Heroes? We don't need no stinking heroes!

The Yard has been on the road these past weeks. There is a self imposed deadline to get these rambling diatribes to our loyal and apparently patient constituency. Yard deadlines are more fluid than concrete. All paid subscriptions are free for the month of February to underscore the Yard’s commitment to bootstrapping out of this economic quagmire.

The Yard recognizes that Barack’s audacity of hope is audacious. In less than thirty days, Barry in the Paint has lobbied and authorized the manufacture of more Benjamin’s than currently exist in the known universe. The magnitude of printing that much dough overwhelms the reality that most of us will never see even an Abraham from this Romanesque trajectory of spending. We fear we all will be paying for solar panels in Stockton and broadband in Topeka until we take the big dirt nap.

The Yankees not to be outdone had already bailed out the Teixeira, Sabathia, and Burnett families with a $400 million stimulus package for their three households. With the new $1.3 billion Yankee stadium coming on line that includes $220 million in public financing, the Yard salutes these audacious moves by NYC in the face of the most daunting economic crisis in this country’s history. The Yard shares the perennial Yankee optimism that all of the usual suspects from Wall Street will still be there to snap up those $1000/game seats behind home plate this season.

The Yard sincerely hopes that the US government has provided Citibank the $400 million necessary for the naming rights for the Mets new stadium that had been committed by this previously financial stalwart. We also hope that Jerry Jones can find someone to spend $350 million to name the new billion dollar NFL theme park where the Cowboys play. Cowboys at the Yard was soundly rejected by Dallas senior mismanagement, despite a lucrative placement on this very blog site. It did have a nice ring but they cited an unfavorable posting on this very blog site in recent months. WTF: We did not think anyone poked around in the Yard Archives.

As spring training camps open, there was outrage that Joe Torre’s book on his years with the Yankees broke the unspoken code of silence in the locker room and shared intimate details of his time with the Yankees. The Yard is more outraged that the Secret Society of the Bong’s unwritten code of paranoia was broken when Michael Phelps was outed by some a-hole with a camera phone. In the murky recesses of the cannabis culture’s ethos, this was an unforgiveable breach. We would suggest that photo did shed some light on Phelps 10,000 calorie a day diet.

Bud Selig is outraged by this serpentine steroid mess. He has suggested that he wants to change the records from the steroid era. The Yard suggests that the records prior to 1947 be thrown out also because black athletes were not allowed to play. Babe Ruth hit 714 homeruns without ever playing a night game, playing west of Saint Louis or facing an African-American left handed pitcher. The Yard finds that more outrageous and offensive than steroids.

We also find Bud to be an outrage. He personally benefited financially more than almost every other owner during this period of performance enhanced fan interest. As the owner of the Milwaukee Brewers, he turned a $13 million investment in 1970 into a $180 million sale in 2004. The Yard CFO crunched the numbers and the Selig’s did ok on that deal. Bud’s investment in the Brewers netted him $30,319 per game owned. “Wait just a second, what were the dates on that steroid era again?”

The victim of steroids malfeasance is not A-Rod’s testicles or baseball’s cherished records. Both will be pilloried in the years ahead. The victim is our youth and the Norman Rockwell print of our Yard that just got tagged. Cynicism and acceptance are strange bedfellows. We cling to the sports kernel embedded in our youth while the media reminds us daily that that was a time long ago in a galaxy far, far away.

Baseball players were the heroes of our youth. They were regular guys who played the game we all played. Many ball players had to have an off season job just to float the family boat. They lived in the neighborhood, drank beer, and sinned amongst us. They were not that far removed from the neighborhoods, synagogues and churches of their youth. It was their skill, not their money that separated them from us. We forgave their transgressions because they gave at the Yard. Sandy Koufax’s highest salary was a one year, non-guaranteed $125,000 in 1966. That year, Willie Mays was also paid that exorbitant amount with similar terms.

In 2001, Alex Rodriguez signed a contract to be paid $154,320 per GAME! All of the money was guaranteed for a term of ten years. He says he felt pressure to live up to that money so he juiced it up. The pressure of figuring what to do with $1.04 million in monthly after tax income must have been overwhelming. It must have been brutal to endure 1,134 games under these oppressive circumstances. Even to this day, Alex is forcibly required to accept $167,000 per game and he contends that he overcame his juice diet. Of course, this money is only for the regular season. Post Season Alex, well you get what you pay for.

In the coming years, the all-time hits leader, home run leader and greatest pitcher of our lifetimes will be denied access to baseball’s Vatican, Cooperstown. Heroes? We don’t need no stinking heroes! Today’s professional athletes are not our heroes. We do not need to be protected from this illusion by Bud Selig or the US government. It died long ago in a galaxy far, far away.