There was never a happier day in the Texas Rangers' Clubhouse than the day A-Rod's teammates saw elbows, shoe soles, and bleep of this jerk walking out the door.
I saw "42" last night.
It is a film that deals with a young, talented, complex and driven man's often difficult and reluctant struggle against irrational racial prejudice in post-war America, as well as his own flaws and demons.
I was afraid that the filmmakers would take the easy, politically correct way out, making a hero of Jackie Robinson for the courage to "sacrifice" himself on the alter of Evil, Racist America in the 1940s. But that's not what they did. Not at all.
What they did was to allow the character of Jackie Robinson to triumph. Not because he was black or in any manner related to his skin color, but because he was
good. Not merely good, as in talented as a player which he so obviously was, but a decent and honorable man in his heart and mind. Jackie worked harder than anyone, because he had to. He rarely complained, although he had every right to.
He did not feel entitled, in spite of his talent, but rather
privileged to have a chance to play the game he loved, at a level commensurate with his skill.
And because I respect and admire and love everything about Jackie Robinson, as I have since I myself was a child, I view people like Alex Rodriguez as an embarrassment at best; a cheater and a whiner, a stain upon the honor of far greater baseball players who have gone before him.
