A-Rod

Yesterday morning at the end of shul, one of my chaverim, the Holy Mashgiach, asked me if I wanted two tickets to the Yankees game that had been postponed due to rain on Wednesday night. The Mashgiach had gotten the tickets from a balabus and gone the previous night but, because he to mash, couldn't go that day. I said yes in a nano second. I rearranged my afternoon meetings and took the number 4 train up to the Bronx at around 12:15.

The seats were field level, 7 rows back ($206 face value each).

It was a nice day, but I would have preferred the third base side, in the sun. But, recipients of free $206 tickets can't be choosy.

The Yankees were really flat but that's not what I want to write about. I want to write about the tortured soul called A-Rod.

Readers of this space know that I have been a defender of Mr. Rodriguez. His numbers over the past 10 years are historic. He is one of the greatest hitters in the history of the game. He is also the best fielding shortstop on the Yankees.

But, oh, is he pathetic.

Even I, a sybermetrics guy who doesn't believe there is much to the concept of clutch hitting (for example, the great Derek Jeter's post-season numbers are virtually the same as his in-season numbers), have to admit that A-Rod seems to be the ultimate choke artist.

Yesterday he struck out three times, the first time with the bases loaded and two outs on three straight pitches from a pitcher who, until that moment had walked two batters and was having an impossible time getting the ball over the plate.

This just won't fly in New York. He is doomed in New York.