Despite your polar perspectives—Jake is a Gotham-based Yankee lover, you're a flyover country New York haterade guzzler—both of you seem to have come to the same conclusion: buh-bye, A-Rod. Good riddance. Don't let the back page of the New York Post hit you on the way out.
Me? I'm going to miss the guy. Already do, actually.
Whether Alex Rodriguez decamps to Miami or remains bolted to New York's future postseason bench—a fate, somewhat ironically, that once befell Juiced author and original A-Rod steroid snitch Jose Canseco—his days of being kind of a big deal in pinstripes seem done. And that's a shame. Downright tragic, I think. And not because I feel badly for the 37-year-old Rodriguez, on the downslope of a long, ragged, humiliating decline, capped by a feeble 3-for-23 postseason hitting performance. (Hey, the man has 114 million reasons over the next five years to feel good about himself; he needs my sympathy as much as he needs a pep dial from Kobe Bryant).
No, the reason I find the End of A-Rod so disheartening is that he used to be so good. Never mind baseball. Forget home runs. I'm talking pure, unadulterated entertainment value. Click-and-share ridiculousness. The aforementioned tabloid back pages. For years, Rodriguez has been—with apologies to Reggie Jackson—the straw that has stirred the drink, and by drink, I mean a delicious cocktail of premium schadenfreude and 100-proof Internet snark, a concoction that ought to be named after Nelson from "The Simpsons'" signature catchphrase.
Call it the Ha Ha.Jake, you mention Rodriguez's infamous Centaur-themed self-portraits—reportedly displayed above his bed, no less!—like they're a bad thing. Au contraire. Those paintings are awesome. Just the idea of them is awesome. And they're, like, borderline Top 5 in the pantheon of A-Rod absurdities. Remember his shirtless day in Central Park? The Details magazine mirrored photo shoot? The STRAY-ROD scandal? The illegal poker games? His reported dating of Madonna? The time he opted out of his contract during the World Series? His half-assed steroid admission? The good-boy sweater he wore during said admission? The fact that he was getting his drugs from a guy named Cousin Yuri? The time he dated Cameron Diaz, and she started looking like she had been hanging out with Cousin Yuri?
Honestly, I was happy to see Trump blasting A-Rod. And to see the reports of Rodriguez trying to pick up women during a recent Yankees' playoff game. Just like old times. Except deep down, I know it can't last. That A-Rod—the one who gave us Madonna-as-"[expletive]-soulmate" -- is kaput, just like the one who once terrorized opposing pitchers. Everyone gets old eventually. Too bad. Jake, you say A-Rod fit New York like a mismatched shoe. I couldn't disagree more. He was a perfect fit. And no matter what the tabloids say—see here
I think they agree with me. Ha ha.