Two days before the 2015 All Star Game, the Yankees called a hastily drawn press conference. Brian Cashman spoke:
"It
is with a great deal of sadness that I come here today to inform you
that we have terminated the contract of Alex Rodriguez with the NY
Yankees. A-Rod served this organization with distinction for over a
decade. For all those who have doubted him and spoken harshly, know that
he has been dedicated forever to the betterment of the team. We, as an
organization, have had some rough patches with Alex, but through it all
we have recognized his commitment and passion for the game and for the
fans of New York. As of today, he is no longer associated with the
Yankees and is free to offer his services to any other major league
team. We wish A-Rod nothing but the best wherever his future, inside and
outside of baseball, may take him."
Alex Rodriguez was
hitting .197 when this announcement was made. In truth, it was an open
secret that the team had been trying desperately for weeks to give him
away, or to work out some kind of settlement to buy out the balance of
his contract, which had two and a half more seasons to run. The Yankees
had failed in their efforts to peddle his wares, had failed in their
efforts to have him declared medically unfit to play due to the
continuing difficulties with his hips, and were forced, in the end, to
absorb all but a few million dollars of the remaining monies due to
A-Rod as they escorted him out the door. It was a bad moment for the
team, and for A-Rod it was extremely hard.
I had been a big
critic of Rodriguez during the revelations of prolonged steroid use. I
felt that he, and others of equal star power, like Barry Bonds and Roger
Clemens, had abused the privilege that their talents had afforded them.
All of them had become so egomanical that they, much like Lance
Armstrong in cycling, had seemed offended by even the suggestion that their skills had been artificially enhanced. It was
that hubris on the part of A-Rod which drove me to write several letters which the NY Times
published on my great and lasting displeasure for him.
Yet, I must admit that when I read the Cashman
statement I was saddened, and felt more than a touch of sorrow for the
former third basemen for the team. I understood that Rodriguez was
particularly aware of and sensitive to criticism. Whereas Jeter seemed
to go about his business, and keep his head down, not listening to the
whispers of lack of range or power, Rodriguez took in every bit of
negativity. He wanted to please, he desperately needed to please, and if
it meant doing what many others were doing, he had to maintain his
place at the top of the pantheon of heroes. This is not intended as an
endorsement for the fallen star, but an explanation of what seemed to
drive him and feed his insecurities.
As there were no games
played on July 13th through July 16th, I was able to spend that time
away from the game. But the rise and fall of Alex Rodriguez remained
with me throughout that time.
I was happy, if that phrase
can ever be associated with work, to have four uninterrupted days at the
office. No thoughts about rushing out to the Stadium, no planes to
catch, no packing or unpacking. One thing I had discovered was how nice
it was not to have plans.
My back was acting up a bit, and
so the time off was welcome in that regard. I envisioned myself much
like the players who welcomed the break to reconnect with loved ones and
to rest their engines. It gave me a chance to sit down with both of my
children and give them my mid-term report. And to spend a lot of time
talking about nothing to do with baseball.
Even better was
that, after the break, the first two series were at home. That meant
that there would be almost two weeks when I could be at home with my
wife. Oh, yes, my wife.
They say that absence makes the
heart grow fonder. I don't know who they are, but I can testify that
they are correct. I missed my wife, more than I ever expected. Closing
in on four decades of marriage, it is hard for me to believe I am even
writing these words. There were no more secrets, for they had long, long
ago been revealed. But what I had not realized, maybe never realized,
is that I should appreciate what it was that I had, that I knew, that I could count
upon day after day. That I loved.
And so, this baseball
season became one in which there was a little bit of a renewed romance between myself and my
wife. I don't know if she felt it in the manner that I did, but I
think I finally was beginning to understand, even a little, what marriage was all about.
When I left for the road, and
Minnesota, in the early afternoon of July 24, I was more than a little
sorry to kiss my wife goodbye.
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