Tuesday, July 18, 2006

i hate alex rodriguez

I realize that this is not exactly an unique viewpoint amongst Mets fans, but you have to understand that, at this juncture in my fandom, most of my hatred is learned or inherited: Roger Clemens. Chipper Jones.  I wasn’t there when these individuals performed their infractions upon our team, so I need to learn to hate them. (I learn fast.)

But A-rod is another story, and much probably becomes obvious when I point out that I lived in Seattle for 9 years.  It isn’t even what he did while he was a Mariner, because, apparently, being a Mariner turns one into an affable, friendly fellow.  It must be the Moose, or something.

(Case in point: I used to LIKE Randy Johnson when he was on the Mariners. No, really. I even had a very amusing story I used to tell about him, which I no longer tell because he’s definitely not the same guy.)

No, A-rod I hate for a very different reason which has to do with his behavior AFTER he left the Mariners, and I have bored TBF with this story so often that I hesitate to repeat it here. He did something incredibly reprehensible towards the Puget Sound area when he first returned to Seattle to play with Texas at Safeco, and even though at the time I didn’t have a particular affinity towards baseball, I just thought it was tacky and in bad taste. In any other city, he would have been CRUCIFIED. But Seattle is the city in which you cannot boo (you are asked to stop because it’s not sportsmanlike) and they refuse to allow YANKEES SUCK shirts into the ballpark (they will ask you to change your shirt or turn it inside-out). Said refusal will make the evening news, interspersed with talking heads discussing how disgraceful those who wear the shirts are. Milquetoast.

Last night we took a gander at the Yankees-Mariners matchup (TBF: “We could watch a movie, or the Mariners...” Me: “Ichiro!") and A-rod’s recent tantrum. I have to say, again, maybe stating the obvious, but why does anyone feel sorry for him? I feel about as sorry for A-rod as I do for all the baristas, bartenders, waiters and pizza delivery guys in our neighborhood. Our neighborhood is immediately adjacent to Williamsburg, so 90% of our service employees are kids from Wisconsin or Idaho or Arizona or Texas who moved to NYC to make it big as an artist of some sort, and guess what? It’s TOUGH, but YOU CHOSE TO COME HERE. No one held a gun to your head and forced you to move to New York City. If you can’t take it, get out of Dodge - but if you’re going to stay here, grow a spine, fast, or we will chew you up and spit you out again - and then you’ll learn or you’ll crawl back home to Mom and Dad.

On a final note, how on earth do Yankees fans expect any sympathy for the players they have on their DL and offer it up as some kind of excuse? No, really. Um, even to a baseball moron like me, a lineup that has Derek Jeter and Alex Rodriguez and Johnny Damon and Randy Johnson and Mariano Rivera - I’m sorry, we’re supposed to feel SORRY for you? Jeez louise. It’s pathetic.

(I know, and in further news, Generalissimo Francisco Franco is still dead. But all this specific Yankees outrage is new and novel to me.)

It is appealing, in a childlike, black-and-white way, to know who to hate and who to cheer in at least one segment of your life. Because the shades of grey that shadow the rest of it can be exhausting to navigate.

I worked until after 9pm tonight and in order for it not to be until after midnight, I didn’t listen to the game or ask for repeated updates. But my one comment as TBF was driving me home, and we heard Beltran’s Grand Slam, was: “Is this BOGO month?” You know, buy-one-get-one-free, and I don’t mean Carloses. (Carlosi?)