This one hurts the most.
It's the final slap to the face of passionate baseball fans who live in the cities where the game is played, craved and loved the most. It's a swift kick to the groin from the 11-year monster that grew out of the selfishness and greed of baseball's biggest sluggers and hardest throwers.
The monster was born in 1998 with McGuire and Sosa. It grew into a horrifying beast with the life of Bonds. It has dragged hundreds of baseball players into its trap. Its final form is Alex Rodriguez.
The juicers didn't stick needles in their rears for the benefit of the team. It was about one thing, one root evil that has plagued Major League Baseball and it's cap-less, rampant capitalist system. It's about the money, and the jealousy and greed that was allowed to fester right under our noses.
For 11 years, we have been jerked around. Enough is enough.
A-Rod, A-Fraud, A-Roid - whatever you decide to call him - has destroyed his own reputation and crushed the hopes of a brighter day in baseball. He was supposed to dethrone the evil home run king and restore the order. He's just another tyrant.
No one will ever eclipse Bonds, or A-Rod if he takes over. It's not physically possible, unless you juice. Forever the albatross of the home run record will plague baseball.
As a Yankee fan, what's next? Do you drink the punch like they did in San Francisco, and root for the man as he chases down baseball immortality? I for one will not, and I don't expect New York to either.
New York is a city that sees right through you if you have nothing inside. Paul O'Neill had his name chanted for fifteen straight minutes in his final home game. The New York Rangers just retired Adam Graves' number, not because of the stats he compiled, but because of his selfless character.
New York sees through the numbers, and that's why A-Rod hasn't fit in since day one. When the numbers are put aside, and heart, character, and determination are needed in the tight spots that define a baseball season, the old Yankees would push back. They had guts. The A-Rod Yankees get pushed.
The worst part about this is all is that I'm not surprised. I'm cynical and jaded, and I expected this day to come. In a sport that is buoyed by its theme of summer innocence, A-Rod and the entire steroid era have tarnished America's pastime forever.
If and when A-Rod surpasses the record, I hope it looks like this: 763*.
You can reach this columnist at sports@theeagleonline.com.
