THIS ALEX “ROD” RIGUEZ IS NOT A TRUE YANKEE

By Fred Vanghoulish

Alex Rodgriguez may have spent twelve years as a Yankee, but his career ended in a New York minute.

Call his forced “retirement” what it is — a recognition that this brash, arrogant cheater had no place in Monument Park and belongs only on a monument to people who couldn’t hack it in the Big Apple with Mark Sanchez, Alexander Hamilton, and King Kong.

The only mark Rodriguez made in New York was with his cheating.

Call him “Asterisk-Rod.”

No Dick Dastardly trick was too low for him: punching the ball out of a first baseman’s glove, yelling “I got it” while running the basepaths like an evil baseball ventriloquist, sleeping every night in bath made from liquid steroids. Call him “Wacky Races-Rod.”

And yet, for all his misdeeds, the Yankees allowed him to retire with dignity, with his piles of unearned cheat-money and his mansions and his centaur paintings with no recourse.

If Rodriguez had a modicum of self-respect, he would never have sullied the Yankees’ august uniform with his ineptitude. No great Yankee would ever tow along a team while playing this poorly just for the sake of his own ego.

Call him “Aggrandizement-Rod.”

No, A-Rod should have gone away for good. He should have changed his name and erased all his tainted records. He should have had plastic surgery to change his face. He should have lowered himself into an active volcano while I pelted him with expired hot dogs from Old Yankee Stadium.

This is the legacy of Alex Rodgriguez: an overpaid mercenary, a cheater, a liar, a contemptible stain on the pinstripes he was privileged to wear for a dozen miserable years, sinking into a pit of lava while I taunt him with authentic Mickey Mantle merchandise.

Call him “Abomination-Rod.” And let us never write about this Rod again.

Fred Vanghoulish is a columnist for the New-York Tribune and author of Hey Mick, Letters I Never Sent To Mickey Mantle and What I Write About When I Write About Writing About Mickey Mantle.