Dear Fellow Particles within the Yankee Matrix...
Quietly, surgically, inalterably... the unthinkable is happening.
We are watching the greatest ballplayer of our era morph into Wilmer Valderrama.
We are watching Alex Rodriguez lose his heart, mind, dignity, soul -- and soon, perhaps, home run swing -- to Skeletor.
In haunting slow motion, in tabloid after tabloid, we are watching Arod demasculate into a George Hamiltonesque love buffoon, a man-action paprazzi prop for a fiftysomething, Sunset Boulevard roadmap of veins that lurks somewhere below an inch of pancake base and 20 fathoms of self-indulgence.
Where this puppy is going, nobody comes back.
Friends... look at the rubble of lost cities this woman has hurricaned: Actors, directors, Phys Ed instructors, male models, pop divas, porno stars... they came, she went.
Remember Jose Canseco? The one who hit 40 home runs each year? He met Madonna. Kaboom.
We might soon be struggling to remember the Alex Rodriguez who won MVP awards.
Over the next month, we will pursue CC Sabathia, Mark Teixeira and AJ Burnett like a beagle chasing a firetruck. Implicit in our dealings is the certainty that we have a 40 homerun force batting cleanup. That's something we ought to reconsider.
Where this puppy is going, nobody comes back.
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4 comments:
I spend most of my days contemplating what possible kooky positions Madonna can get in that is making this worth his time.
I think you're overlooking the good that can come from this relationship: A-Rod will become a better dancer. What's more, the Kabbalah is certain to clear his mind of all chokiness in clutch situations.
Arod knows whats coming. He's afraid of losing his dailynews/nypost covers so hes trying everything.
You're wasting your time Arod. No one can compete with Hank Stein and Manny confrontations. Your days of celebrity are over.
Dear IIH, IIF, IIc,
I think Madonna is smoking. I'd hit that shit in a New York minute.
Signed,
the only veteran left from WWI
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