Sunday, August 7, 2016
Posted by el duque at 6:55 AM
Think of it: The A-Rod Farewell Booing Tour: Every city gets to shower Alex with its signature geysers of excrement, like that shaming walk for the queen (Lena Heady, not Headley) in Game of Thrones. In every city, some sportswriter can be designated the High Sparrow. (Where the hell is Billy Madden?) Can somebody craft a rocking chair out of dead rats?
Soon, we pampered, fat-cat, drunk-on-victory Yankee fans will wake up without the $24 million albatross around our necks. We'll never again suffer through a paparazzi scrum over Kate Hudson, or Cameron Diaz, or the silicon pro wrestling diva, or the Silicon Valley billionaire. No more anonymous sourced hit pieces, and no more allegations of - well - everything. We will have lost the "Evil" in "Evil Empire." (We lost the "Empire" part about seven years ago.) Soon, our DH will be young enough to date A-Rod's daughters.
Soon, all our problems will vanish. We won't have Alex to blame. It was his fault that poor Hal Steinbrenner had to sign him to that horrible contract. His fault that poor Hal couldn't keep Robbie Cano - we didn't want another horrible contract. His fault that poor Hal couldn't sign anybody - we didn't want another A-Rod. His fault that we missed the playoffs. His fault that we'll miss them again. His fault that he grew old. His fault... you name it, whatever. Altogether now... one last time... BOOOOOOOOO.
I know, I know... you're shaking your head. How can I still defend Alex Rodriguez, a man defined by his uniform number, a known cheater, a serial philanderer, a proven liar, a crazed egomaniac and - worse - a walking golden sombrero. Well, at least he's not running for President. And like the one who is running, let's be honest here: We'll miss the bastards when they're gone. And right now, in both cases, I'm hoping it's just a matter of weeks.