A-Rod, The Lightning Rod

"Now this looks like a job for me so everybody just follow me, 'cause we need a little controversy 'cause it feels so empty without me."

I could not let the 40th birthday of Eminem slide without injecting his brilliant words into the events that played out that day, especially in the hometown of the Detroit icon.

I had a number of things to tackle all afternoon in the house yesterday, and I had no interest in any more Hofstra debate post-mortem. So I made the mistake of turning on Mike Francesa - not because it wasn't compelling - but because it was. The feeding frenzy around Alex Rodriguez has reached epic proportions, as pictured above.

They Yankees are down and nearly out. Trailing 0-3 to the very legitimate Detroit Tigers isn't the story. The Yankees' exceptional pitching isn't the story. The anemic Yankee bats are. But Robinson Cano, Nick Swisher, Curtis Granderson, and Russell Martin didn't have the media swarmed on them. Only Alex.

Let me try to explain how a lightning rod works.

The building stands in the path of an oncoming electrical storm. 

In order to deflect attention from the vulnerable foundation, the lightning rod is there to attract the storm's blast and channel it away from the larger structure as a whole.

Sound familiar?

The lightning rod has no say in the matter. It's sole purpose is to stand idly and get struck by a bolt of lightning.

And while A-Rod seems often like an automaton who has no humanity or feelings, he shouldn't stand alone to take a strike.

Although Rodriguez isn't alone among Yankees experiencing offensive woes, he is the most visible. And none of this would be an issue if he were producing. He has been his own worst enemy, going 0-for-18 vs RH pitching in the playoffs.

A-Rod stood and faced the media storm yesterday. He was introspective, calm, and outwardly remained confident in both his ability to hit, and ability to contribute to the team. He dropped an "I don't give a shit" at one point, but it was his only real defiance. He was as professional as anyone could possibly be in that circumstance.

So the airwaves are clogged with A-Rod talk now. Was there a pickup attempted of an Australian model during an LCS game? Have the Yankees already discussed trading him to the Marlins? Will he ever see game action in a Yankee uniform again?

GM Brian Cashman met the media yesterday and called A-Rod's benching a "baseball decision" because of the splits versus right-handed pitching, inferring that he'd be in there against a lefty. The Tigers have no left-handed starters, and the Yankees are one game away from the 2012 season being over. And don't expect the storm to pass in the off-season.

Getting Off The Mat

Another night watching two things at once. And believe me, I much rather would've had a picture of the resurgent New York Yankees to lead today's weblog. But no such picture exists as the Yankees now face elimination, trailing Detroit 3-0 in the ALCS. More on that in a bit.

But in the meantime, our President showed some resiliency and some fight after a comatose doppelganger had apparently usurped his body in Denver 12 nights earlier.

I can't remember a debate of any kind affecting me so much. The first 40 minutes were so full of testy exchanges and personal space invasions, it made my heart race.

Certainly Romney had good moments and bad moments, and I felt he didn't lose so much as President Obama was a total badass.

My initial prediction that in a setting with average members of the electorate, Romney was bound to say something unrehearsed that would underscore his being out of touch. And that turned out to be true, on the issue of women in the workplace. Not that I think the "binders full of women" comment that everyone has run with was so bad. But more the context of women in the workplace, and talking about flexible hours so they can get home and make dinner, etc.

It reminds us that Mitt grew up, and subsequently raised his family in Pleasantville. Where breakfast and dinner were always on the table for Mr. Breadwinner. He is just now trying to re-adapt his thinking that things might be different, but he's too old to change. Except his position on abortion, and guns, and health care.

This is something the President gets. They aren't "women's issues," they are family issues and pocketbook issues.

And on this night, when Romney tried to make his own rules of the debate format, he couldn't just steamroll the moderator and the sitting President like they were long-haired hippies at Cranbrook. He was stood up to and put in his place.

When Mr. Romney did have a good comeback, asking the President to check his own overseas investments in his pension, Mr. Obama one-upped him, saying his pension wasn't as big so it wouldn't take as long to read.

And on Libya, the President adhered to The Art Of War axiom (or maybe it was from a comic book): "Never get in the way of your enemy when he is trying to destroy himself."

Hence: Please proceed, Governor. Or as those on Twitter pointed out in real time "The new fuck you."

Former GOP strategist Steve Schmidt remarked that Romney had a good debate on jobs, the economy and on energy. But he was blunt about where Mr. Romney had mis-stepped into fact-check hell:

"Romney's weakest moment was clearly on Libya. He stuck his chin out and got walloped."

Who really won and who lost the night, much like Denver, could be summed up in a wife's facial expression.

Here was the forced grin after watching your soulmate go through the meat grinder, far from the unbridled joy immediately after the first debate.

Meanwhile in Detroit, things continued along their projected path. Despite the much-needed insertion of Eduardo Nunez into the lineup, as he was the only one who could touch Justin Verlander with a solo HR in the 9th. And he turned out to be a difference maker instead of a liability at shortstop as well.

Both Nunez and Eric Chavez (starting for a benched A-Rod) made brilliant defensive plays to keep the game at 2-0 to set the stage for the 9th inning rally. But Jim Leyland and the Tigers smartly went to ex-Yank Phil Coke rather than the super-combustible Jose Valverde to close it.

Now the Yankees face the near-impossible task of winning 4 straight to get to the World Series. It makes me remember 2004 and the curse I placed on my own team when the Yanks took a 3-0 ALCS lead over Boston.

We were in Toledo for a football game, and the Yankees had just won Game 3 going away, 19-8. I put my arm around Bubba, a lifelong Sox fan, and out of pure placation I uttered the following words:

"Just because it hasn't been done, doesn't mean it can't be done."

The Red Sox tied the game in the 9th against Mariano Rivera in Game 4, ultimately winning in 12; and then they won Game 5 in 14 innings.

Game 6 was the Curt Schilling/bloody sock game, and I didn't see it though I listened to every pitch as I drove my family through the night from Omaha to Kalamazoo. We were moving!

The apartment in Kalamazoo was cable-ready, so my first night in my new home was going to be Game 7 of the ALCS. But there was no celebration for my guys, and there was no drama. Kevin Brown got lit up by Johnny Damon and shut down Derek Lowe (both later found their way to the Yankees) and the long Michigan winter was upon us.

But it was in my 3 years in Michigan that I fell in love (sort of) with another team, the Detroit Tigers. During my time there, they went from doormats to league champions. Day-in, day-out, I watched an all-out CF who could actually hit and tear up the bases named Curtis Granderson, and a rookie pitching  sensation named Justin Verlander.

I will cheer like hell for the Tigers should they advance. But first there's CC Sabathia tonight to get the Yankees off the mat, and we'll take it one at a time from there.

Paper Backtime: MoneyWall

It's always a pleasure to read one of the more eclectic voices of our generation. His sports-themed books Moneyball and The Blind Side were developed into highly-acclaimed motion pictures. And in the last year, Lweis has taken to a number of different projects:

His 2012 commencement address at Princeton, his alma mater, was widely received for delivering a message that was well outside the box. The same can be said of his Vanity Fair profile of President Obama.

Or my favorite, the one-page Foreword in Mike Leach's autobiography Swing Your Sword, titled "The Importance of Peeing on the Dog."

But Lewis's bread and butter is his unique documentation of the financial world. He wrote The Big Short about the real-estate meltdown and Boomerang about the global economic crisis. But it all started with the 1989 semi-autobiographical Liar's Poker, chronicling the 1980's Wall Street boom, which of course was a house of cards.

I actually worked on a Wall Street trading desk in the summer of 1987, scribbling stock and option orders at a clearing house for small brokerages. I didn't take much away from the experience other than the blue "sell" and pink "buy" memo pads I swiped on my last day.

I went to Syracuse for my freshman year in late August, and the market crashed two months later. Black Monday was October 19, 1987 when in one day the market dipped 23%. I would've loved to be a fly on the wall on the trading desk that day. Lewis's book chronicles the events, but even more so the attitudes that led to it.

Lewis wasn't on Wall Street in physical address only. He reconstructs his entry at Salomon Brothers and quick ascension through the London bond trading desk to his confirmation as Big Swinging Dick (his words, not mine).

Stock (equity) trading was a banishment at Salomon. Bonds were where it was at, especially mortgage bonds. Lewis paints a bunch of fat piranhas playing huge gamblers, using money to make money in the most Machiavellian manner, and moving tens and even hundreds of millions of dollars within seconds.

"There was a phenomenon known at Salomon as a priority. A priority was a huge number of bonds or stocks that had to be sold, either because selling them would make us rich or because not selling them would make us poor. When Texaco teetered on the brink of bankruptcy, for example, Salomon Brothers owned about one hundred million dollars' worth of bonds in the company. There was a real danger that these bonds would become worthless. Unless sold to customers, they could cost Salomon a great deal of money. Sold to customers, of course, they would cost the customers a great deal of money. That, it was decided, was the best thing to do. Texaco bonds therefore became a priority for the Salomon sales force." (p. 224)

After making $225K as a 27-year old, and that money went a little further in 1988 mind you, Lewis decided to hang up his suspenders and phone bank.

"My father's generation grew up with certain beliefs. One of those beliefs is that the amount of money one earns is a rough guide to one's contribution to the welfare and prosperity of our society." (p.307)

Lewis left Salomon Brothers to contribute to society rather than merely profit off of it. He would modestly have you believe (refer to the Princeton speech) that he achieved what he has in life by luck, a series of fortunate events.

I think there's some truth to that, but it's what you can do with the ball when it's fortunate enough to come your way. Lewis just happened to be sitting next to the wife of a Salomon manager at a royal dinner while at grad school in London. He just happened to leave a lucrative career in investment banking to become an influential writer.

I like to say "things don't happen for a reason; there's a reason things happen." All of our decisions aren't perfect, Lewis after all has been married three times. But more often than not, we make our own luck.

I like Lewis's work a lot. So I picked up Liar's Poker hoping to understand how banks could take on this much risk, and learn about leverage buyouts and the like. I hoped a straight-talking and pretty humorous writer could dumb it all down for me. He was only partially successful. I need to get an MBA. Maybe I can change my own destiny.

Jets In The Greene, Yankees Singing The Blues

In Week 6, the Jets finally found their identity in a 35-9 win over the Colts. All you need to do is read Shonn Greene's stat line: 32 carries, 161 yards, 3 TD. I don't know if it was his season wakeup call that was late, or his offensive line's, but it's hard to argue with the results. What have you done for me lately? Quite a bit, thank you.

The Jets combined for 252 rush yards including a 61-yard "jet" by Joe McKnight, who injured his ankle on the play, and now Jets nation sweats another Monday MRI.

The run game set up the pass game, which is the way it's supposed to work. Mark Sanchez's totals were way down, but he had a couple of nice TD strikes to the Hill boys. And Tim Tebow completed a brilliantly-designed 23-yard pass out of punt formation on 4th and 11.

So despite the Jets' bipolar start, they are an even 3-3 along with the rest of the AFC East.

While one New York team was finding its way, another just two crossed rivers away, looked completely lost.

The Yankees can't hit, and they really haven't the entire postseason. They scored 5 runs in the 9th inning of ALDS Game 1 vs Baltimore and 4 runs in the 9th inning of ALCS Game 1 vs Detroit. In the other 70 innings they've played this postseason, the Yankees have 11 runs.

While A-Rod is the lightning rod, at least he's occasionally hit the ball hard.

It's Robinson Cano who has disappeared from the face of the earth. In the season's last 9 games, he  was absolutely flammable at 24-39 (.615). In the playoffs, he's hitless in his last 26 AB. You just can not figure out baseball, Suzyn.

After another brilliant pitching performance, Hiroki Kuroda could only shake his head at the outcome.

Now the Yankees head 0-2 to Motown without Derek Jeter, and are in desperate need of some run support. They can't count on the level of pitching they've gotten, and it's time for the bats to pick them up.

I think they need to slide Eduardo Nunez right in at the leadoff spot. His bat is live and he's a terror on the bases. Even though he's a butcher in the field at shortstop, it has to be worth the risk at this point.

Game 3 is Tuesday night, Hughes vs Verlander. Haven't we met somewhere before? Oh yes, June 3rd. It was Hughes's only complete game of the year in a 5-1 Yankees win and A-Rod took Verlander (very) deep.

Then there's the more recent August 6th game when Verlander struck out 14 and the Tigers dominated. So there's always that to look forward to.

The Legend Of Johnny Football Builds

My first show in Shreveport in 10 years was somewhat eventful. It was possibly the biggest game in Louisiana Tech history, and delayed 6 weeks by the threat of Hurricane Isaac that forced the postponement of the originally scheduled August 30 meeting.

But to illustrate the difference between the type of resources that divide Texas A&M and Louisiana Tech, I cite my credential from the actual October 13 game. Notice they didn't bother to reprint from Week 1.

Texas A&M raced to a 27-0 lead and we were headed for your garden variety big school-small school, rich school-poor school blowout. Aggie freshman Johnny Manziel (aka "Johnny Football") was flinging the ball all over the place, running for touchdowns, and The Kerrville, Texas product was inspiring visions of Friday Night Lights and Varsity Blues.

But the second half broke out, and as Johnny (Johnny Carson) once asked, "Was that a football game or a track meet?"

The La Tech Bulldogs never quit. They put 41 points on the board after halftime and came within a 2-point conversion of forcing overtime before ultimately submitting 59-57. The game featured 1,293 combined total yards, and we may have seen the eventual Biletnikoff Award winner, Quinton Patton.

The La Tech PR department is obviously all over it, but Patton walked the walk with 21 catches for 233 yards and 4 TD against the Aggies' beleaguered defense.

But the story was Johnny Football. The freshman tallied 576 yards of total offense (395 pass, 181 rush) and 6 total TD (3 of each), breaking the SEC total offense record that he set just 2 weeks ago against Arkansas.

A&M's most important drive started at their own 1 with about 3 minutes to go, leading 53-44. Manziel dropped straight back and fired a 34-yard strike over the defense. Then two plays later, Johnny Football took off on a 72 yard gold rush on a 3rd & 23.

Manziel is listed at 6'1" but I don't believe it. But just because he's a shorter, scrappier, unconventional QB type, and a freshman - doesn't mean he can't win the Heisman Trophy.

Backtime Memo-Random: Shreveport

I was going to follow up on yesterday's Rudy Tomjanovich mantra, "Never underestimate the heart of a champion," so I'll pay it a little lip service.

CC Sabathia was brilliant and the Yankees needed all 9 innings from him in ALDS Game 5 to finally bury Baltimore. Then while we were enjoying an awesome Cajun meal at The Blind Tiger, the champs mounted their relentless comeback from 6-0 down, and the Cardinals shocked the Nationals 9-7.

But I'm going to praise the heart of a TV road warrior instead, myself.

Both stories from the Backtime Travelogue involve where I currently sit: Shreveport.

December 27, 2002

The Independence Bowl had always been a pretty pedestrian matchup between a SEC team and a Big 12 team. Sometimes, a classic breaks out like the 2000 Snow Bowl, when Mississippi State outlasted Texas A&M in the biggest snowstorm ever to hit Shreveport.

The 2002 version was notable for a couple of reasons.

First, the brand-name Nebraska Cornhuskers, who had played for the BCS Championship the season before, came in at 7-6. I had lived in Omaha for less than a year at the time, and was shocked that the Big Red-crazy city sent only one local TV news reporter to Shreveport. The season was already over and the second tier Bowl game was apparently invisible to even the nation's most die hard fans.

Second, Ole Miss had a junior quarterback named Eli Manning. And we spent the 48 hours leading up to the game hunting down a rumor. Finally in the journalistic coup of my career, I discovered that Eli Manning was not in fact dating Britney Spears.

The game was pretty good - Manning threw for 313 yards and the Rebels won 27-23.

It was a good show, and an uneventful departure from Shreveport. Unlike the gamut I had ran nearly four years prior.

January 17-19, 1999

It was in my mercenary (read: whore) period in the business, and I naturally committed to working 4 games in 4 days: 3 as a regional producer and one as a network associate director.

We wrapped up our ho-hum hoop game in Boston College on Sunday (day 2), and I got to Logan on time for a flight to Memphis, expecting a connection to Monroe, Louisiana.

The Monday game was a MLK Day women's matinee between perennial powers UConn and Louisiana Tech in Ruston. It was the national game that I graciously accepted (cha-ching), sandwiched between Boston and South Bend.

I also graciously accepted long before I knew the Jets would be participants in the AFC Championship game. I was waiting my whole life for a Jet game of this magnitude, and I was hoping to catch the end of it on may layover in Memphis.

But a tornado hit Memphis and we circled in the air for nearly three hours. I didn't see a minute of the game, and missed my connection. The Jets squandered a 10-0 second half lead and lost 23-10 in Denver. (Even though I taped the game, I never could bring myself to watch it)

But I had a more immediate problem. I had a 6 AM call time in Ruston, and the first flight into Monroe wouldn't get me in until 10:50 AM, barely 3 hours to tip-off. So I grabbed a rental car and started going. The weather had passed so I figured I'd make most of the 5+ hour drive that night, rack up somewhere along the way, and get to my gig.

It sounded like a good plan. I set the cruise for about 75 MPH, and the drive from Memphis to Little Rock was a cakewalk. But southbound from Little Rock was a different deal. A two-lane highway, no street lights, and deer grazing along the side of the road in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night. My grip is probably still indented on that rental's steering wheel.

It was about 3 AM when I finally reached the outskirts of civilization, and laid head down on an Econo Lodge pillow in El Dorado, Arkansas for about 3 hours. Somehow I made it to Ruston within an hour of my call time, and while it was just another plot point on my 4-day odyssey, I was very happy to see some friends.

I had worked the previous year's 1998 WNBA season with Robin Roberts (play-by-play) and Geno Auriemma (analyst). They both figured in this game as well.

Robin was broadcasting this game. It was always a pleasure working with her. She smiled more than any announcer I've ever worked with and her presence on any show added instant credibility. Both were great qualities to have, especially on an occasionally mundane product like women's basketball.

"Oh my God! I can't see!" Geno saw me before I saw him. It was a resplendently sunny day and he was first off the UConn team bus. He was (and still is) the Huskies' head coach. His exclamation as he waved his hand over his eyes was a reaction to the glare coming off my bald head.

I hadn't really slept, but my work on this day was as a mindless role player. We got on the air, had a 2-hour show, we got off the air. I hopped in the car and burned rubber for Shreveport Airport, where I would get a direct flight to Chicago, and then drive to South Bend.

Except on the road from Ruston to Shreveport I ran out of gas. I never filled up on the ride through the night and I sputtered to an exit in Arcadia, LA. Fortunately the exit ramp was downhill. A truck driver gave me a lift about a half-mile to a Shell. I purchased a gallon of water, emptied it and filled it with regular. I borrowed a funnel from the filling station, and begged a quick ride back to the car.

I returned to top the tank off, and got back on I-20. The whole ordeal took about an hour and the last flight to Chicago was presumably long gone. But when I got to Shreveport Airport, the Chicago flight was significantly delayed so I was still able to make it. The funny thing was it was a ground stop. The plane was on the runway, even though the jetway had been retracted.

So I was escorted to the tarmac with my bags. The American commuter jet opened up their door, rolled down the stairs and I climbed onto the plane. This was pre-9/11, so while it was highly unusual it was possible. I felt very important - a Shreveport VIP - as I melted into my seat to grab a few minutes rest before I had to start studying for Seton Hall/Notre Dame.

But that plane that was stuck on the runway would never leave for Chicago that day. After we were ultimately canceled, I walked across the terminal (inside this time) onto the Dallas flight and made the last connection to Chicago from there, where I finally landed after Midnight.

It had been 70 degrees in Louisiana and it was under 10 in Chicago. I scraped the ice off my rental car windshield and ricocheted off to South Bend...a little too fast. About two miles out of O'Hare I saw the lights and sirens and got pulled over.

I was almost happy as I got to tell the story of my day to the cop. I woke up in some roadside dump in Arkansas, I worked in Ruston, ran out of gas in Arcadia, got a flight canceled in Shreveport, and two flights later was now still 90+ minutes from South Bend.

He said something along the lines of "That's quite a story" as though he was skeptical. I fished out my boarding pass and my Louisiana Tech credential. I realized at that point my fingers still smelled like gasoline but resisted the urge to have the police officer take a whiff.

He gave me a warning and asked me to take it easy - at least until I crossed the Indiana line.

I pulled up at the Marriott South Bend, after the time change around 4 AM. I got about 5 hours of sleep when the phone rang in my hotel room. It wasn't my wake up call. It was my network boss, offering his thanks for my efforts above and beyond what was required of me to get to Ruston.

I could have told him what I did to get from Ruston to the landline in South Bend he was calling, but I simply told him it was no problem at all. It's all just part of the job.

Traveling Through The Quad

For the second straight weekday, the MLB Division Series provided 4 games strung in a row. With the constant tension, looming elimination, close finishes, and overlapping action it was reminiscent of March Madness.

I couldn't just sit in front of the TV as I had to travel today so I caught bits and pieces in the afternoon. When I pulled up at the Savannah airport, the Giants and Reds were scoreless in the 3rd in their Game 5.

When I landed in Atlanta I had an hour to kill in Terminal D - not a lot of options, but hit Atlanta City Blues for some BBQ nachos. I couldn't stay for the end, but I did see Angel Pagan's game-sealing diving catch in the 8th.

I had to board the plane for Shreveport but the 2010 champion Giants sealed the deal, winning 3 straight on the road in Cincinnati and advancing to the NLCS.

It reminded me of what Rudy Tomjanovich said in 1995, when his Houston Rockets won their second straight NBA title as the #6 seed in the West.

"Never underestimate the heart of a champion."

I mean seriously. They lost closer Brian Wilson for the year. They lost top hitter Melky Cabrera to suspension. Two-time Cy Young winner Tim Lincecum wasn't even near the shadow of himself (until they needed him the most in relief in Game 4). They dug deep and found the team unity and resiliency of two years ago.

I checked the phone when I landed in Shreveport and saw the Giants result, and the Cardinals and Nationals were tied 1-1 in the 8th. I hopped in the rental car, drove a mile to the hotel, checked in, and dashed up to the room - just in time to see Jayson Werth circling the bases after a walk-off home run.

So Game 5 in Washington Friday night, and it's a great pitching matchup: 21-game winner Gio Gonzalez for the Nats, and Adam Wainwright and his 0.77 career postseason ERA dealing for the Cards.

So double down that Rudy T quote for the defending champs from St. Louis. And what of the 2009 champion Yankees? Well, you gotta score runs to win.

Since erupting for 5 runs in the 9th inning of Game 1, the Bronx Bombers have bombed. In Games 2-4, they have 6 runs total in 34 innings. They've batted .192 as a team in those 3 games.

And while much has been made of A-Rod's struggles at the plate, and granted he's been terrible in key spots, but at least he's hit a few line drives. Robinson Cano is 2-for-18 (.111) and Curtis Granderson is damn-near an automatic out at 1-for-16 (.063) with 9 Ks.

On this night, the Yankees stranded runners in scoring position in the 3rd, 6th, 7th, and 8th before eventually succumbing due to non-support in the 13th.

Now they'll have to lace 'em up and ride CC Sabathia just 17 hours later. And he'll have to go the whole way after Rafael Soriano and David Robertson each pitched multiple innings two days in a row.

But this is why you have to win the division in a 162-game season. The Yankees didn't have to go through the Wild Card - they have one game at home with their top pitcher on the hill. It's a decided advantage that they earned, but anything is possible.

Due to the length of the Yankee debacle, I missed most of the nightcap between the Tigers and the A's. But unlike the Oakland Athletics' season, it was anticlimactic. They had the unfortunate assignment of going against this guy.

Justin Verlander's postseason resume is fairly undistinguished (4-3, 4.96 coming into the game), but seriously who would you rather put out there in one game with the season on the line? And he of course delivered in spectacular fashion with a complete game, 4-hit shutout and 11 Ks.

I didn't watch a second of the NFL game, but I understand there was some Matt Hasselbeck magic and the Titans upset the Steelers. I also didn't watch Arizona State roll Colorado, which was expected. I did stream the VP debate through the laptop, and that was about what I expected.

Now it's time for the Yankees to do the unexpected on Friday... score some runs.