Lord Of The Swings

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The contract Hicks signed him to in 2000, for a quarter of a billion dollars, is by far the highest ever for an athlete. A-Rod's $252 million over 10 years was negotiated at the height of the '90s irrational exuberance. When the Rangers' performance and attendance started collapsing, Hicks lost his gamble, having to trade ARod while continuing to cover part of his salary. Being known for your salary is a dubious recognition, but ARod handles it smoothly. "I'm proud of my contract," he says, sitting with his wife on the deck of their house as the sun sets over the bay. "I can't run away from that. I think we've been put in this situation, Cynthia and I, from a philanthropic point of view, to help thousands of kids." He is good.

Rodriguez had always dreamed of someday returning to New York, the city where he was born, and playing in the stadium he has always considered his favorite. "I've given you a few political answers today," he says, admitting that he has Ari Fleischered some of his responses. "But Yankee Stadium has the history, the fans, the ghosts, the Bronx." The road back has been a long one. He moved to the Dominican Republic when he was 4. When he was 9, his father left the family, and Rodriguez settled with his mother and two siblings near Miami. He was the top draft pick in 1993, signing with Seattle, and moved on to Texas when Hicks opened his vault. Hicks thought he was worth the cash because while he might not wow with Bondsian home runs into the next town, ARod, like his image, is metronomically perfect at every aspect of the game: running, fielding, hitting for average and belting home runs. Back when baseball was the nation's only sport, he would have been appreciated. Now he's a European model on a Baywatch episode.

Major League Baseball needs A-Rod's greatness to be a distraction from the steroid scandal that is making people want their money back from the home-run explosion of the past few years. The scandal didn't land within fungo distance of him, but Rodriguez, a company guy all the way, claims competing against cheaters doesn't bother him — only partly because he has led the American League in homers the past three years anyway. "I'm a strong believer in innocent until proven guilty," he says. "I've never assumed any other players were on steroids. I've never felt cheated."

Despite his obvious skill, ARod dismisses the possibility of ever running for office. Nor does he plan to ever manage a team or work in the front office. Instead, he says, he's considering going into the business world after finishing his college degree at the University of Miami. At 28, being in prime shape and, of course, with $252 million, he doesn't really have to stress on the postcareer stuff.

What he does need to worry about is winning. The real reason ARod hasn't become the superstar that baseball craves isn't that he's not a human highlight reel or that he played in small markets. ARod — impossibly talented, good-looking, 6 ft. 3, multilingual, hyperambitious, Armani clad and polished to perfect Jordanesque corporate blandness — is missing the only attribute most loved by kids who buy posters: winning. And if you can't get a ring with George Steinbrenner trying to buy one for you, then all the political skill in the world isn't going to make you the king of baseball.