Keyboard Quarterbacks

Dear Rocket,

Please be telling the truth about all this steroid stuff, Roger.

Not so much for the sake of your reputation or the reputation of the game and all that, but rather to help fans restore their faith in athletes speaking out to the media.

The court of public opinion is already way too slanted toward negativity when it comes to believing what people say. We're guilty until proven innocent in that court, regardless of what the constitution says about that in the real court system. Nick Saban didn't help matters. Neither did Herm Edwards. Most other things athletes say are tough to believe.

But, Rocket, here's hoping you're telling the truth. You've been on YouTube, "60 Minutes" and Monday's press conference denying all the allegations in the Mitchell Report. With each statement, you've been more and more adamant about your non-use of steroids and HGH.

The lidocaine and vitamin B-12 shots may be true, but Rafael Palmeiro made that tough to believe. Again, we're hoping you're telling the truth, just to restore our faith in athletes telling the truth. I don't know how you do it, though, short of Brian McNamee admitting he lied.

The way the media is now, it'll convict Rocket at every turn as a way of making up for looking the other way all those years ago Jose Canseco started this whole thing. Clemens is paying for the sins of all the others, since he's the biggest name in the Mitchell Report and the only one to refute it.

Of course, there's a good chance that McNamee did tell the truth. There's also a chance he lied. We're hoping he lied.

However you do it, Roger, just prove yourself truthful in this matter. It will be tough, simply because of the way human nature is. But, Rocket, find a way to make us all believe what athletes say again.

Best,
Mark La Monica
Keyboard Quarterback

Roger Clemens strongly denies any and all allegations of steroid and HGH use on YouTube.

Here's hoping he's proven to be true with these statements, if for no other reason than the sports world doesn't need another Nick "I am the coach of the Miami Dolphins and I'm not going to Alabama" Saban.

By Mark La Monica

Heck of a thing, this Mitchell Report.

It set off all the alarms in all the media outlets around the country.

First the Clemens info leaked. Then Pettitte. Then Albert Pujols. Oh wait, that last one, yeah, hang on. WNBC made a bit of a boo-boo when they leaked on their Web site what they thought to be the list of named players. That list included Pujols, Nomar Garciaparra, Jason Varitek, Aaron Boone, Bret Boone and others.

That same story on their site (which has since been removed) also mentioned that MLB disputed their list and then this special disclaimer: "We're checking into it."

Wow! That just might be the most awful display of news judgment since the TV executive who approved "Cop Rock" way back in the day.

They did, however, land an accurate arrow with Darren Holmes.

Darren Holmes!

I'll take "Memorable trades the Yankees made where they received cash back for Ben Ford and Izzy Molina for $100," Alex.

This highlights the big stuff and fluff of this Mitchell Report. To be sure, Roger Clemens and Andy Pettitte being named is big news. Not surprising, though, given the circulation of their names when Jason Grimsley (!) got busted, but big nonetheless.

This is only Day 1 of this story and much will develop in the next few weeks and months. What's true? What's not? Nobody really knows right now. George Mitchell's report is based heavily on the unchallenged testimony of two trainers who have just-sharpened Ginsus ready to chop up their onions. Still, it could all be true. It could all be a bunch of yang.

If the Pettitte thing is proven true, that would be upsetting. I always liked him. Sick pickoff move. I practiced it all the time, But at least we can always think back to Game 5 of the 1996 World Series and his 1-0 gem against John Smoltz -- easily the greatest playoff game in the Yankees' latest dynasty. That was before Clemens, the biggest big-game jinx in sports (doing a commercial for "The Power of Living" book is second) joined the Yankees.

However, Canseco, Palmeiro, Bonds, the Giambis, Sheffield and Tejada shook no worlds. Not even their own. Most of the names in the Mitchell Report rest have either been mentioned and rumored about publicly or were just so insignificant in their careers, that you wonder how people outside of the baseball pension office could even remember them now.

All the days and dollars spent on this investigation and we get hit with Mark Carreon, Manny Alexander, Ricky Bones, Dan Naulty, Tim Laker and Ken Caminiti, who happens to not be alive anymore (because of admitted steroid use). Stunning work, George.

Carreon did hit 69 home runs, though. Of course, it took him 739 games.

The Mitchell Report set off more waves than Michael J. Fox on top of a truck, but it's also full of as much fluff as the Stay Puf marshmallow man. In the coming weeks, we'll find out if the streams get crossed.

By Mark La Monica

I realize that Joe Torre played for other teams and managed for other teams before coming to New York. But, wow, it sure looks weird now seeing him in a different uniform, be it Dodger blue or not.

Watch for yourself.

By Mark La Monica

Thank you, Susanna Hoffs and the rest of The Bangles for those slightly modified lyrics from the 80s pop hit "Manic Monday."

Manic is a bit of understatement right now. More like just another insane, crazy, bonkers Monday in New York sports. Just when it seemed the right play to lament Boston's dominance over New York in the sports world, New York delayed the pain with a monster of a day.

Follow this little chain reaction:

The Yankees chose Joe Girardi over Donnie Baseball for their vacant managing job.

Donnie Baseball, somewhat perturbed for getting passed over for the top spot as if he was Fredo Corleone, left his position as Yankees bench coach.

Then, in the moments before midnight and the actual changing of the calendar day, buckets of rumors hit the Internet that Joe Torre is going to be named the next manager of the Los Angeles Dodgers, replacing the soon-to-be-canned Grady Little.

Just to add to the chaos, Mattingly is rumored to join Joe Hollywood at Chavez Ravine. Yankees hitting coach Kevin Long is also possibly rumored to make the move. But that's slightly more speculative than the Torre-Mattingly thing.

And there's the ripple effect of A-Rod opting out of the last three years of his contract and hitting the free-agent market.

Oh, wait we're not done.

The Jets announced that Kellen Clemens is their new starting quarterback, replacing the ineffective Chad Pennington.

Supposedly, the Red Sox won the World Series somewhat recently. You wouldn't know it today, at least not in New York.

Crazy, crazy day.

By Mark La Monica

Scott Boras announced during Game 4 of the World Series that A-Rod would be opting out of the final three years of his contract with the Yankees.

Hate him if you wish for blowing all that smoke during the season about how he loves New York. Hate him for losing his bat in the Yankee lineup. Or love him for leaving. It's your choice. But here are three reasons Alex Rodriguez made the right decision.

1) Personal peace

A-Rod gets killed in the New York media. Newspaper, Internet, TV stations, radio stations, everything. The guy tries to enjoy Central Park with his wife and child a few hours before he has to be at the ballpark, does it without a shirt on, and because he's only hitting .280 at the time, the New York tabloids hammer him.

He's the only professional baseball player to enjoy the company of a woman that's not his wife and get it plastered on the front and back covers of every newspaper in town. You really think A-Rod is the only player on the Yankees, the Mets or in baseball that goes out on the town with other women when they're on the road?

It was only a matter of time before he let his alarm clock snooze three times and his neighbor calls the police on him.

No one needs that kind of regular abuse, regardless of how much money he or she gets paid to play a game. In every other aspect of life, there's a hotline people can call to report such acts of violence and hatred.

2) Carpe diem . . . squared

By opting out, A-Rod can negotiate another monster contract at the peak of his career. Coming off a huge year (.314, 54 HR, 156 RBI, 143 R, 24 SB), A-Rod has an overzealous owner's checkbook at his feet. Becoming a free agent at age 32 instead of 35, he's more likely to receive a longer-term deal. Teams would be slightly more hesistant to throw an eight-year deal that ends at age 43 instead of 40.

So, why not try to max out while he can? We all would do the same thing in our jobs. The only difference is $5,000 means a heck of a lot more to us than $5 million does to him. But still, go for yours. Like Johnny Depp said in the first "Pirates of the Caribbean" movie: "Take what you can, give nothing back."

3) Derek Jeter

A-Rod is not Derek Jeter. In any other city, that's not a problem. But New York is Jeter's city. A-Rod faced the inevitable questions, scrutiny and comments about sharing a uniform, a left side of the infield and a city with the Yankees' captain. Damn that pesky Esquire magazine interview where A-Rod took a shot at Jeter.

Whichever team he goes to, he won't have to deal with that kind of stuff on a daily basis. No one in Chicago would care that A-Rod was once traded for Alfonso Soriano. No one in Boston would care about that slap of Bronson Arroyo's glove or the Jason Varitek scrap. (Imagine a 3-4-5 of Big Papi, Alex Rodriguez and Manny Ramirez.) Angels fans wouldn't get too grumpy over A-Rod's double play to end any rally hopes in the 2005 ALDS.

Once he withstands the negative reaction in New York to his decision and the inevitable PR backlash from his next megadeal, he can just go and be A-Rod. You know, that guy that gets paid like Michael Jordan and Shaquille O'Neal did. Of course, those guys won championships.

By Mark La Monica

The Yanks are in the postseason for 13th straight season, which produces a 13th straight season of "Win the World Series or the season is a failure" stories, columns and quotes.

Some folks subscribe to that theory, that a World Series ring comes with residency in Yankees Universe. That's not realistic and we know that (or at least most of us do).

I had the magical 1996 season, where Joe Girardi's triple is still rolling around right-centerfield in my mind. I had the insane 1998 season, where Tino Martinez hit a three-run homer in the first inning at least 162 times. I had the 1999 season, where I almost died from choking on a bite of a sandwich the day of Game 2 (thanks again, Bones and Noose). I had 2000 and the thrill of being in Shea Stadium for the clinching Game 5 of the Subway Series.

So, I don't mind if the Yankees don't win another title for a little while. However, I would enjoy one more World Series ring this season for one reason: Don Mattingly.

Yankees fans whose fandom began 11 Octobers ago may find this next sentence difficult to comprehend.

Don Mattingly was Derek Jeter before Derek Jeter was Derek Jeter.

From 1984-1995, Don Mattingly was the main reason to be a Yankee fan. The one player fans could look to and say, "I want to make my dad take me to the Stadium because this guy is playing for them."

Just as Jeter owns New York City now (he does, regardless of how many bombs A-Rod hits), Mattingly did then. And he did it with a resume that included zero championship rings and even less famous women.

Mattingly was the quintessential tragic hero, the type of character that would make Shakespeare run out feathers and ink. When it came to Donnie Baseball, the only man in recent sports history to be nicknamed after the sport he played, any Yankee fan in the '80s and '90 would have chipped in to pay free-agent contracts to help him win a ring.

He just had the aura about him. He was the everyman, an aw-shucks Midwesterner who readily identified with the working class. Of course, it helped that he could hit the ball wherever he wanted.

Today's thirtysomethings who grew up Yankee fans can appreciate this: Mattingly was the player we all emulated in Little League. When someone would ask us who we wanted to be when we grow up, "Don Mattingly" was the standard response. Now, it's Jeter. And rightfully so. He's earned every bit of it.

Ask any true Yankee fan in 1994 how furious they were that August day when Bud Selig canceled the World Series. The Yanks had the best record in the American League at the time. The Yanks had Don Mattingly at the time.

Ask any true Yankee fan in 1995 how excited they were that early October day in Toronto when the Yankees clinched their first playoff berth since 1981. The Yankees lost to Seattle, 3-2. Don Mattingly hit .417, then retired a few months later.

Ask any true Yankee fan in 1996 how pained they were that mid-October day in New York when the Yankees won their first World Series since 1978 and Don Mattingly was nowhere to be found in pinstripes.

Ask any true Yankee fan in 1997 how sad they were that early April day in New York when the Don Mattingly, standing in Monument Park among the Yankee legends and championship winners, helped raise that World Series banner on Opening Day.

So, if for no other reason in 2007, let the Yankees win the World Series. For Donnie.

By Mark La Monica

Hundreds, perhaps even thousands, of people will write in their newspaper game stories and columns, or on their Web sites or blogs, about Barry Bonds and his 756th career home run, hit moments before midnight (EDT) on Tuesday, Aug. 7, 2007 off Nationals starter Mike Bacsik.

Very few of those written pieces outside the Bay Area, be it by professional journalists or civilians, will say something this effect: I am happy for Barry Bonds. (I am in New York, by the way.)

That is correct.

I am happy for Barry Bonds. Props to the San Francisco slugger for reaching a place no other American has even reached. That must be an incredible feeling. To be the sole holder of what just may be the greatest record in American sports. Bold.

In past writings, I've supported Barry Bonds through all the steroid and performance-enhancing drug allegations. Did he do it knowingly? Maybe. Maybe not. "Knowingly" being the keyword here, since he admitted ingesting stuff to a grand jury, according to leaked testimony.

I read "Game of Shadows." It's rather damning. But to pull a Bud Selig and turn my back on Bonds now wouldn't be fair. Not without more concrete proof. Plus, let's not forget that using performance-enhancing drugs was not against the rules of baseball until a few seasons ago.

The man is a great player. Always has been. A guaranteed Hall of Famer well before that bottle of andro was found in Mark McGwire's locker in 1998 and set off an amazing chain reaction across baseball. He could do it all on the baseball field, unlike any other player of his generation -- and most other generations. There is no denying his talent.

He's a polarizing figure, no doubt. A man capable of charming you with his personality and smile. A man capable of making you cringe with some of the reports about his actions in the clubhouse. Which is true? We don't know. Probably both.

When two reporters at the postgame press conference asked questions about "tainted" records and what would Bonds say to Greg Anderson if he were here, Bonds deftly worked around them. As well he should have.

This was not a night to kill Bonds. Hasn't that been done every day for the past three years already? And most likely the next three? What did they expect him to say? "Uh, yeah, I took roids and thankfully Greg Anderson hasn't said anything about it."

Those questions don't need to be asked. They've been asked 400 times day for the past three years. You're not going to get a juicy soundbyte out of that, or a good quote to stick in the paper, so don't waste the time. Or phrase the question to be less transparent.

Or, just give the man the credit he deserves for being an amazing ballplayer. No one has swung a bat and connected for a home run more times than Bonds.

What Bonds did or did not do, we'll never know. Ain't like he was going to touch home plate, hug his family, grab the mike and say, "Gotcha, suckas! I'm more juiced than Tropicana!"

But, if you can remove yourself from the groupthink mentality surrounding Bonds' presumed guilt -- clearly, Bug Selig doesn't have the moral strength to think for himself -- you will see that Bonds is among the five best baseball players ever. Think about all the players you've seen play in your lifetime. Then think about all the players your father has seen in his lifetime. Then think about all the players your grandfather has seen in his lifetime.

And Bonds is among the five best. And now he's the best home run hitter of all-time. That didn't happen solely because he may or may not have altered his physique through unnatural chemical means. Alex Sanchez was the first to come up dirty in MLB testing. How many career home runs does he have? Six! Matt Lawton? He hit 138 career bombs.

Neifi Perez is one suspension shy of qualifying as a Chris Rock's stunt double for "New Jack City." Yeah, he was hitting .172 when he got booted again.

Of course, there's the Rafael Palmeiro scenario, which is so muddy a water that no one knows what numbers to believe.

I stood and cheered for Bonds at Shea Stadium last season when everyone else booed. In the end, I may be proven wrong, but at least I had the courage to not jump on the Bash Barry Bandwagon just because everyone else already had a ticket to ride.

So, props to Bonds on hitting No. 756. And props on No. 757, 758 and however many he hits, provided George Mitchell's investigation proves as ineffective as it appears to be right now.

By Mark La Monica

Hey there, Red Sox Nation. If you take a look at the MLB standings today, you might notice that you're in first place in the AL East.

You might then notice that your lead is down to six games. A month ago, that lead was 9.5 games.

Chip, chip, chip.

Those pesky Yankees are methodically working their way toward the top of those standings. At 19-7 since the All-Star break, the Yanks have the best record in baseball. I'm just saying.

Is it just a matter of time before the Yankees take over first place? Maybe. Maybe not. But at least we've got ourselves a race. And it's going to be fun to watch the Nation start to squirm a little bit when the Yanks get to within four games of Boston before that three-game series at the Stadium Aug. 28-30.

Who knows, maybe that Sept. 14-16 series in Fenway will be irrelevant by then. Should that happen, it won't be just the Bronx that is burning.

An early prediction: Melky "Bleeping" Cabrera.

By Adam Abramson

Bud Selig and I have had similar expressions.

When Barry Bonds launched No. 755 into the San Diego stands, Selig was among the last to stand in the stadium. When he was motioned to rise, he then stood there the same way I did after seeing a local high school perform "The Nutcraker."

I guess I'll call it the "Huh? It's over? Oh, I'll stand" response. I actually think I clapped when the kids took a bow, though.

Selig's lukewarm attitude has been embarrassing. He would have benefited greater by choosing a definitive stance on Bonds breaking the record -- whether for or against it.

But he's teetered on the line of "Innocent until proven guilty" and "hands in the pocket when it's crunch time." Now they say he'll miss the next three games in San Francisco. If you're there for 755, you have to be there for 756. When's the last time you saw footage of Henry Aaron hitting No. 714? I don't know that I've ever seen that. Only 715.

This whole situation has furthered my impression of Selig as a big dumb animal.

By Mark La Monica

Um, uh, er, uh, yeah. How about them Yankees?

Just two weeks ago they were chipping away at that 13.5 game lead the Red Sox held over them. Had it down to 8 games at one point.

Now, um, not so much. It's right back up to 11 games. Pick-up basketball games go to 11. Not American League East division leads with nearly half the season gone. You double-down on 11. Not walk in the winning run for fear of throwing a strike on a full count.

Eleven games. Not insurmountable. Not good, either.

Not when "pitchers" in the bullpen have names such as Scott Proctor and Kyle Farnsworth and inhabit uniforms belonging to the New York Yankees baseball club.

That "Chipping away" piece from June 11, although accurate at the time, looks more like slipping away now.

Red Sox Nation can breathe easier for now.

Slip, slip, slip.

Right now, I feel like Jim Carrey at the end of "Ace Ventura" when he tries pulling off Capt. Lois Einhorn's hair. "Boy that's really on there," Ventura says, trying to avoid embarassment as the cops and others watch Ventura try to explain that Einhorn (Sean Young) is really a dude named Ray Finkle.

The Yanks are slipping away.

Finkle is Einhorn.

By Mark La Monica

Uh oh, Red Sox Nation. Don't look now, but those Yankees are starting to chip away at your monsterous lead in the American League East.

On June 2, the Red Sox had a 13.5-game lead. Nine days later, it's down to 9.5.

Chip, chip, chip.

With 100 games left for Boston and 101 for the Yanks, including six more games against each other, this is no time for celebrating such a reduction.

However, since the entire baseball media world made it sound like the Yankees were contributing less to society than David Hasselhoff, it's worth noting even for a small moment that the lead is down to single digits.

The chipping has begun. At some point late this summer, will the Orioles or Blue Jays look at the standings and say, "Wow, how 'bout them Red Sox? I haven't seen a collapse like that since they torpedoed that casino in 'Ocean's Eleven.'"

By Mark La Monica

Intentionally retaliating by throwing at a baseball player during a game never made much sense to me.

Yeah, yeah, It's part of the infamous "unwritten rules" of baseball. There's a reason they're unwritten: No one wants to be credited with being the idiot who wrote down these dumb things.

On rare occasions, though, hitting a player would appear to be a smart move in terms of clubhouse loyalty. Example: Seattle's Jarrod Washburn slinging a fastball at the Yankees' Josh Phelps on Sunday afternoon seemed to be acceptable for the Mariners. Phelps threw a completely unnecessary shoulder into Seattle catcher Kenji Johjima on a play at the plate.

Johjima was on the first-base side of the plate trying to catch a throw, leaving the entire plate unblocked. Phelps avoided the plate and hammered into Johjima to make sure he wouldn't catch the ball and tag him out. It would have been a clean baseball play . . . had Johjima actually been in Phelps' way.

So, Washburn drilled Phelps in his next at-bat. Makes sense. Somewhere.

But then Scott Proctor, with two outs in the seventh, zipped a 95-mph fastball behind Yuniesky Betancourt. Proctor got tossed within seconds.

Some baseball people will claim that Proctor had to defend his teammates, had to let other teams know that they might get hit, had to assert his alpha-male status on the mound and gain the respect of his fellow players.

I say, "Great job, Proctor! Way to force Torre to use ANOTHER guy in the bullpen! Real smart, team player!"

Proctor needs to be intelligent. There's no reason to throw that pitch. Just get the out, shut your mouth and end the inning. Maybe then the bullpen won't completely implode every other game and perhaps the Yankees will dig their way out of AL East sub-mediocrity.

Why cause a stir and force the benches and bullpens to empty? If you're going to do that, at least throw a punch. Make it worth everyone's while. Don't just stand there and posture at the guy.

Instead, Proctor got tossed from the game, forced the manager (Don Mattingly replaced the ejected Torre) to go to another arm out of the bullpen and is now subject to a potential fine or suspension.

Not smart.

Here's another thing that's not smart: the bullpens jogging into the foray from left field. Why? If they're going to bother coming onto the field to defend their teammates, they could at least run.

Better yet, why don't the opposing bullpens just fight in the outfield? That would seem to make more sense if they were serious about defending their teammates. By the time they get to the infield, the umpires, coaches and players usually have everything under control. If the bullpens really wanted to mix it up, they'd go at it in the outfield.

By Mark La Monica

Ultimately, if record books didn't exist, few baseball fans would really care if their favorite team's players used steroids.

When Barry Bonds steps to the plate in the ninth inning with the bases loaded and San Francisco trailing by one run, do Giants fans really care what may or may not (but likely did) flow through his bloodstream a few years ago?

How about Yankee fans when Jason Giambi gets into the batter's box against the latest Red Sox closer in a September game at Fenway Park to decide the AL East? Fans want a game-winning home run, not an apology.

Or Mets fans once Guillermo Mota returns from a 50-game suspension and comes in with bases loaded and no outs in the seventh inning and the Mets leading by one? They want a strikeout followed by a double play. 'Roids, be damned!

Argue the morality and legality of baseball players using steroids all you want. Even discuss the fairness of an equal playing field for all. But in real game scenarios, fans don't question how the player got there, but rather how he'll get that runner in from second or the ball over the fence.

It's only when we speak in terms of the overall sport and its history that we think about the deeper meaning of baseball players using steroids. Babe Ruth hit his home runs on hot dogs and beer, as that fan sign so eloquently stated last year. Hank Aaron did it in the face of extreme racial hatred.

For Bonds, despite his sure-fire Hall of Fame credentials before 2001, it comes with an asterisk, a punctuation mark as integral to baseball as the home run itself.

We've statistically altered the home run list in response to those who may have chemically altered themselves.

We developed a simple formula, rooted in some logic, that is meant to stimulate the brain and spark some debate. It's not quite John Nash and "A Beautiful Mind," but it's not 2 + 2 = 4 either.

The Keyboard Quarterbacks formula:

1) Determine the average number of home runs hit per plate appearance in seasons prior to suspected steroid use.

2) Using that average number, calculate home runs hit during suspected seasons of steroid use and every season afterward.

3) Add it all up.

We'll use Bonds as an example to explain, since he's the one everyone will be talking, ranting and debating about during the 2007 season.

Bonds averaged a home run every 18.2 plate appearances in the 15 seasons prior to 2001 when he managed to deposit 73 baseballs over the fence. Use that average and divide by plate appearances in 2001, and Bonds's KBQB adjusted home run total for 2001 is 36. Do the math for 2002-2006, add his 1986-2000 total of 494 homers, and you get a KBQB adjusted total of 655 career home runs.

That's how it works. Not the perfect plan, but interesting enough to discuss and see how the list plays out with this formula. The equation doesn't take into account ballparks, expansion, natural power increases as players get older and wiser, interleague play, unbalanced schedules or anything else like that.

The official MLB Home Run List

1. Hank Aaron 755
2. Barry Bonds 734
3. Babe Ruth 714
4. Willie Mays 660
5. Sammy Sosa 588
6. Frank Robinson 586
7. Mark McGwire 583
8. Harmon Killebrew 573
9. Rafael Palmeiro 569
10t. Ken Griffey Jr. 563
10t. Reggie Jackson 563

The Keyboard Quarterbacks Adjusted Home Run List

1. Hank Aaron 755
2. Babe Ruth 714
3. Willie Mays 660
4. Barry Bonds 655
5. Frank Robinson 586
6. Harmon Killebrew 573
7t. Ken Griffey Jr. 563
7t. Reggie Jackson 563
9. Mike Schmidt 548
10. Mickey Mantle 536
11. Jimmie Foxx 534
12. Mark McGwire 527
32. Sammy Sosa 447
46t. Rafael Palmeiro 389

Mathematical breakdowns

Sosa averaged one home run every 20.8 plate appearances in eight seasons before 1998 for a total of 207 homers. Divide 20.8 by plate appearances for 1998 (his 66-homer season) and the adjusted home run total is 34. From 1998-2005, Sosa's career KBQB adjusted total is 240 home runs (as opposed to the 381 he "actually" hit).

McGwire averaged one home run every 14.2 plate appearances from 1986-1997 for a total of 387 homers. His adjusted totals for 1998 and 1999, the year the record book says he hit 70 and 65 homer, respectively, are 47 and 46. His career KBQB adjusted total is 527.

With Palmeiro, things are a bit murkier. Where do we draw the line of demarcation? Is it the 1993 season when Jose Canseco joined the Texas Rangers and supposedly introduced Palmeiro to steroids? Tough call. Palmeiro went from 22 homers in 1992 to 37 homers in 1993.

But he dropped down to 23 in 1994. Then from 1995-2003, he never hit less than 38 homers. (He hit 23 in 2004 and 18 in 2005.)

It's possible that Palmeiro figured out his swing and used the natural power increase with age to hit all these home runs. However, he did test positive for steroids in 2005 after vehemently denying ever using them. So, his word is inversely proportionate to the neat grooming of his mustache.

For the purposes of this debate, we chose 1994 as the determinate season. From 1986-94, he average one home run every 30.5 plate appearances. His adjusted total from 1995-2005 is 389 home runs. Add it to the 155 homers before that and his KBQB career adjusted total is 389.

As for Ken Griffey Jr., he's never been suspected or accused of any steroid use. Is it possible he took them? Sure. However, there's never been a huge spike in his physique or home run totals beyond normal growth and power with age, so we chose to leave his total the same. Could it be naive? Maybe. But that's the beauty of debate.

Check our math: download the PDF.

By Mark La Monica

Back in the day, specifically the year 2000, there was a great debate in baseball circles. It was about the mythical title of "Team of the Decade" for the 1990s.

You either supported the Atlanta Braves, their nine division titles and one World Series ring. Or, you voted for the Yankees, their five straight playoff berths from 1995-99 and their three World Series titles in 1996, 1998 and 1999.

The central issue of the debate was whether or not you rewarded continual success and second-place achievement (Braves) or you were all about dominance and ultimate championships (Yankees).

It made for fun chatter among baseball fans. Dumb and pointless, given that it meant nothing in the grand scheme of your life or the franchise's, but it was fun.

Here in October 2006, there is no question who the Atlanta Braves of this decade will be. The New York Yankees. Correction, the New York Braves.

If the Braves were the bridesmaids of the 1990s, this decade's Yankees are that last bridesmaid who only gets invited because she's short enough to walk next to the groom's fifth-best friend from college.

The Yankees have made the playoffs for 12 straight seasons, the last 11 under manager Joe Torre. Since 2000, here are the results:

2000 - Won World Series against Mets
2001 - Lost World Series to Diamondbacks
2002 - Lost ALDS to Angels
2003 - Lost World Series to Marlins
2004 - Lost ALCS to Red Sox
2005 - Lost ALDS to Angels
2006 - Lost ALDS to Tigers

Compare that to the Braves of the 1990s:

1991 - Lost World Series to Twins
1992 - Lost World Series to Blue Jays
1993 - Lost NLCS to Phillies
1994 - Playoffs canceled because of work stoppage
1995 - Won World Series against Indians
1996 - Lost World Series to Yankees
1997 - Lost NLCS to Marlins
1998 - Lost NLCS to Padres
1999 - Lost World Series to Yankees

Those Braves were good, but not good enough to win it all. These Yankees are good, but not good enough to win it all.

So, Yankee fans have to ask themselves how much is enough? Is making the playoffs every year and giving fans an extra week of excitement enough? Are you happy being the New York Braves?

Or is it really all or nothing?

Or is missing the playoffs one year -- such as the Atlanta Braves did this season -- worth it in order to rebuild the franchise for extended success?

Or, should George Steinbrenner call Ted Turner and ask what goes into planning a second-place parade?

By Mark La Monica

Making plans to watch Tuesday night's Game 1 of the Yankees-Tigers ALDS was as nostalgic as it was easy.

I just dialed up Jitsu friend Colskore, found out what he was doing and invited myself along.

"If they win, you gotta watch all the games with us then," he said.

"Clearly," I responded.

Wow. I forgot how silly we fans get when the playoffs start. It's been since the Game 7 of the 2003 ALCS -- yes, the Aaron Boone game -- since I was legitimately excited for a Yankee playoff game. The World Series that year was so anti-climactic, and in the years since, I've worked all the nights the Yankees played, so I haven't really watched a game in a long time.

But in that brief moment in the office, I flashed back to the late 1990s when the Yankees began their run. How, during the 1996 World Series, Consultant friend Jay, myself and our other college roommates watched Game 3 with the TV on mute and Vin Scully calling the game on the radio. Anything to change the luck after dropping the first two games at home to Atlanta. The Yankees won that game, so we did the same thing the rest of the series, all Yankee wins. Hey, if Wade Boggs can eat chicken before every game, we can listen to the radio?

Or, how my clothing combination of a Don Mattingly T-shirt and an unnumbered Yankee road jersey went 19-4 during the 1997-2000 postseasons.

Or, how I used to shave on the last day of the baseball season and then not shave again until the Yankees were out of the playoffs.

Or, how Lawyer friend Steve decided to drink a beer an inning during a 1999 World Series game. He made it through seven strong innings but collapsed in the eighth.

Ah, the glory days. Now I'm just happy to not fall asleep before the game ends.

What are your fan rituals for the Yankees and Mets in the postseason?

Row A at Yankee Stadium means when Luis Sojo coached third base, "Oooooh, he's so close, it's like i'm having a cup of coffee with him in the kitchen," Mama La Monica said.

Row A at Yankee Stadium means when $252 million Alex Rodriguez made the first of his two errors Wednesday afternoon and got yelled at by fans, "This is like going into IBM and yelling at the chairman," Papa La Monica said.

Row A at Yankee Stadium means when Alex Rodriguez made the second of his two errors Wednesday afternoon, he had no choice but to hear one fan yell out, "Pagliarulo would've made that play."

I was that fan. Life in the front row is pretty cool. Not that I'm an A-Rod hater, but he made two huge mistakes and had to be called out on it by a fan who knows what it's like to sit in the upper deck's Row U (that's pretty much above the lights) and Row W (that is pretty much on the moon) for a game.

But this was Row A. Time to capitalize on the opportunity.

Papa La Monica scored tickets along the third-base line for Wednesday's game. It was Papa La Monica's birthday, too, making it even more fun.

Ever watch a game on television and say to yourself "How did those people get those seats?" when the cameras pan around the first few rows. These were those seats. We were those people.

This was a Bob Uecker commercial come to life. Whoa! We really must be in the front row.

Mama La Monica, excited enough to be within the same zip code as Derek Jeter, even waved and yelled out to Skippy, the left-field ball boy.

In this gated community, (OK, it was chained off but in a stadium built in 1923, you take what you can get), the seats are cushioned. Typically, I have to bring my own patoot-softening device.

In this oh-so-chic section, you get served. Typically, I have to go rent the movie.

A Stadium employee runs around with some sort of Palm Pilot situation and takes your order. Menus are available, stuck in the cup holder. Cup holder? Cup holder! Typically, I have to bring a safe to the Stadium to store my $5 souvenir cup of soda under my seat so I don't have to worry about Coke-soaked peanut shells and soda-saturated sneakers.

In this posh part, the only people sitting in front of you are the corporate clowns that paid a lot of money to sit in the seats that were installed several years ago so that corporate clowns could pay a lot of money to sit the seats. Most of these fans bought an unlimited-ride Metrocard on the bandwagon.

Since that's a man-made hazard and therefore not part of the original infrastructure of the Stadium, it can't change the fact that we're sitting in Row A and they're not.

(Note: When those corporate clowns left after the 7th inning - how predictable! - Papa La Monica and I jumped down to their seats. It's a pretty cool view.)

Having chair service is an interesting experience for a family that used to save enough coupons from the Dellwood milk cartons just to get four free seats in the upper deck. The Stadium accepts credit cards down there in Row A, so I had to charge something while sitting down there in Row A if for no other reason than I could charge something while sitting down there in Row A.

But, I also had to get up and buy something from the concession stand. Mama La Monica wondered why. Two reasons:

1) I never forget where I came from, which is somewhere in the tier reserved section (that's the upper part of the upper deck).

2) I wanted the security guy to stop me trying to come back to my seat so I could show him my ticket, drop a Lil Jon/Chappelle "Whaaaaaaaaaaaaat?" on him, and then walk past all those other lettered rows and resume my game-watching from the comfortable position of Row f-bombing A!

The game began and I offered my obligatory "What's up, guy?" to A-Rod, Jeter and Sojo. More importantly, I know they heard me. That makes four Yankees to hear my signature line (sure, it's stolen from Nicky Eyes in "Goodfellas," but I'm more famous than the actor who played him, so it's mine now). Gary Sheffield was the first, back when I got booed at Yankee Stadium. So far, I've received zero responses. Not even a complimentary "Howyuzdoin?"

Oh well. I can live with that. I'm in Row A.

Brother La Monica joked before we left for the game that he was taking all the money from his accounts and betting it on the Mariners. This seemed a smart play, considering Papa La Monica is better known as Frankie Mush when it comes to Yankees games. He's 0-2 this season, and roughly 2-35 since we started going to games as a family in the early 1980s. One of those two losses this season was the Mariano Rivera five-run ninth inning against the Red Sox. Mama La Monica had no choice but to go 0-2 this year, as well.

Case in point: In the early 1990s (or maybe it was the late 1980s, we're not quite sure anymore), Papa La Monica had to work in San Francisco for a few summer months. The Yankees were on a West Coast trip and went 10-1. The one game they lost was the Oakland. Yep, he was there. Frankie Mush!

I clearly inherited his genes. I was 0-2 this season, with those losses being a blowout by Baltimore and a Randy Johnson loss to Tampa Bay before Randy Johnson remembered he was Randy Johnson and not Randy Jackson, dog.

So, the La Monica family was 0-4, and clearly the betting parlors didn't know we were going to the game because the Yankees were still favored.

When the Mariners scored five runs in the first, we had no choice to laugh and blame Frankie Mush. So much for my theory of two negatives becoming a positive.

But, this was Row A, so let the game last 12 hours. I don't care. Boss friend Jon was kind enough to let me come to work late, but I had to add in a "Work on the laptop during the car ride home" clause for the commissioner to approve the trade.

Brother La Monica was telephoned with one out in the first inning and the Yankees trailing 5-0. He simply couldn't believe it. Well, he could believe it, which is why he couldn't believe. Such stark reality can appear imaginary when it happens live.

The Yankees rallied back for the 5-5 tie in the bottom of the first. Brother La Monica was telephoned. The Mariners took a 9-6 lead. Brother La Monica was telephoned. The Yankees tied it at 9. Brother La Monica was telephoned. The Yankees took a 12-9 lead. Brother La Monica was telephoned.

That Tino Martinez homered to tie it at 9 meant Mama La Monica made the right decision in wearing her new Tino Martinez shirt. She considered rocking the Jeter home jersey, but "Tino's doing good, so I had to wear my new shirt."

Can't argue with Mama La Monica, even if Mother's Day already passed.

The Yankees won, 13-9. We reversed the curse!

No more Frankie Mush. Well, at least for one afternoon.

Row A means the next time I go to a game at the Stadium, I'll be back with the steerage. Row A means it was definitely worth it.

As seems to be the case a lot lately in Central Islip, there was an unusual buzz in the air Tuesday night. It was about a lot more than just a rematch of last year's Atlantic League World Series against the Camden Riversharks.

It was about a man. A man who has become the object of such intense scrutiny and curiosity that it belies his otherwise modest and friendly surroundings. You know who I'm talking about -- you're probably sick of reading his name. It's John Rocker.

Sitting in the press box at Citibank Park, I saw Rocker's impact on the team from a unique perspective.

First and most obvious, there was the media presence. Newsday sent two reporters and a photographer. The Daily News sent a photographer and a reporter. Even the Newark (N.J.) Star Ledger sent a reporter. Had it been a normal May 10 ballgame, I may have been the only writer in the ballpark. But it's hard to feel normal when John Rocker's in town.

During the pre-game chatter that usually fills the press box with light banter and talk of the local Major League teams, one cameraman detailed his efforts to photograph Rocker during pre-game warm-ups:

"He came out of the bullpen and I stood on the first baseline. When he saw me, he kind of turned his back to me and walked like, sidesaddle, towards the dugout."

Someone cracked, "Did he do the Moonwalk?" That was the kind of night it was.

A palpable feeling of tense anticipation permeated the press box, and indeed the entire ballpark, until Rocker entered the game in the 7th inning. At that point, the media contingent let out a collective sigh of relief -- they had not made the trip for nothing -- and the fans rained down their emotions -- some cheers, some jeers -- with passion uncommon in the normally casual Citibank Park atmosphere.

After the game, too, Rocker's presence was felt. When the Ducks' public relations staff informed us that "John Rocker will not be available for comment tonight," my first reaction was not to feel surprised, even though we'd been told Rocker would talk if he pitched in last night's game. After all, this is a man who's had so much trouble dealing with the media, he hired his own publicist -- and even that hasn't keep him out of trouble.

I even felt a little sorry for the PR staff, which is proud of the affable environment they've constructed and must feel a strain from dealing with a headache the size of the state of Georgia.

"He's a very positive influence around here," Ducks skipper Don McCormack told us after the game (a noble effort from a manager who's just trying to help his pitcher win games and get back to the majors).

But hasn't Rocker's presence made things a little more tense these days?

"Not for those other guys," McCormack said, referring to Rocker's teammates.

They must be the only people who haven't noticed.

Bottom of the third inning. Time to trot out toward the Ducks bullpen in right field and see what's happening.

By now, the alcohol should start taking its effect on those consuming such beverages at Citibank Park. I can only imagine what a bunch of rowdy Long Islanders will yell at a defenseless John Rocker sitting in the bullpen watching his team play. I'm thinking it's somewhere between typical Yankee Stadium chants from the bleachers and what John Rocker said six years ago to make John Rocker become, well, John Rocker.

I've been looking forward to this study on human psyche/stupidity for a few days and could barely sleep Tuesday night after hearing of his spat with a fan in Atlantic City earlier that day.

Damn! He's not even out here.

This is disappointing.

Shut down for four days with what the Ducks officially called a "dead arm," Rocker was nowhere to be found. I'm quite upset. Rocker is the one we (CIRCLE BEST ANSWER) curious/crazy/degenerate people pay to see. Rocker is the one that brought the reporters. The New York Post, New York Daily News and Westchester Journal News traveled to little ol' Central Islip for an independent Atlantic League baseball game. To a town in Suffolk County that may as well be home to Donald Duck or Kevin Duckworth, let alone the Long Island Ducks, for all these news outlets care.

And I'm probably the only one of the card-carrying sports media horde willing to go rogue and string together these four words in this powerful order: John Rocker is awesome.

Yeah, I said it.

You're probably ready to dye my hair purple and throw me on the No. 7 train for a few hours right about now. Please don't. Here's why.

Rocker spoke his mind. Though I don't agree with his assessment of the people who ride the No. 7 subway, I admire him for saying what he thought. He may have insulted every New Yorker, but in a world where athletes speak for hours without ever saying anything, his honest emotion was refreshing. Immature and primitive, but refreshing.

Then again, that was six years ago, and everyone deserves a second chance. Think about how many of us wouldn't be where we are if not for second chances. If Hockey friend Zamboni hadn't stepped in for Jersey friend Tiny to give me the Heimlich maneuver hours before Game 2 of the 1998 World Series, I'd have choked on my barbecue chicken sandwich and missed Tino Martinez's grand slam off San Diego's Mark Langston. I'd also be dead.

But enough of Johnny Rock, at least for now. You can read about him at http://www.newsday.com/sports. With Rocker nowhere in sight, it's time to appreciate some of the other treats offered at a Long Island Ducks game at Citibank Park. Let's take a walk and see what's available to the 6,000-plus fans who spend their 7, 9 or 10 bucks per ticket:

* Dominick's, the official sausage of the Long Island Ducks.
Any sports team that has an official sausage company deserves respect.

* A chance to see former Yankee greats.
Who could forget the immortal Donovan Osborne? Or the once indispensable Todd Erdos? And what if the Yankees had held on to almost-an-All-Star Chris Latham?

* Pete Rose Jr.
Haven't seen a guy getting by on name recognition like this since Eddie Murphy in "A Distinguished Gentleman."

* $2.75 sodas.
Or, if you want to splurge for the souvenir Ducks cup -- and, frankly, who wouldn't? -- it'll cost you a whopping $3. For those counting at home, that's cheaper than it costs to use an ATM at a bank that's not yours.

* Speaking of franks, how about the $3.25 hot dog, and $3.75 jumbo dog.
Sure, it's not the 3 for $3 deal on the service road of the L.I.E., but they taste extremely good and you don't have to stop on the service road of the L.I.E.

* $4.75 beers, $5.50 if you're a serious drinker.
About the best deal imbibers will ever come across at a sporting event, at least until one team develops the guts to offer "Rollback Prices" night.

* The concession stands workers who appreciate a great movie quote dropped in the course of everyday life.
"We're not making any more jumbo hot dogs. They didn't even tell us," one young fella said.
"Maybe they didn't come up there and tell you," I responded in proper Goodfellas format. "No more shines."

* The Rafael Palmiero lookalike sitting in Section 212.
Not sure if he's a season-ticket holder, but I bet he can put it over the 325-foot sign in right field quite a few times.

* The fans.
Half of them don't even know a baseball game is going on.

* The stats.
They appear meaningless to most in attendance, which is rather refreshing in an obscure way.

* The games.
No, not the game. Out by the Ducks' bullpen, they have a game where fans can throw a strike, or a ball, and get clocked on the radar gun. The true beauty of this game is that the clock is not visible. Would-be hurlers are told their speed. C'mon Ducks. You're defending champions and sell out the park nearly every game. Splurge for the display. Is Joe Torre in charge of this game? (For the record, in 10 minutes of viewing, I thought Tom Glavine was pitching. That's how many strikes weren't thrown.)

* The games, part deux.
Plenty of kids lined up to take part in radar. Plenty of parents walking around drinking drinks their children will have to wait until the next decade begins to purchase legally. Yes, I hear you begging, so here's my question: Who's driving home?

* The ninth inning.
In the Atlantic League, no game is over until the final out. Some of the strangest things have occurred while watching Ducks games.

* Free junk.
72 home games, 54 promotional giveaways. And six fireworks nights. Not too shabby.

* John Rocker.
Johnny Rock will rise again!