A-Rod in Spotlight, Back to Old Ways

In a kinder, gentler world, one without cell phone cameras and the insatiable desire to know everything about everyone, here's what would be relevant: Alex Rodriguez is in a brutal slump, the Yankees are in a bit of trouble and most of the pertinent details can be found in the latest box scores.

In a Jon and Kate world, here's the, ahem, rest of the story: Behind closed doors, Yankee executives argue about and stress over what they call "the A-Rod situation." They wonder if his awkward flails with the bat, his slowly swiveling hips, are merely expected by-products of the surgery he underwent during the spring, or a harbinger of much worse? They wonder how he can be caught shamelessly canoodling with actress Kate Hudson at nightclubs in the wee morning hours, while his employers who pay him $30 million a year decide he needs days off, to rest his weary body.

It's always something with A-Rod.

Tuesday night, it was Rodriguez going 0-for-4, as the Yankees were shut out 4-0 in Atlanta by the Braves, to drop five games behind Boston in the AL East. Most anywhere else, losing three straight games and four of six barely sparks discussion at the morning water coolers. Most everywhere else, the sport's erstwhile best hitter isn't batting .143 in June, with one hit in his last 23 at-bats.

A-Rod is hardly the only reason Yankee fans are acting like someone sprinkled rat poison in their coffee. The Bronx Bombers are a hot mess all around. Their rotation is hanging by the seams, their lineup bursting with aging stars who'd be better off sliding gracefully into the DH slot. But in the middle of a nine-game swing against middling National League teams – the Yankees are 1-3, with two games left in Atlanta before this weekend's Subway Series in Queens – much of the worrisome chatter revolves around A-Rod.

First came the strange weekend in South Florida, when the Yankees decided Rodriguez would be rested once a week until the All-Star break. He had played in 38 straight games since coming off the disabled list, his return initially helping to spark the Yankees as they christened their new palace in the Bronx with spectacular home runs and come-from-behind wins.

With A-Rod melting easily, almost effortlessly, into the ornate background, the Yankees' camaraderie and gutsy play made it possible to forget their payroll stretched above the $200 million mark.

But then the Yankees were swept in Boston, and the only reason they took two-of-three from the crosstown Mets is because Luis Castillo failed to squeeze a pop-up. A series loss against Washington followed, and when Yankee fans weren't baying at the moon over that awful shame, they were resuming their convoluted love-hate affair with A-Rod.

Mired in a 7-for-51 drought over 15 games, A-Rod appeared to be straining, lunging. That string of early-season games – and Rodriguez insisted he be in the lineup for all of them, his desire to quell the furor over his steroid admission admirable – was understandably taking a toll. How could he be expected to be the sport's best hitter so soon after surgery, and presumably with an all-organic diet? On the eve of the Yankees' series in Miami against the Marlins it was agreed during a conference call that A-Rod would sit one game out of every seven.

"We'll take this month and we'll regroup," Rodriguez said. "You might see it once every 10 days, and we'll regroup again. The idea is to get a little stronger each month. I do think it's healing and getting better, but this is all new ground for me."

If Joel McHale, the incomparable host of The Soup, were narrating this surreal reality show, he'd call it, "A-Rod. Colon. It's Complicated."

Because even while general manager Brian Cashman insisted it was a strictly a medical decision, and manager Joe Girardi seemed bewildered that what was to be a two-day rest would be labeled a benching, the rest of the story veered into crazy territory. There were rumors of a shouting match between A-Rod and Girardi, who wasn't on the conference call. The manager and the slugger "spoke sharply" to each other, reported the Miami Herald. Pure baloney, insisted the two alleged participants.


More bizarre, there were suggestions that Girardi, fired as manager of the Marlins in 2006, purposely refused to start one of the game's biggest superstars because it would adversely affect the Florida ticket gate. Girardi might play occasional mind tricks with the media, but there is no reason to believe he's malicious, or dumb. A-Rod, meanwhile, admitted he bought hundreds of tickets for family and friends so they could see him play in his first meaningful professional game in his hometown. He had invited kids from the local Boys & Girls Club, a charity dear to him. He seemed seriously bummed he'd disappointed fans, and if he didn't recognize how clueless his joke sounded about having to tell his mother to save her gas money, he sure was adept at playing the good soldier.

I have to admit, I felt a little sorry for A-Rod. He had been on his best behavior all spring, sticking to his vow that from now on he would be all about baseball, about the team. He was a fine example of how quickly America forgives, going from steroid cheat to a sympathetic, picked-upon figure almost as quickly as he circles the bases. Just a few weeks ago he was unfairly caught in David Letterman's vile joke about A-Rod having sex with one of Sarah Palin's young daughters.

As Letterman offered a lame apology straight out of the athlete's bible ("IF I offended anyone ... blah, blah, blah"), A-Rod held true to his "baseball questions only" mantra.

Finally, he was getting it right.

Then came this headline Sunday in the New York Post, after A-Rod sat out Friday's game and pinch-hit in Saturday's loss: "Call him M.I.A.-Rod." The article's first sentence read: Kate Hudson must be wearing A-Rod out.

The Miami Herald had the salacious play-by-play:

Yes, yes, Alex Rodriguez and Kate Hudson partied at the Fontainebleau following A-Rod's benchwarming during the Yankees and the Marlins game Friday night. According to our tattle, the duo wanted to be seen and were they ever, pawing and prodding each other like Kevin Federline at an all-you-can-eat buffet. Says our source, the duo was "all over each other at Blade where they were sucking face for like an hour without coming up for air." The snitch also tells us Hudson was acting like "an out of control teenager, giving A-Rod what seemed to be a lapdance."

Girardi, the buzz-cut, straight-shooting manager who could be fired if the Yankees don't turn around the ship, must love hearing about his weary slugger partying with Kate at 3 AM. Cashman, the oft-criticized general manager whose job hinges on the Yankees reaching the World Series, must wonder how he can get through another nine weeks, never mind nine seasons, picking up A-Rod's dirty laundry.

If reporters wrote about every player's off-field activities, there wouldn't be enough trees or space in the blogosphere to report on anything else. If reporters acted as if they'd never been out playing in the wee hours, well, we'd be quite the hypocrites, wouldn't we?

But it's fair to wonder why A-Rod wouldn't be more discreet, after all he's put the Yankees through.

In the third inning Tuesday night, against flame-throwing youngster Tommy Hanson, Derek Jeter was on base after a double. Hanson didn't seem to mind walking Mark Teixeira, because A-Rod was up next. Hanson got Rodriguez swinging through a breaking ball for the second out, the rookie skillfully pitching out of another jam while A-Rod sulked back to the bench, 5-for-the-last-45.

In the fifth inning, just before Rodriguez flew out to right-center field, Yankee announcer Michael Kay told a television audience, "His mind is obviously messed up. He's thinking too much at the plate."

Yes, A-Rod, his season average dropping to .207, does have much to ponder.

At year's end, if not before, Rodriguez will have more surgery on his hip, and there is no way to predict how it will impact the rest of his career. At mid-June, with the Yankees caught in a team-wide tailspin, A-Rod is weary, struggling and, as usual, smack in the eye of the storm.