He knew the questions were coming about the stimulus plan. He knew there would be an inquisition on his foreign policy. He might have predicted a question about his kids' non-existent dog. But did President Barack Obama expect to be asked about A-Rod?
In his first major address as the nation's highest-ranking White Sox fan, President Obama expressed profound disappointment in the news that Alex Rodriguez, the Madonna-loving, man-scaping, home-run hitting, one-man B-roll of Yankee Stadium-size embarrassments had committed the cardinal sin of 21st century baseball: He used steroids.
"I think it's depressing news on top of what's been a flurry of depressing items when it comes to Major League Baseball," Obama said. "And if you're a fan of Major League Baseball, I think it tarnishes an entire era, to some degree. And it's unfortunate, because I think there are a lot of ballplayers who played it straight."
A real, South Side answer would have been: "Are you (expletive) surprised?"
Stuart Scott might be shocked. Peter Gammons might be playing sad songs on his guitar. Most of us could see this coming. Hell, Jose Canseco, the tanned soothsayer of Miami Beach, wrote that A-Rod was on the juice in his last book. Canseco, who also claimed that Rodriguez hit on his wife, is an obnoxious, drug-abusing boor, but he hasn't proved to be a liar yet.
I didn't have the pleasure of covering baseball in its juiced-up heyday, but when I first started making my way into Major League clubhouses in 2003, it was easy to see the effects of performance-enhancing drugs. On the North Side, there were several walking examples of better living through science loping around the home side; guys with puffed-up chests and swollen arms. Most reporters suspected guys were on something, but hey, there were games to cover and enough stories to file as it was. Not to mention the fine line between what is sold at GNC and what's brokered at Mexican farmacias. If baseball wasn't serious about testing, why lose your 401(k) on a libel suit?
The ensuing fallout, of course, would embarrass the reporters who missed the story, or ignored it altogether, not to mention the apologists who argued against the inquisitive interlopers. It would wind up embarrassing the MLB head honchos, the union leaders, and most of all, the players.
From Ken Caminiti's last rites to Balco's raid, from Bonds' angry press conferences to Rafael Palmeiro's finger waggle, from Sammy Sosa's clam-up to Roger Clemens' ham-handed lies, here we are in 2009, seemingly this story never ends. A lot of us spent time Monday watching an orange-tinted A-Rod offering a rehearsed, three-quarters honest, meager culpa on ESPN. Don't be fooled, there's more to his story.
You have to give Rodriguez some credit for disclosing some wrongdoing on his part, considering how Bonds and Clemens are all but denying that even the Governator did steroids. But given that Rodriguez didn't quite come clean in his hastily arranged interview, making sure he had some leeway with dates and drug names, the interview wasn't quite Frost/Nixon material. You could almost see Scott Boras mouthing the words in the background as Rodriguez spoke to his preferred interviewer Peter Gammons.
The elder statesman of baseball journalism at ESPN, Gammons throw mostly softballs, no curves to be sure. When A-Rod said, he was "young, I was stupid, I was naïve..." Gammons should have shot back, "Alex, you were almost 26, you signed a $252 million contract. You weren't Norville Barnes in the Hudsucker Proxy. You didn't just fall off the turnip truck."
But really, what does it matter how the interview went? Regardless of his excuses or explanations, he knows that we know, for sure, that A-Rod's historic performances were chemically enhanced. He's now a card-carrying member of Steroid Nation, and he'll have to carry that stigma with him for the rest of his life.
But here's the question: Does it change the way you feel about A-Rod? Maybe you respect his on-field feats a little less (or a lot less), but do you care any more or less about his place in history? Does anyone? Despite his talents, A-Rod has never earned that superstar level of intimacy with the world, the kind of reverence that his peers in other sports, like Michael Jordan or Brett Favre, had built up during their careers.
Rodriguez is a phenomenal baseball player, but there isn't much poetry in his game. He doesn't inspire you on an aesthetic or emotional level. No one gets goosebumps from watching him play. He is the embodiment of the corporate baseball culture of the 21st century, as loveable as a Juggs machine.
Even his peers in public enmity evoke more emotion. Clemens was beloved in Boston, then hated, then loved again in New York. Bonds was loved in Pittsburgh, loved in San Fran, hated by everyone else. A-Rod has bounced from team to team just liked they did, but there exists no archetypal version of his career. He hits, he earns, he looks handsome while doing both.
I don't know A-Rod nor am I close to people who do. So I can't play pop psychologist and write about his ego and his inner demons. My only advice to him, and I realize there is no way this happens, is for him to publicly rebuke those 156 homers from 2001-03. Tell baseball's record-keepers you don't want them, whether you break Bonds' already-muddied career record or not, whether you make the Hall of Fame or not.
That act won't prove his selflessness. It won't prove that he was clean before 2001, or after, like he claims. But hell, it's a start, right?
There are some that would argue that the names of the other 103 players who failed the supposedly anonymous test in 2003, the one that outed A-Rod, should be released. Fair is fair, right?
To that, I say, "tough luck." More guys, less guys, it doesn't really matter. Rodriguez would be the only one people care about, because of his fame, because of his salary, and because he has a chance to break what used to be baseball's most hallowed record.
I say hate the sin, but not the sinner. Baseball was messed up for awhile there, but it's still a great sport, a great pastime. Racism didn't change that, draconian labor laws didn't change that, and the drug lust of the Steroid Era won't change it, either. Baseball, as they say, will endure.
Ken Burns chronicled baseball's history already, but if he makes another chapter to cover this era, I say his passes the reins to a guy named Chris Bell who made a documentary that came out in 2008 called Bigger, Stronger, Faster.
I'm sure you can guess what it's about.