three decades after his retirement. So what changed? Time, and forgiveness. As James wrote in a prescient 2009 essay (which accurately predicted that "sometime between 2020 and 2030, Dick Allen will be elected to the Hall of Fame"), "History is forgiving. Statistics endure." "Dick Allen did not have imaginary sins or imaginary failings as a player," James noted. "He had very real offenses. But as time passes, the details of these incidents (and eventually the incidents themselves) are forgotten, and it becomes easier for Allen's advocates to re-interpret them as situations in which Allen was the victim, rather than the aggressor or offender. The people who were there die off….For very good reasons, we do not nurture hatred. We let things pass. This leads history to be forgiving. Perhaps it is right, perhaps it is wrong, but that is the way it is." Speeding the reconciliation was the fact that a chastened, post-retirement Allen, however improbably, became a beloved figure among the same Philadelphia fans who used to hurl so many objects at his head that he wore a batting helmet while playing the field. Redemption arcs help. Dave Parker's failings not only showed up more noticeably on the field than Allen's, but they also likely injured others as well. From 1975 to 1979, Parker was as electrifying a young player as you're ever going to see; a mix of imposing size (6'5", 220 pounds), startling speed (he averaged 17 stolen bases and 9 triples over those five years), and a laser cannon for a right arm. He won two batting titles, three Gold Gloves, a Most Valuable Player award (finishing in the top 20 MVP voting the other four seasons), and then crowned that five-year run with a stirring come-from-behind World Series victory in 1979 for the raucous, "We Are Family" Pittsburgh Pirates. Parker had the coolest nickname ("Cobra"), wore the floppiest hats…and developed one of the most consequential cocaine habits in Major League history. He was front and center of the headline-generating Pittsburgh drug trials of 1985, at which 15 or so current and former players, including a half-dozen Pirates, were summoned by a grand jury to testify in what would eventually be convictions of seven Pennsylvania-based drug dealers; six from Pittsburgh, one from Philadelphia. Granted immunity from prosecution, Parker testified that he used cocaine from 1976-1982, arranged for his main dealer to sell in the Pirates clubhouse and travel on the team plane, and facilitated transactions with at least a half-dozen players on other teams, including star L.A. Dodgers relief pitcher Steve Howe, who would go on to be the most hopeless drug addict in MLB history before dying at age 48 in a solo car crash with methamphetamine in his system. Among the Pirates teammates Parker used with, Rod Scurry died at age 36 of a cocaine-related heart attack. The drug trials, which led to 11 MLB suspensions (including Parker's) that were lifted in exchange for community service and hefty salary diversions toward drug treatment programs, constituted the largest baseball scandal since the infamous 1919 Chicago Black Sox (of Shoeless Joe fame) tanked the World Series after taking payoffs from gamblers. Parker admitted at trial what we all saw with our eyes—the cocaine, along with the booze, smokes, and lack of conditioning, made him a shell of his former on-field self. After having been one of the best four players in baseball from 1975-79, the Cobra between the usually productive ages of 29 and 32 was, shockingly, below average. The Pirates, who had been a model franchise for two decades, fell into disarray, and eventually sued Parker for breach of contract. So…what do you do with such information? In the Hall's case, you eventually forgive and maybe even forget, or at least compartmentalize Parker's drug detour as the prelude for a much more respectable third act, in which the big man transitioned into an elder statesman who could still drive in 100 runs a year, earn MVP votes, and win a second championship. Here, too, redemption helped. But not only. The human drama of athletic competition draws eyeballs to excellence, with bonus points for flair. At their peaks, Allen and Parker were not only in the conversation for best player in the game, they each had a claim on being the sport's biggest badass. Clips from their physics-defying All-Star game exploits go viral each July—Allen in 1967 golfing a low and outside pitch well over the center field fence, Parker in 1979 rifling not one but two baserunners out from right field. Despite baseball's periodic spasms of pious moralizing, the truth about fandom of all kinds is that we love our flawed characters. The late, great Ozzy Osbourne unable to successfully pour orange juice; Robert Downey, Jr., rebounding from a Steve Howe-like start to become the highest-paid actor in history; Michael Jordan being so fanatical in his competitiveness that he would bet team employees on who could throw a quarter closest to the wall. We are all fallen beings; there's some comfort in knowing that our idols can periodically transcend deep flaws. Such warts-and-all appreciation is foundational to some of the brighter corners of 21st-century cultural criticism: the fight breakdowns at Jomboy Media, the music writing of Steven Hyden, the long-form podcasting of Cocaine & Rhinestones. Listen to the music of The Baseball Project, or peruse the inductees at the Baseball Reliquary's Shrine of the Eternals, for a reminder that while character counts, sometimes characters count, too. So are we rewarding these scofflaws for their crimes against decorum? Not quite. Allen would have made the Hall long ago had his on-field citizenship resembled that of Kirby Puckett rather than Albert Belle. Parker had to wait in line behind such contemporaries as Harold Baines, Paul Molitor, and Jim Rice, whose peaks were not nearly as high. If and when Pete Rose and Joe Jackson get their plaques, it will only come after having served out their lifetime bans. There are cases aplenty that none of these men should be rewarded with what amounts to baseball immortality. But count me firmly on the other side. There's a reason why reconciliation is a sacrament. Too much human error, particularly of the political variety, leads in this age of disenchantment to irrevocable condemnation, to alienation even from family; ultimately to self-isolation. No baseball player died for our sins (thankfully, Jesus De La Cruz still walks among us). But this weekend in Cooperstown, I will happily raise a toast not just to the two fallen badasses, but to a closer famous for failing in the postseason, a starting pitcher who tipped the scales at 300 pounds, and a Japanese fitness lunatic who by all accounts delivers the best broken-English profanity this side of Stripes. Baseball allows us to love humanity in all its fullness. May we some day remember that in the less sunny corners of life. The post Baseball, and the Vanishing Art of Forgiveness appeared first on

Women are anonymously spilling tea about men in their cities on viral app
Women are anonymously spilling tea about men in their cities on viral app

NBC News

time13 minutes ago

  • NBC News

Women are anonymously spilling tea about men in their cities on viral app

When Cid Walker opens the Tea app, she's greeted by a barrage of posts about men and their apparent "red" and "green" "flags." 'He's a cheater,' Walker said, reading some of the comments on one post out loud. "What clubs does he go to?" another person asked on a different post. "He's cute." The app, which appears to have been advertising itself online since at least last fall, allows users to solicit feedback about specific men they're dating. Walker, 22, is among the 4 million users on the women-only safety app, which this week became the No. 1 free app in the Apple App Store. It picked up viral traction in the last month after some people began talking about it online on Reddit and TikTok. The app gained more than 900,000 new signups in the last few days, Tea said on social media. Getting off the waitlist can now take days, an inconvenience many new users complained about in comments on the app's Instagram posts. 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The woman-only app was created by a man, Sean Cook, who said on Tea's website that he was inspired after he watched his mother's 'terrifying experience with online dating,' including being catfished and unknowingly dating men with criminal records. Cook's profile on LinkedIn lists him as the founder of Tea since 2022. The description under his role says, 'Tea was self-funded by Sean.' Cook did not respond to a request for comment. A representative for Tea said the app isn't offering interviews at this time. Tea's mission mirrors similar efforts that have gained popularity in other online forums, such as 'Are We Dating The Same Guy?,' a Facebook community with millions of members across the country in localized offshoots. While the communities have stated that their mission is to keep women safe, they have also faced backlash from men online who say they fear being misrepresented or doxxed on the platforms. The Facebook groups, which advertise themselves as spaces for women to warn other women about 'liars, cheaters, abusers, or anyone who exhibits any type of toxic or dangerous behavior,' have for years been criticized online for devolving into places for gossip or for spreading possible misinformation about people. Last year, judges dismissed two defamation lawsuits filed in Illinois and California by men who were posted in the groups. With Tea, some men have posted in forums asking for others to report the app in hope of getting it shut down, and others have expressed interest in a men-only equivalent on which they could discuss and mock women. One app has already tried to offer that. The Teaborn app climbed to No. 3 in the free apps chart Wednesday before it disappeared from the App Store. Shortly ahead of its removal, the app had rolled out an update with 'enhanced content moderation and reporting tools' after its creator condemned users for allegedly sharing revenge porn on the platform. Teaborn told NBC News in a social media statement: 'Apple just removed us yesterday because Tea app doesn't like competition, but we are working to go back with a new brand!' Apple didn't respond to a request for comment. Despite finding apps like Tea entertaining, users like Walker have expressed discomfort with the idea of allowing so many people to anonymously speak negatively about others online. Signing up for Tea requires users to take selfies, which the app says are deleted after review, to prove they are women. All users who get accepted are anonymous outside of the usernames they choose. Screenshots are also blocked. On its website, Tea describes itself as 'more than an app; it's a sisterhood.' The app claims it donates 10% of its profits to the National Domestic Violence Hotline. A spokesperson for the hotline didn't immediately respond to a request for comment Thursday. 'Together, we're redefining modern dating,' the app says. Walker said that she has noticed many users focus more on gossip than real safety concerns but that she believes some people have found Tea useful for exposing serious issues like abuse. 'I feel like if people were to use the app how it's supposed to be used, this could actually save a lot of women from being hurt or harmed,' Walker said. 'But at this point, I think it's like a joke to everybody and just like cyberbullying.'

From hustle to luxury: Boity Thulo reflects on 13-year journey
From hustle to luxury: Boity Thulo reflects on 13-year journey

News24

time13 minutes ago

  • News24

From hustle to luxury: Boity Thulo reflects on 13-year journey

Lubabalo Lesolle This article was previously published in the print edition of Drum Soft Life. There are multihyphenates – and then there's her. She's a media personality, rapper, businesswoman and an all-around inspiration for young women who are still trying to break into the business. She has worked hard for every job, often coming in as an underdog who was underestimated, and she has shown she can always. After spending her 20s grinding, she's now living her best life. If you ask her, she'll tell you she's living in all her eras. Her soft-girl era, her confidence era, her Jesus year. Wuz Dat? It's Boitumelo Thulo, known to her 6,2 million Instagram, 3,9 Twitter (or X) and countless Facebook followers simply as Boity. She's been working for 13 years and counting. Her first job? A Wimpy advert, and she's been in the spotlight since then. 'I deserve my Gucci bags,' she says with pride as we talk about her many accomplishments. Living soft is not all about money, though, she's quick to add, as that can put a lot of pressure on young girls. She might be driving a luxurious car, living in a beautiful estate and having the pleasure of travelling whenever she wants, but she's worked hard for it all. And she's proud of that. 'Young girls should not rush into wanting to be at their best during their 20s. That time is going to come; they have so much to look forward to. Trust me, there is no rush. You don't need a Gucci bag at 21, especially now with social media and young kids wanting the best things now. I worked 13 years for this.' 'At 21, I was worried about where I would get my next gig, how I would pay my rent, I needed an apartment, and I needed to look cool enough to have a car. Even though my career made it seem as though I already had those things, the truth is I didn't. It wasn't moving as fast as it looked to the people at home.' View this post on Instagram A post shared by Boity Thulo (@boity) She worked on YoTV's Crib Notes, Club 808 and has been part of productions such as Rockville, among many others. Being in the limelight made her mature a lot faster than she would have otherwise, she says. She felt like she needed to have the success of a person far beyond her years. 'I couldn't be seen partying too much and making mistakes even though that's what people my age were doing.' She saved up money from her small gigs so that she could be independent. She got her first small apartment in Bryanston and worked hard to get her first car, Angelique, a Citroën. She was figuring life out, as one should at that age. She wanted to be successful and still maintain being Boitumelo at her core. 'I remained the girl who dresses at Mr Price and Legit when I knew that some of my peers were wearing Michael Kors. I tried to be as grounded as possible so that I didn't lose myself in fame.' She hasn't lost herself in the fame. Boity is speaking to us via a Zoom call from her Johannesburg home. With a light glam face beat and her braided hair tied away from her face, she puts everything on the table. Her confidence is clear and shines through the screen. Throughout her career, she has had to grow a thick skin, as people who watched her transition in life had opinions about her life, her appearance, as well as her success; they weren't afraid to share. View this post on Instagram A post shared by Boity Thulo (@boity) Now that she is older, she's come to understand that not every opinion needs her reaction, which has been good for her mental health. 'Some people would say I don't belong on screen, I sound terrible, my presenting is bad. I had to ignore all of that and do it regardless of what people said. It takes family, friendships and support to help you through it. I had to learn self-belief and patience. Having been in the industry for this long, I had to be patient.' And the patience has paid off. She has won an award as a media personality, was listed as part of Forbes Africa's 30 under 30, and she keeps adding accolades to her name. 'At the very beginning of my career, I was known as the underdog. It took a lot of patience, self-belief, and I spent time trying to shut down the self-sabotage. It took a long time to step into myself and be confident of the fact that I am that girl. It hasn't been an easy journey.' There were many moments where she questioned whether she should be in the entertainment industry, but her passion and talent kept her going when she felt like giving up. 'Earlier on in my career, I received so many no's as opposed to yeses that I started doubting myself. There have been moments where it was fruitless; it's not what people think it is. People think the moment you're in, you are swimming in money, and of course, it's made to look that way, but it is far from it. 'My 20s went by so fast because of being a public figure. I used to ask God, Why not me? Why is it taking so long? I am receiving all those things now, and I think it's because I am mentally more mature. I am more spiritually aligned now to receive the accolades I assumed I should've had five years ago.' Boity calls 33 her 'Jesus year' [the age by which Jesus had accomplished his most important work]. The year of ease and abundance, where she no longer has to prove anything to herself, as she has paid her dues for more than a decade to be where she is. 'I'm at my best age. I feel amazing. It's my peak year, I feel confident, and I am in my bag.'

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