Today, Scratchbomb hands over the reins to nationally syndicated sports columnist Skitch Hanson. You may know him as the author of the highly popular column “Up The Middle,” recipient of the 2006 Mitch Albom Award for Most Self-Righteous Moralizing in a Single Sports Column. You may have read his best-selling books “Numbers Prove Nothing Except When They Do” and “No One Will Ever Be Better than Willie Mays Because I Said So”. He’s also a frequent guest on ESPN’s sportswriters panel show Four Paunchy White Guys . Without further ado, here’s Skitch.

Many Yankees fans are calling for Joe Torre’s head, now that he’s failed to deliver yet another World Series title. But if you cut off Torre’s head, then the Yankees will literally lose their head as well.

No, make that figuratively. Figuratively lose their head. In any case, it would be bad.

But since there’s no way that Cleveland was simply a better team than the Yankees, someone must be to blame. If you want to know who’s really responsible for the Yankees’ postseason failure, there’s only one man you need to look to. And I know this won’t be a very popular opinion, but I have to say it anyway.

That’s right: Alex Rodriguez.

Derek Jeter: The clutchest, most inspiring GIDPs of all time

The so called “A-Rod” went “AWOL” in the playoffs, hitting “a” miserable .267. Why, that’s not even 100 points better than Derek Jeter batted! And it’s barely 150 points better than Jorge Posada’s .133! When you earn as much money as Alex Rodriguez does, you must always perform astronomically better than your peers or else you’re a fraud.

I know what you’re saying: “Skitch, what about A-Rod’s unbelievably fantastic regular season numbers? The Yankees wouldn’t have gotten to the postseason in the first place without him.”

That’s what one of those eggheady sabermagicians would say. You know the type. Think they’re so smart just because they came up with new stats and you flunked eighth grade algebra three years in a row. Those smug bastards, sitting in their parents’ basement, playing with slide rules and eating Cheetos.

By the way, I’m not saying Cheetos aren’t delicious. I eat them constantly. I crush a handful up and sprinkle them on my eggs every morning.

My point is, regular season numbers mean nothing in and of themselves. Nearly all of A-Rod’s offensive production came in completely meaningless situations. There may have been a double here or an RBI single there that impacted a game. But 99 percent of his hits did nothing to advance the Yankees to the postseason.

How do I know that? I just do. I don’t need to look at “splits,” unless they involve bananas, ice cream, and hot fudge (and maybe some Cheetos if I’m feeling frisky). I feel A-Rod’s anti-clutchitude in my gut. When I evaluate a player’s production, I listen to my heart. And not just because my doctor described my arrhythmia as “frighteningly chaotic”.

Let’s take a look at game 4 against the Indians. In the 7th inning, with the score 6-2, Rodriguez hit a solo home run. A sabermunition would say that this was meaningful because it made the game closer. And it probably increased his VERP or ALF or some other stupid made-up stat that I can’t understand because no one ever taught me long division.

The truth is, that home run only made the game 6-3, because Rodriguez was selfish enough to hit it with nobody on base. And since the Yankees never came back to win the game, it ultimately meant nothing. It was a gutless, me-first move on A-Rod’s part.

Contrast that with the King of Clutch, Derek Jeter. In the bottom of the 6th, Captain Intangibles came to the plate with two men on, one out, and a chance to get the Yankees back in the game. And with every ounce of grit and determination, he grounded into a double play to end the inning.

“Wait a minute,” I hear you saying, “that’s pretty much the worst thing a batter can do in that situation.”

That’s what you’d say if you only paid attention to stats. If you watched the game, you would have seen that Jeter absolutely smoked the ball. The fact that he smoked the ball straight to the second baseman is beside the point. He ran up the first base line harder than anyone who knows he’s just hit into double play. And when he stopped running just past the first base bag, he looked at the camera, and you didn’t see the tiniest hint of desperation or panic in his eyes. Those smoldering, intense eyes.

Gosh, you could just lose yourself in those eyes for days, couldn’t you? *sigh*

Jeter leads by example. So the way that he grounded into a double play was much more important to his team’s chances than A-Rod’s home run, which was clearly hit out of fear and neediness. Simply by the way he plays the game, every time he fouls out or strikes out contributes infinitely more the Yankees’ success than A-Rod’s flashy home runs and
bases-clearing doubles.

And if you think that makes no sense, there’s your problem: stop thinking.

* * *

Brett Favre: The most modest interceptions of all time

Speaking of guys who play the game the right way, congrats to Brett Favre, who just set the all-time touchdown record for quarterbacks. Brett has always been the consummate competitor, but he also knows when to let his hair down and have fun. Which is even more amazing when you consider that he has very little hair.

Take last week’s loss to the Bears, for instance. When facing an interdivisional opponent, who also happens to be your most hated rival, most quarterbacks would play a little tight. Not Brett. He looked loose and free all afternoon, especially when unleashing two interceptions.

If another quarterback was responsible for the same kind of picks Brett was last Sunday, you’d probably call them brain-melting, mind-numbingly bad decisions. But obviously, he was simply trying to inject a little levity into a bitter rivalry that can get a little too serious at times.

Not only that, but he didn’t even toot his own horn after the game, even though he’d just broken the all-time record for QB interceptions. Brett Favre, class act.

* * *

Damn dirty Swedes…

Last year, I landed in a bit of hot water for my NBA Season Preview column. Among other things, I said that “98 percent of all players in the league are either thugs or look like them, and the other 2 percent are filthy foreigners trying to turn the game into a sissified bastard
daughter of soccer.”

I’m not sure why this was so inflammatory, but the media caught a hold of it. I suppose I am technically a member of the media, but still, I blame them for fanning the flames. Before I knew it, I was being condemned by the NAACP, the Future Farmers of American, and the ASPCA for some reason.

So in the interests of fair time, I figured I’d take a shot at the NHL. I don’t care what you say, anyone who wears skates has to be a bit fruity. And the league has far too many Swedes in it for my taste. I hate Swedes with a fiery, undying passion.

There, does that make it better?

* * *

Some things I think about things that I think:

* If the Celtics do well this season, Red Auerbach will not have died in vain.

* I hear that Heroes show might be good. If somebody could tape that for me, that’d be great.

* The NFL should really stand up and do something about these t-shirt cannons.

* Someone should tell Amy Winehouse that if she doesn’t clean up her act, she’ll never find a good husband.

*
I went to watch the local high school basketball team last Saturday. I was really impressed by community support they received, and the level of play on the court. I was less impressed by the punks who slashed the tires of my Kia and urinated all over the driver’s side window.

* My vote for clutch player of the year is whoever that guy is on the Rockies that got that one big hit.

* VH1 should stop doing all this “I Love the 80s” nonsense and go back to what they do best: showing Phil Collins videos.

* Have you heard of this Frank Caliendo fella who does all the impressions? I sure hope they give him a TV show of some kind.

* The other day, when I couldn’t sleep ’cause the wife was out all night again, I watched a tape of last year’s AFC championship game. That Colts-Pats tilt is already a classic in my book. Believe me, it doesn’t suffer from repeat viewings–I was up all night and watched it three times! I definitely recommend watching it if you’re ever consumed with worry, jealousy, and a crippling sense of dread.

* If you wanna know funny, look no further than Ray Romano.