Winsurance

Any Yankee fan who wants to disown Alex Rodriguez should Instagram themselves torching their 2009 World Series Championship shirt, hat and commemorative Sports Illustrated issue.

The what-have-you-done-for-me-latelies are using A-Rod's PED punishment as an excuse in hoping their beloved Yankees save millions Band-Aiding Brian Cashman's misses in the farm system, as well as taking fliers on vets whom would be collecting pensions if not for the Steinbrenners' deep pockets.

Rodriguez hasn't been the same since he finally hoisted the World Series trophy more emphatic "umph" than when Lebron James bodyslammed his proverbial monkey two seasons ago.

Funny how that same year, Yankee fans rallied behind his needle-pocked buttocks as he routinely crushed game-winning blasts over the left field wall at the new Yankee Stadium, a feat seldom accomplished by a right-handed hitter since the days of Joltin' Joe.

They did the same thing for Jason Giambi. Not after his admission to using PEDs, but when he finally started hitting again after Cashman threatened to send him to down to (then) Columbus. It's hard to say fans dealt with A-Rod the same way after his return from surgery in May of 2009; His first pitch sailed over the wall at Camden Yards. It was pretty easy to root for the guy after that: he took the fans off the hook the way most troubled athletes do. By winning.

Just ask Boston Red Sox fans. There no bandwagon that grew faster than "Red Sox Nation" spreading like Islam all over North Africa during the sixth century. Saux fans can't talk either. We all remember the "anonymous" positive test leaks of fellow curse-busters David Ortiz and Manny Ramirez. Heck, two World Series rings hang on those Bash Brothers. Funny how nobody in the Twins organization thought Ortiz could hit, while Papi didn't even start Opening Day in Beantown. Suddenly, he emerges in the middle of June, 2003 the way Sammy Sosa resurrected himself five seasons earlier.

Nobody here is asking for folks to trade in their rings, memorabilia or memories over titles tainted by needles in their haystacks. What's won is won. Blame baseball. Blame the Players Association. Blame the CBA. Blame the 1994 strike. Blame Jose Canseco.

But be honest. Blame yourself, too.

The real reason you hate A-Rod is because he's not the same player he was when the Yankees re-signed him, and the Yankees are still stuck paying him until further notice.

Even the Texas Rangers are on the hook for $40-50 million in deferred payments they owe the 'roid-smuggling slugger who admitted to use during his days in Arlington, starting in 2016. You don't hear much from them nowadays, do you?

He was once great and now he sucks. That's why you loathe him. That's the only reason you loathe him.
Whether he plays in grays tonight against the Chicago White Sox is irrelevant. A suspension is coming and his career in pinstripes is over.

No Mariano Rivera-like goodbye tour. No Hideki Matsui Retire-a-Yankee Day. No Derek Jeter tearjerker moments, the likes of which haven't been seen since Cal Ripken, Jr. said goodbye.

No day in Cooperstown.

Our generation will be the first among many of which baseball fans won't be able to argue who The Best was.

Mays or Mantle? Ruth or Cobb? Or Gehrig? Williams or DiMaggio?

Stack those against Griffey vs. Name-the-User. Can't even fairly argue FOR Griffey since thanks to his downfall in Cincy, or due to full-time PED-lers. The fact A-Rod and his Biogenesis brethren even skated this far shows the skid baseball mas to make-up in catching more users.

Welcome to Baseball's Boo World Order. Albeit, hardly new.

Less than one generation from now, records will be like those in the NFL: irrelevant.

The late Oakland/LA/Oakland Raiders owner Al Davis was ahead of his time: "Just Win, Baby."

Even if you get caught. Just keep producing.

Because failure has nothing to do with cheating anymore.

It's failure to produce WHILE cheating.

Life of Riley

To say Riley Cooper effed-up is like qualifying Michael Vick's serial dog killings as misdemeanors.

Though there's not much that's sillier than white SportsCenter anchors asking black correspondents to opine on the Philadelphia Eagles WR, or white-white commentary, or even black talk show callers excusing Cooper simply because they're black and have authority to do so by default.

Cooper was drunk. He was on tape. And he figuratively boasted he could kick the assets of a black bouncer he characterized with a hateful word with roots stretching as far back as the whips used on the backs of that security guard's ancestors.

Cooper became a household name faster than his quarterback did among Westminster breeders. Is he a racist? Maybe. Does it matter? Apparently. Has he apologized? Of course. Was he sincere? Sure. Will his Mea Cooper work? Time will tell. It is football after all, and the problem should solve itself both on the field and in the locker room.

We all know by now the forbidden word in America used by racists and hypocrites alike. If you don't want a problem, don't use it.

But unlike Jimmy the Greek, Al Campanis, Michael Richards and John Rocker, Cooper can still quell collateral consequences:

Catch touchdowns.

If recovered canine killer, Michael Vick, and countless steroid users have taught us anything, it's the fact that winning cures all. And it better.

If the Eagles struggle, Cooper won't have to worry about the consequences of being the NFL's Grand Wizard.

He'll just struggle to find work. Anywhere.