Game of Thrown-s: The Two-sided Tale of Alex Rodriguez
When Alex Rodriguez walked down the alleyway behind Nike Town and Burberry in Beverly Hills, back in 2004, while on his way to the Regent Beverly Wilshire Hotel (yep: Pretty Woman), few people noticed. There weren’t any paparazzi, and there were zero autograph hounds. Most people probably didn’t even realize — or care — that the Yankees were in town to play the Los Angeles Dodgers that week, and it’s a safe to say they probably didn’t follow the historic franchise enough to know all the faces in the lineup. That day, no one put one and three together.
Or it could have been the multi-headed monster of fame. It wasn’t unfamiliar to see top-level celebrities walking up and down that stretch of seemingly unreachable wealth and status. Flanked by UTA, with William Morris-Endeavor just across the street, the 300-plus-foot alley made for a literal runaway to the stars. If you worked in the area, chances are you spent some amount of time hanging out in that alley…maybe having a cigarette with Vince Vaughn; cracking a nod and a smile to Jack Black; or giving a thumbs-up to Marcus Allen. It was a who’s who, the best of rubbernecking for the rubberneckers, the stargazers, and it happened every day.
Understandably then, it wasn’t unthinkable that Rodriguez would go unnoticed. He was a baseball player, but not a Los Angeles Dodger. He was a star athlete, but not a Laker.
He wasn’t Marcus Allen.
But he was there, however, making is way from a likely trip to Neiman Marcus or Saks Fifth Avenue or Barneys New York, or all or some of the collective. He moved methodically — like he was watching an autobiographical movie play in his mind — a lady friend in hand.
It was just Rodriguez and the girl…and, of course, me.
I was standing on a loading dock, on a break from my unexpected venture into barista-hood — at a place that sold the equivalent of mortgage payments in the form of knit pants — when Rodriguez walked by me. He was as athletic as I would’ve expected: tall, muscular, sort of like the life-sized version of a generic cartoon athlete. Causally — which was the cool way to go in my mind — I signaled a Hello to him (and the girl), letting him know that, while no one else really knew or cared he was there, I sure as hell understood his status in the game I loved so much. Regardless if I wasn’t a Yankees fan, this was Alex Rodriguez.
He nodded back in my general direction — although, honestly, I think he was really just lowering his head to spit (which he did) — and then, he was gone. He walked through the valet area of the Regent Hotel and out of my reality.
Twelve years later Alex Rodriguez is penciled in to play his last game in the MLB. Controversial decisions regarding his multiple PED instances aside, he will ultimately go down as one of the top players to ever wear a major league uniform.
He will finish the game near the top of most offensive categories, including home runs (696), RBI (2085), and runs scored (2021) — not to mention being the only member of the 600 Home Run Club who also dated Cameron Diaz…and was hand-fed popcorn by her. (Take that, Hank.)
He was an All-Star, and the AL MVP, at shortstop. And, following his Bigger Money Move — via the Texas Rangers to the New York Yankees — he was an All-Star, and the AL MVP, at third base.
At times, beginning with his introduction to the MLB baseball realm in 1994, Rodriguez seemed to carry that inner-youth and enjoyment that makes baseball such an interesting sociological study: children, parents, grandparents, nuns, bikers, you name it; baseball touches a collectively youthful feeling across a demographic range that would make Disney envious.
The game can do really do that.
And, as we grew to expect, Rodriguez was right there, providing that boyish grin outside the batting cage or signing autographs to a legion of fans — any fans, mind you — while blowing bubbles from the two or three or five, probably six, pieces of bubble gum in his mouth.
He had the athletic skills of a baseball Demigod, and the Hollywood looks that would make Demi go, Oh my god! He was marketable. He had the ability to speak about the game and its history in a distinguished, diplomatic way that made you feel like he was a sure thing ambassador to lead baseball into a post-steroid direction.
From the time we first saw him on ESPN, taking that “big-league” phone call as teenager, to the maturation of extraordinary skills that morphed into a pop culture nick-name known as A-Rod, we watched, intently, waiting for an encore, another grin, or a mighty blast from a sweet swing that made the pitcher look like a clown.
Like him or not, Alex Rodriguez and the MLB were a perfect fit.
Well, now…wait…
Controversial decisions regarding his multiple PED instances at the forefront, though, Rodriguez, like so many from his “era,” will go down in baseball history as nothing more than a cheat, a player who took the beauty of the game and smeared it into an unrecognizable child’s rendering.
While he excelled during the regular season, racking up statistical achievements that place him in Google Search results with the likes of Mays, Ruth, Jared Leto and Roy Hobbs/Robert Redford, he was a proverbial fart in the autumn wind when it came to producing during playoff time.
His batting average decline from .295 during the regular season to .259 during the playoffs only highlighted what turned out to be another professional athlete who didn’t have the coveted inner-gusto that separates legends from the “Well, he was good, but!” flock.
Even when he finally did win a championship with the Yankees in 2009, hitting well over .330 for the entire ’09 playoffs, the harshest critics only looked at the eight strikeouts in 20 at-bats during the World series — another non-clutch stat —the too-little-too-late brush-off, and the fact it was simply the goddamn Yankees doing what they do, again.
Try as Rodriguez might, he was not Derek Jeter.
At times, beginning with his introduction to the MLB baseball realm in 1994, Rodriguez seemed to carry that inner-youth uncertainty and desire to belong that makes baseball, or any sport for that matter, such an interesting sociological study: it opens up the usually closeted associations with self-esteem (or lack thereof) by displaying the want to be applauded and not booed, to be admired (solely or a part of a team), to be…wanted, basically.
And when it’s not, the tug and pull to keep on a brave face, while dying inside, makes for the ultimate test of character. (Remember how it felt to get picked last for kickball?)
Rodriguez wanted to be liked, by all. And that, arguably, was sort of a downfall. His persona would often come off as generic; a characterized scripting of what he thought was the verbiage associated with an ambassador to the game of baseball.
During the pregame hullabaloo of Cal Ripken’s final All-Star game, in 2001, Rodriguez got a chance to sit and chat with his idol. With cameras surrounding them in the dugout, Rodriguez told Ripken how much he admired his career and what he meant to the game. And, more importantly, to what he meant to Rodriguez. Ripken, in turn, simply asked a “Like what” question.
Rodriguez didn’t have an answer. He fumbled to find the right words, clearly not ready for the follow-up posed by Ripken, and the answer was a hazy as the memory.
Surprised, though? Not when it came to Rodriguez’s mindset. He thought he said everything that was expected in that moment, and that was that. The script, in Rodriguez’s mind, didn’t include any other blocks of dialogue. Ripken’s action was to just sit there, and nod; not ask anything.
It didn’t end there:
The desire to do the right thing, to be that loved figure in the game, was just as much a part of Rodriguez’s career as the home runs he blasted to all parts of the outfield. It led to some of the more questionable decisions, too.
There were the humorous:
And yes, there was the issue of PEDs.
We first learned that the man who could possibly be the post-PED Face of the MLB actually was sorta-kinda-well-yes fraudulent before the beginning of the 2009 season — another reason his playoff efforts that year were viewed in quasi-disapproval and over-it attitudes.
Rodriguez, busted for a stint of taking PEDs during the 2001–2003 seasons, was quick to ask for public forgiveness. He did so in front of the cameras, with longtime baseball guy Peter Gammons asking the questions.
Why did Rodriguez do it?
From the interview:
When I arrived in Texas in 2001, I felt an enormous amount of pressure, Rodriguez said. I felt like I had all the weight of the world on top of me, and I needed to perform — and perform at a high level — every day.
Back then, it was a different culture. It was very loose. I was young, I was stupid, I was naïve. I wanted to prove to everyone that I was worth being one of the greatest players of all-time.
The cherry on top of the Apology Sundae, of course, was Rodriguez’s acknowledgment that he cheated and he would never do it again.
Then, 2013 happened. Biogenesis…happened.
Biogenesis was a Florida-based company that, basically, was providing an elite clientele with performance-enhancing drugs. Rodriguez was one of those elite. For close to $12,000 a month, the Yankees star was purchasing PEDs…during the same time he was telling the world he was clean, a good guy, a person who should be revered and forgiven; not hated or shunned.
In reality, though, he was cheating — again.
But Alex wanted to be liked. Remember that. And that ultimate tug and pull, the desire to be applauded and adored, exploited his character. It’s strength, mainly. Once Biogenesis ran into money issues due the legalities surrounding the company, the top dogs began to look for help — and that help seemed most feasible at the hands, er, pocketbook of Rodriguez.
What followed was one of the more interesting cases of extortion, behind-closed-doors deals, friend-and-inner-circle threats, accusations of MLB witch-hunting, and all-out zaniness to the likes of a John Grisham novel.
Ultimately, it led to Alex Rodriguez getting suspended from baseball for the entire 2014 season.
From that time, long past when we first saw him on ESPN taking that “big-league” phone call as teenager, and past the maturation of extraordinary skills that morphed into a pop culture nick-name known as A-Rod, we now watched, intently, waiting for another admission, another screw-up, a mighty error in the fragile persona… which eventually morphed into another pop culture nickname: A-Roid.
And we hate A-Roid.
He’s not marketable. He’s a fraud. Actually, he’s A-Fraud. His words resonate like those of an adult speaking to one of the Peanut characters (wah-wah-wah?). Quite simply, what was once a talented athlete, who made pitchers look like clowns, was now, actually, the understudy to Bozo. A one-man circus coming to your diamond for a good booing.
Like him or not, Alex Rodriguez and the MLB were not a perfect fit.
Well, now…wait…
So…how are you supposed to remember this guy?
How do you remember him? Number 13, Number 3, a complete zero?
I still think back on that day in 2004, when I first got to see Alex Rodriguez in person. The memory is a lot fuzzier now — I don’t remember what the girl looked like, for example — but one thing still stands out: his outfit.
He was wearing a pair of multicolored/checkered pants — that I can only describe as some sort of throwback to SKIDZ or what you would see at ’90s R&B concert — a sized-down short sleeve tee-shirt and a pair of black loafers.
It was as incredible as it was hilarious — teetering on insane.
With 14 years of hindsight, though, that look really does encapsulate Rodriguez — to me, anyway.
Undoubtedly, his ensem-blah that day probably cost more than my salary at the time (or now), and I’d like to imagine that was the public image he wanted to display while strolling around Beverly Hills. Suit? (Nope.) Jeans and a button-down shirt? (Double nope.)
Give him the stuff straight off the rack from Fashion Week, please. (Think Harry and Lloyd in Dumb and Dumber or the Griswolds in European Vacation.)
Ah…that’s nice.
He wasn’t doing it to be smug or arrogant, either. He was doing it because that’s what a superstar is supposed to do…in his mind. Normalcy isn’t in the Demigod’s job description; it’s Larger than Life, baby! Now notice me!
Oddly enough, no one noticed — except me.
Now, turn that sort of thinking toward baseball comparisons, with the psyche of a professional athlete, and you have the general life force that was Rodriguez’s career. He wanted to play the role of superstar, to be the adored player each fan base flocked to see, to be the man who “changed” the game. He put the weight of the world on his shoulders — even though people may not have been expecting it. And, because of that, his decisions — whether an outfit choice or the choice to take performance-enhancing drugs — were sometimes questionable, to downright stupid.
Does that make him a completely terrible person? Not really.
A close friend once explained to me that the beauty of Game of Thrones is George R.R. Martin’s ability to create each character in such realistic detail by always making sure to include the good and the bad in everyone — which there is.
Though I’ve never watched an episode of that show, the acceptance of good vs. bad, the tug and pull of both in one person, does help explain real-life situations, where we build up such unbelievable expectations for, say, athletes. To that, you could say Alex Rodriquez was tangled in his own character.
He was a Game of Thrown-s: The Good, the Bad, and the So On…
On Friday, all that will end (for now). Rodriguez will take his final at-bat, his final curtain call. He will show that smile some of us remember and enjoyed — while others cringed — exit, and then walk out of our realities.
