New York City may not be the center of the universe, but it's been the center of a lot of news lately in the baseball and political spheres. Three huge figures in the city are in the midst of trying to rehabilitate their careers: former congressman Anthony Weiner and former governor Eliot Spitzer are running for office for the first time since they each resigned due to sexual indiscretions, and Yankees third baseman Alex Rodríguez is trying to return to the major leagues for the first time since the bombshell Biogenesis investigation implicated him in the latest MLB steroids scandal.
Yet they're getting very different receptions in the Big Apple. While Weiner and Spitzer are regarded as frontrunners for mayor and city comptroller respectively, A-Rod remains public enemy number one. To be sure, Weiner and Spitzer have their detractors—Weiner especially, after last week's revelations of previously unknown additional sexting. But the overall narrative surrounding them has been redemptive, even positive. Both of them have depicted themselves as deeply flawed men who are nevertheless trying to face the world again, make good to the voters they let down, and rebuild their lives. For the most part, the media (except, as always, New York tabloids) has accepted this narrative (again, at least until this past week's events with Weiner). Most importantly, though, polls have shown that voters have accepted it. Two polls last week gave Spitzer the lead in the comptroller race, and Weiner was surging ahead, capturing 26% of the vote in a crowded field, before last week's information came to light. Heck, even after the world knew that he fell off the fidelity wagon a second time, a poll found Weiner hanging onto second place—and therefore a slot in the runoff.
This couldn't be more different than A-Rod's situation; everyone—from fans to the media to even his employer, the New York Yankees—is in agreement about disowning the former superstar. Since he was linked to the PED-supplying clinic Biogenesis, reaction has ranged from mere vitriol to calls for him to be banned for life. The Yankees have allegedly explored ways to dump him from the team entirely, and they're not exactly trying to hide their disgust with him. Yet akin to Weiner and Spitzer, everything A-Rod has done since his "scandal" has pointed toward one thing: a desire to get back to playing Major League Baseball to help a team that desperately needs him. His deeds to this end include tweeting about his progressing rehab, seeking out a doctor to ascertain if he is healthy enough to play, and turning down a plea bargain from MLB that probably would have ruined his 2013 but given him a clean slate for the rest of his career. Yet A-Rod has been unanimously lambasted for all three of these actions. It's at the point where A-Rod, who hasn't played an inning for the Yankees this year, is singlehandedly responsible for ruining their season.
This discrepancy is baffling to me. Weiner, Spitzer, and A-Rod all had very real failings. In fact, most people would probably consider Weiner's and Spitzer's sins to be greater than A-Rod's. So why is A-Rod the most villainous of the three? Why are his actions to redeem himself not seen that way, while Weiner's and Spitzer's (which could easily be more cynically spun as attempts to grab back a hold of power) are welcomed? What is so especially heinous about A-Rod?
You can say that we respond differently, more emotionally, to sports than to politics. Baseball players like Alex Rodríguez are seen as heroes. Politicians don't engender the same adoration; in fact, they're boring and often not exactly beloved in the first place. So it makes sense that people would feel more personally betrayed when a hero cheats than when a politician does it; to a certain extent, it's expected when a politician is a letdown. That's a plausible explanation—but it's not a justification. A love for sports can blind people into thinking they're important, but it is, as many a Little Leaguer must be told, only a game. Cheating at a game is not a cause for moral outrage; breaking one's marriage vows and, potentially, destroying one's family are certainly much greater offenses. This perspective should at least cancel out the greater distance a ballplayer must travel than a politician to complete his fall from grace.
You can say that, while New York may hate A-Rod, it's not like they're in love with Weiner and Spitzer either. Even if the city elects them to the jobs they want, it might simply be because they were the best options in two underwhelming fields. Indeed, the most recent NBC 4 New York/Wall Street Journal/Marist Poll found that 55% of New York City Democrats had an unfavorable opinion of Anthony Weiner—which means the city's registered voters probably think even worse of him. But remember—this poll was conducted after the new revelations about Weiner's other sexting. Before last week, Marist found that 52% of New York City Democrats were favorably disposed toward Weiner, and 59% said he deserved a second chance. Even more were willing to forgive Spitzer; 67% said he deserved a second chance, and 62% said his past transgressions wouldn't affect their vote.
My point here is not to say that Weiner and Spitzer don't necessarily deserve second chances, or that New Yorkers who think they do are wrong, foolish, or amoral. Instead, my point is to ask—what percentage of New York voters do you think would say that Alex Rodríguez deserves another chance? While I wait for my friend Tom Jensen over at Public Policy Polling to ask the question for real, I've got to guess for now that the answer is "not many." Yet what these polls prove is that there is a vein of forgiveness among New Yorkers that A-Rod is just not tapping into. Even if voters don't like Anthony Weiner today—and even if they are still somewhat divided over Eliot Spitzer—many more of them were at least at one point willing to have open minds about them. That's already a departure from attitudes about A-Rod.
What I will say is that New Yorkers owe A-Rod a little consistency. It's second-chance season in the city that never sleeps, and it's unfair for Gotham to apply it selectively. If New York wants to be rigid and unmerciful, that's fine—it certainly has the reputation of the world's toughest city in which to get by. But then it must turn away Weiner, Spitzer, and Rodríguez all with the same dismissive wave of the hand. For now, put Biogenesis in perspective and let A-Rod walk the long and difficult comeback trail on his own. Unlike Weiner and Spitzer, you're stuck with him for four more years regardless.
Showing posts with label Yankees. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Yankees. Show all posts
Sunday, July 28, 2013
Friday, May 4, 2012
When a Sure Thing Just Vanishes
Unlike most of what appears on this blog, this is not an analysis post; it's barely even a baseball post. Over the next few days, I would tend to put little stock into articles reevaluating the state of the Yankees in the wake of Mariano Rivera's season-ending injury. The Yankees will be fine; even the best relief pitcher can add only a couple wins over the course of a season, and the Yankees have a solid bullpen that should be able to mask the loss. I still expect them to win the AL East handily.
The articles that will be far more interesting in the coming days—and, indeed, that have been fascinating gauges of reaction in just the last 24 hours—are those that discuss Rivera's shocking and sudden injury and attempt to come to terms with it. The way the media is reporting the story, and the way New Yorkers seem to be reacting to it, provide a window into what this misfortune means to our baseball-loving nation.
It's clear from media and public reaction that this is no ordinary injury. Yet why shouldn't it be? As already discussed, a few shrill voices notwithstanding, it doesn't ruin anyone's playoff chances (certainly no more than Ryan Madson did). It does have the added gloom of being career-threatening, with Rivera hinting in spring training that 2012 may be his final season, but Rivera has already indicated that he will fight his way back to the mound. Moreover, older players (and even some younger ones) suffer major injuries with the potential to derail their careers every year—Jamie Moyer's 2011 Tommy John surgery, to take one example. It's rarely treated as the end of the world.
The reason Mo's injury strikes so deep into our collective psyche is what it represents: the sudden halting of something that had been inevitable. Mariano Rivera was—is—the best closer in baseball history. He always took the ball (60+ appearances in 15 of the last 16 years), and he always got outs when he took the ball (ERAs under 2 in eight of the last nine years). He threw only one pitch (a cutter), so everyone knew what was coming—but they also always knew the result (an out). He was, as they say, automatic. In his 18 seasons of Major League Baseball, he was the one constant that never changed.
Then, yesterday, with one sudden play, everything changed. He was no longer a given out of the Yankees bullpen, and he was no longer the sun around which all the rest of baseball revolved. He became like every other pitcher who has suffered an injury—i.e., mortal. In other words, the one sure thing that we baseball fans thought we could always count on has been taken away. Mo was around every day for 15 years; now, just like that, he's gone from the roster. It's a rude awakening that there is no such thing as a sure thing.
And when we realize that about baseball, we realize that about life. Nothing, good or bad, personal or professional, lasts forever. We assume we can count on certain things—our families, our friends, our jobs—but they can always vanish at a moment's notice. Yesterday's reminder of that from the sports world—someplace we normally go to escape—was jarring.
Many have compared the outpouring of grief and despair over Rivera's injury to news of a death. This fits with the nerve that I believe Rivera's injury has struck. While the real-life seriousness is very different, this is the baseball version of a hale and hearty grandfather passing away in a car accident. Misfortune can strike from anywhere, and it can strike even the healthiest and most dependable among us.
Going even further with the "life can go wrong in an instant" theme seemed to be David Waldstein's New York Times article that broke the news to the Gray Lady's readership:
To be clear, I am not even remotely comparing the two, but Waldstein's diction and imagery remind the reader of some common descriptions of September 11—the ultimate day of shock and sadness. It is significant that at least one writer—and at least some of us everyfolk—dipped into that particular pocket of emotion while trying to describe how it felt to have everything we knew about Mariano Rivera turned on its head in six hours.
The reaction of Rivera's fellow Yankees also recalls that of witnessing a major disaster, and the stages of grief that follow. The facial expressions of Alex Rodríguez and Joe Girardi, among others, to seeing Rivera tear his ACL in real time seemed to suggest that they realized they were witnessing something significant, historic, and urgent. After the game, which the Yankees lost 4–3 to the Royals (Rivera injured himself in batting practice), Yahoo!'s Jeff Passan described the mood of the Yankees clubhouse as deeply morose.
Considering that fact, then, maybe losing Rivera will have a deeper impact on the Yankees than I at first assumed—not by making them a worse baseball team, but by affecting them psychologically in the ways described here. Indeed, Girardi is staring down the barrel of his biggest challenge to date as the New York manager: cutting through the depressing pall this will cast on his clubhouse. In this sense, it is again much like any team that suffers the death of one of its players.
Except, in this case, no one has died; no disaster has occurred. The Rivera injury must be understood for what it is. That includes recognizing that it stimulates the same nerve centers as a major tragedy would, but also that, as a practical matter, it is of the sort we process every day in our capacity as fans. Hopefully, the Yankees too can recognize the difference between psychology and reality.
The articles that will be far more interesting in the coming days—and, indeed, that have been fascinating gauges of reaction in just the last 24 hours—are those that discuss Rivera's shocking and sudden injury and attempt to come to terms with it. The way the media is reporting the story, and the way New Yorkers seem to be reacting to it, provide a window into what this misfortune means to our baseball-loving nation.
It's clear from media and public reaction that this is no ordinary injury. Yet why shouldn't it be? As already discussed, a few shrill voices notwithstanding, it doesn't ruin anyone's playoff chances (certainly no more than Ryan Madson did). It does have the added gloom of being career-threatening, with Rivera hinting in spring training that 2012 may be his final season, but Rivera has already indicated that he will fight his way back to the mound. Moreover, older players (and even some younger ones) suffer major injuries with the potential to derail their careers every year—Jamie Moyer's 2011 Tommy John surgery, to take one example. It's rarely treated as the end of the world.
The reason Mo's injury strikes so deep into our collective psyche is what it represents: the sudden halting of something that had been inevitable. Mariano Rivera was—is—the best closer in baseball history. He always took the ball (60+ appearances in 15 of the last 16 years), and he always got outs when he took the ball (ERAs under 2 in eight of the last nine years). He threw only one pitch (a cutter), so everyone knew what was coming—but they also always knew the result (an out). He was, as they say, automatic. In his 18 seasons of Major League Baseball, he was the one constant that never changed.
Then, yesterday, with one sudden play, everything changed. He was no longer a given out of the Yankees bullpen, and he was no longer the sun around which all the rest of baseball revolved. He became like every other pitcher who has suffered an injury—i.e., mortal. In other words, the one sure thing that we baseball fans thought we could always count on has been taken away. Mo was around every day for 15 years; now, just like that, he's gone from the roster. It's a rude awakening that there is no such thing as a sure thing.
And when we realize that about baseball, we realize that about life. Nothing, good or bad, personal or professional, lasts forever. We assume we can count on certain things—our families, our friends, our jobs—but they can always vanish at a moment's notice. Yesterday's reminder of that from the sports world—someplace we normally go to escape—was jarring.
Many have compared the outpouring of grief and despair over Rivera's injury to news of a death. This fits with the nerve that I believe Rivera's injury has struck. While the real-life seriousness is very different, this is the baseball version of a hale and hearty grandfather passing away in a car accident. Misfortune can strike from anywhere, and it can strike even the healthiest and most dependable among us.
Going even further with the "life can go wrong in an instant" theme seemed to be David Waldstein's New York Times article that broke the news to the Gray Lady's readership:
"If there has been one constant with the Yankees during the most recent edition of their dynasty, it has been the unparalleled success and durability of their closer, Mariano Rivera.
"Since 1997, when he took over as the closer for the team, he has provided stability and reassurance as he anchored the Yankees’ pitching staff and secured the final out in hundreds of games from April until the end of October.
"But that legendary calm was shattered Thursday afternoon as Rivera lay on the warning track at Kauffman Stadium after sustaining a devastating knee injury that could signal the end of his remarkable career."
To be clear, I am not even remotely comparing the two, but Waldstein's diction and imagery remind the reader of some common descriptions of September 11—the ultimate day of shock and sadness. It is significant that at least one writer—and at least some of us everyfolk—dipped into that particular pocket of emotion while trying to describe how it felt to have everything we knew about Mariano Rivera turned on its head in six hours.
The reaction of Rivera's fellow Yankees also recalls that of witnessing a major disaster, and the stages of grief that follow. The facial expressions of Alex Rodríguez and Joe Girardi, among others, to seeing Rivera tear his ACL in real time seemed to suggest that they realized they were witnessing something significant, historic, and urgent. After the game, which the Yankees lost 4–3 to the Royals (Rivera injured himself in batting practice), Yahoo!'s Jeff Passan described the mood of the Yankees clubhouse as deeply morose.
Considering that fact, then, maybe losing Rivera will have a deeper impact on the Yankees than I at first assumed—not by making them a worse baseball team, but by affecting them psychologically in the ways described here. Indeed, Girardi is staring down the barrel of his biggest challenge to date as the New York manager: cutting through the depressing pall this will cast on his clubhouse. In this sense, it is again much like any team that suffers the death of one of its players.
Except, in this case, no one has died; no disaster has occurred. The Rivera injury must be understood for what it is. That includes recognizing that it stimulates the same nerve centers as a major tragedy would, but also that, as a practical matter, it is of the sort we process every day in our capacity as fans. Hopefully, the Yankees too can recognize the difference between psychology and reality.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)