The American Spectator

Winter has come early for me.  It came with the Yankees' ignominious elimination from October last night.

Alex Rodriguez once again proved that he is the worst “best player” in the history of baseball.  His $25 million per year salary has produced for the Yankees exactly nothing for the second year in a row.  That he is even being considered for the MVP is insulting.  He hits home runs when his team has already run up a 6 or 7 run lead; or when they are losing by 10.  In either case, the bulk of his 130 RBIs, including the 48 home runs, were meaningless.  

Yankee fans know that AROD is not only NOT the best player in the game, he’s not even the best player on his team.  Derek Jeter is and always has been. 

For years, we have endured the backhanded comparisons to AROD that were meant to tarnish Jeter and his 4 World Series rings.  When AROD arrived in the Bronx, the sportswriters were sure that he would quickly eclipse the Yankee Captain and settle the issue once and for all. 

Yankee fans knew better.  It is October that matters in the Bronx. This October, AROD drove in exactly 0 runs on 2 meager hits in 5 games. 

Last night, Jeter led off the 1st with a single to right.  AROD weakly popped out.

In the second, Jeter hit a sac fly that drove in the Yankees second run.  AROD followed by striking out.

In the 7^th, Down 3, Jeter led off with a monster home run to cut the deficit to 2.  AROD followed with a momentum-killing grounder.

In the 9^th, Jeter ripped a bullet single to right off the second best closer in the game, Frankie Rodriguez (also known as KROD). AROD in an “all-will-be-forgiven-if-you-get-a-hit” moment, hit into a double play.  By the time Gary Sheffield singled, it was painfully apparent.  Had AROD, at a minimum, moved Jeter to second, it would have been 5-4 with one out and men on first and second.  Had AROD actually done what his $25 million pedigree demanded – gotten a hit — it would have been 5-4 with no outs and bases loaded.  Instead, AROD became the face of failure and futility – the embodiment of losing.

I told Robert – my 7-year-old, pinstripe worshipping son — to toss his AROD T-shirt in the trash where it belongs.  AROD does not deserve my son’s admiration. Real heroes rise to the challenge, thrive under pressure and do whatever it takes to win.  Not to worry, Robert has several “number 2” T-shirts and jerseys to remind him all about that. 

Perhaps George Steinbrenner will finally understand that the biggest ice cream sundae always starts better than it finishes.  All it ever really does it make you sick to your stomach.

Meanwhile, Robert and I will root for our old and sorely missed friend Andy Pettitte and the Astros.  After the 18-inning street fight against Atlanta, they have earned a plentiful band wagon.  And we will bundle up for the long winter.