Yankeetorial: Hell Hath No Fury Like a Sportwriter...

Today...

Mike Vaccaro: "Alex Rodriguez thinks you, me, and everyone else listening to his sad explanations are complete and utter fools."

George King: "It wasn't as bad as R. Budd Dwyer's last press conference 22 years ago, when the Pennsylvania treasurer shot himself to death on national television..."

Joel Sherman: "A-Rod thinks he is charismatic and quick on his feet, but he is best at opening wide and sticking his foot in."

John Harper: "[H]e took a pass on the question of cheating and clung to the "young and naïve" story to explain his use of steroids."

Sam Borden: "There should be no room for Rodriguez in the Hall of Fame... and no mystery as to why."

And on and on...

No profession -- not even a.m. right-wing radio host -- requires a greater commitment to the art of bloviation than that of writing about athletes.

The writer -- whose novel never made it through the slush pile -- piles fine words onto events that have no relationship to actual life. They must record the words of dullards who are mega-millionaires, attach importance to them, and then somehow craft a daily narrative out of the mess. Every day... pretend what you're doing matters.

It is like writing porn. Long ago, it might have been exciting. After a while, you just get numb and sore.

Something happens to writers. They become pack-thinking Cotton Mathers, so full of moral indignation, so judgemental of others, that they cannot see the world beyond the locker room. Their only way out is to latch onto one of the brutes and write a tell-all. (You think Mike Vaccaro next month would turn down the opportunity to write Arod's book?) Otherwise, the future is nothing but deadlines and leads. Deadlines and leads.

They lose touch with the world.

Theoretically, this is why sports blogs are useful.

Today, I'm not sure we are. I suspect we serve no purpose whatsoever. Most of the blogs are worse than the writers. Fortunately, we at IT IS HIGH never set out to have a purpose, other than to laugh at all this bullshit that we're supposed to take seriously.

Insert sigh here.

Here we go again: Fix on one person -- it doesn't matter if it's Yank or Redsock -- pile all the sins of creation onto his back, soak him with gasoline and strike the match.

Listen: Every generation's great hitter was a monster. Babe Ruth was a glutton. Ty Cobb was evil. Mickey Mantle was a drunk. Ted Williams was a meglomaniac. Wade Boggs had a sex addiction. Barry Bonds used steriods. Pete Rose gambled. And these are the scandals that got exposed. Nutcases and wackjobs. It comes with the turf.

Manny Ramirez is not alone.

Here we go again. Insert sigh here.