So yesterday, during his avidly (droolingly) awaited press conference, Alex Rodriguez of the Yankees confessed to using banned substances in order to enhance his baseball performance. Since we already knew that, the confession wasn’t especially interesting.
What got my goat was his claim that he’s had a “tough year,” as if somehow we’re supposed to feel bad for a guy who gets paid $25 million per year to play in the park. I’ve been through a divorce and empathize with how painful that is, but I don’t feel the least bit bad about all the time he’s been hounded by the press. He’s a PROFESSIONAL ATHLETE, for heaven’s sake. In NEW YORK CITY. Making THAT KIND OF MONEY. Chasing one of the most storied records in baseball history, sports history for that matter, trying to wrest it back from a strongly-suspected cheater.
You’ll forgive me, A-Rod, if my sympathy only goes so far. You have one of the cushiest lives of anybody in the world. Sure, you work hard at your game, but you are pretty much the paradigmatic example of luxury.
So quit whining, you asshole. We don’t feel bad for you.