Ichiro Suzuki: #31 of the New York Yankees (Getty Images)

Now he's heading to NYC to play alongside A-Rod, and just to rub salt in the wound, his first game was played the same night as the trade, against his former teammates.

No hard feelings though: as a parting tribute, Death Cab for Cutie's Ben Gibbard wrote Ichiro Suzuki his own anthem.

While we doubt it will ever replace "Take Me Out to the Ballgame," you have to admit that there's something adorably catchy to the chorus. "Go, go, go Ichiro!"

For New York sports fans, who are still reeling from the loss of their last Asian-American player Jeremy Lin, the trade also provides ample opportunity to begin the New York Post pun-search for anything that rhymes with "Ichiro." (Itchy Hero? "Houston, we have a Sitchiro?"

Hudson River views for $6.6 million

It must have been the view that convinced Gerald Greenwald and wife Glenda to purchase Alex Rodriguez's 35th-floor condo at the The Rushmore.

Mr. Greenwald, the former chairman and CEO of United Airlines and current managing partner of the Greenbriar Equity Group, must have been accustomed to lofty views from his days at the airline. And this apartment has views galore—"forever unobstructed views" with 60-linear feet over the Hudson, as the Adam Modlin listing gushes.

The Yankees star's apartment, whose $6.6 million sale was first reported by the New York Post, was purchased for a mere $5.5 million last year, but pads at Gary Barnett's glamorous Riverside Boulevard tower have been selling like hot cakes lately (and A-Rod supposedly threw in his furniture to seal the deal).

The Greenwalds purchased the property through the Jerry and Gigi Qualified Personal Residence Trust, registered to their $15 million Aspen home, according to city property records.

Both the Greenwalds are involved with the prestigious Aspen Institute. Mr. Greenwald is a trustee and and Ms. Greenwald, a longtime champion of women's causes, is founder and chair emeritus of the Aspen Center for Integral Health.

Clearly quite savvy when it comes to matters of both money and the mind, the Greenwalds bargained A-Rod down from the $8 million he was asking for the five-bedroom, 5.5-bathroom full-floor condo.

Expansive and loft-like, the condo wraps around an entire floor of the twin-towered Rushmore. It has a mondo master bedroom suite with a dressing room and not one, but two bathrooms, as well as a library with a bathroom (who wants to walk all the way down the hall in the middle of a good book?).

And, if there are any more miracle plane landings, the Greenwalds will have a behind-home-plate view.

kvelsey@observer.com

The news broke that Hideki Matsui—the George Harrison of the Yankees, the quiet, stoic performer, and the 2009 World Series MVP—wouldn't play for New York the following season. The Yankees told Mr. Matsui's agent that he wasn't a priority, so Matsui took a one-year, $6.5 M. contract with the Anaheim Angels.

The same team who gave Carl "Ass Injury" Pavano a $40 M. contract (for which he earned $17,646 per pitch, having thrown in only 26 Yankees games) not four years before let Matsui go, just one month after he was named the MVP of the World Series he'd helped the team win. Even now, when I speak with fellow Yankees fans about this travesty, they just shake their heads and shrug, as if to say: Yeah, we know. What're you gonna do?*

It was a classic, symptomatic moment of Steinbrenner syndrome, a disease characterized by short attention span, poor memory and fits of ecstasy followed by angry outbursts. It affects nine out of 10 New York sports fans (and 10 out of 10 New York sports editors). Its only treatment is frequent, intense doses of winning.

The day after the Yankees won the 2009 World Series, I remember the first conversation I heard on the matter: "Yeah, next season's gonna be great." For Steinbrenner sufferers, victory, while unmistakably rewarding, is also brief. In New York, you're only as substantial as your last championship, even a few weeks later.

Consider two recent case studies of the pattern: the Giants won the Super Bowl not three years ago, in 2008. Former Giants player Tiki Barber essentially called for Coughlin to be fired in 2010. In November 2011, the New York Daily News wondered if Coughlin wasn't done.

The Knicks have made two playoff appearances in the past 10 years. For other American cities, this would be acceptable. For New Yorkers, it simply isn't enough.

Right now, thankfully, the illness is in remission, thanks to the cocktail of the Giants improbable Super Bowl (20-1 odds at the season's beginning) and the even more unlikely emergence of Jeremy Lin as an on-court sensation. But as with any chronic disease, there is always the danger of relapse.

A few months ago, journalist, author and Kean University sports history professor Terry Golway was listening to Giants fans chime in on a sports talk radio program. They were demanding New York Giants coach Tom Coughlin be given the ax.

"What is it about New York sports fans," Mr. Golway laughed, "that they would demand a guy like Coughlin, who's obviously been pretty successful even before last January, get fired? What is it about them?! There were no losing seasons involved, but, you know, they missed the playoffs three years in a row and that's a cause to fire a coach?"

Tennessee Titans coach Jeff Fisher, he noted, "made the playoffs a few times, made the Super Bowl, but obviously the expectations in New York are different."

Another example can be found in quarterback Mark Sanchez. "At this point in Eli Manning's career, it looked like he was going to be a bust," Mr. Golway continued. "Sanchez lead his team to the AFC championship his first two years. Joe Namath didn't. Eli Manning didn't. Peyton Manning didn't."

And it's not just civilians who are affected by the malady: even fellow Jets players ripped Mark Sanchez to the New York Daily News.

Despite what the rest of America might think (that we've always been like this), Mr. Golway is quick to point out that in a historical context, the pervasiveness of this mentality is a fairly new concept. He cited the classic New York sports fan as a Brooklyn Dodgers supporter, whose mantra—"wait 'til next year"—is maybe one nowadays only adopted by Mets followers like himself.

"I hate to say it, because it sounds like such a cliché, but New York has been corrupted by George Steinbrenner. It's that simple. This mentality is very much part of what Steinbrenner brought to the Yankees in the '70s. And now," he sighed, "it has infiltrated all of New York sports."

(Exacerbating the symptoms, of course, is the multitudinous nature of New York City—there are simply more distractions. What is there to do in Buffalo besides watch the Bills or the Sabers, and eat wings?)

While it is primarily the fans who come down with Steinbrenner syndrome, its true victims may be the athletes.

In December, Dallas Mavericks center Tyson Chandler decamped for New York City, leaving behind both Dallas and the 2011 NBA championship team he just played on with it. It's not an obvious career move: Leaving a championship team in a thriving market that's slightly more forgiving than our own, for a team with two marquee stars vying for attention in the most vicious media climate in the country.

"I was happy for Ty," explained Mavericks owner Mark Cuban, who was careful to note that New York City is a "great sports town," before going on to explain just how it's a "unique market." (This last might as well have been a euphemism for "shitstorm gauntlet.")

As he sees it, New York is has become "the center of the universe for headline and backpage porn. There is absolutely nothing that happens in the New York City media that is ever subtle."

The resulting journalistic output can be kindly characterized as bipolar: Either hyperbolic plaudits or overexaggerated rage at what a failure of a human being one is.

In other words, explained Mr. Cuban, "when you are at the top of your game in the sports world, you get the love. When you are not, you can't walk the streets without hearing about what a bum you are." While athletes might not get literally heckled in the streets—since they are too busy being chaffered between bottle service outings—Mr. Cuban's point stands: their constituency is far more inescapable here than elsewhere.

Besides, he argued, as opposed to the past—where bigger markets in larger cities meant more significant coverage—the proliferation of digital media and the speed with which it travels makes a players' national (let alone international) star potential a far less regionally oriented concept than it's traditionally been in the past.

"That's not to take away anything from the Big Apple. It's an amazing city for everyone and anyone," he added, before finishing, "except maybe the 110 pro athletes that compete for their teams."

That's another thing: New York City's sports fans have anywhere from four to seven professional sports teams to choose from, an enabling fact for Steinbrenner sufferers, who tend to lose interest as the wins dwindle.

Dr. Jay P. Granat, a sports psychotherapist who's worked with professional athletes in the New York City area, argues that it depends on the player. He doesn't dispute, though, that the psychological makeup of individual players factors into New York City's draw more intensely than other places they might find work.

"They're demanding here, there's no question about that," Dr. Granat said. "How much a player is dependent on fan approval has a lot to do with how well they function in this environment."

In his experience, the majority of professional athletes' decisions regarding where to play generally revolve more around numbers and simply having a job than the anthropological makeup of a locale. There are, however, exceptions, of which he cited Knicks forward Carmelo Anthony as an example: "He wanted to play here, and he made it public, no bones about it." Granted, Melo's from Brooklyn, so he may have built up a childhood immunity to the affliction.

But Jeremy Lin, a West Coaster, may not be. Already, he has seen a brief outbreak. After weeks of clean bills of health, Lin failed to deliver a win against the Miami Heat, widely considered the best team in basketball. "LINEPT!" screamed the back cover of the New York Post, the day after. Steinbrenner again.

The fact is, New York City is a fair-weather town. Lin has a one-year contract with the New York Knicks. If he continues to be a sensation, he'll soon have plenty of options deciding where to play. But will Lin flee the hot zone, and find a home free of that malady of the spoiled sports fan?

fkamer@observer.com

[*The answer: Attempt to sign Carl Pavano again in 2011 for $10 M. Pavano learned his lesson, and declined the Yankees' offer. ]

Is that a whiff of bubblegum and stale beer?

Merchandizing! It's as natural for the world of professional sports as it is for a Kardashian (or anyone else who sleeps with a member of a professional sports team). Jerseys, hats, kosher hot dogs (actually, scratch that last one), baby clothes...these chintzy, overpriced gifts make up a major part of the revenue for any red-blooded American league.

That's not to say that there haven't been missteps in marketing over the years. (Nascar scrubs, anyone?) And last night, going to the fragrance launch of The New York Yankees (and the more feminine The New York Yankees for Her) over at Catch Roof, we were expecting nothing less than a full-on flop. Why would anyone try to bottle and sell the rank sweat of a baseball stadium? And what women in her right mind would buy it?
"Obviously there are women interested in the Yankees as well," said Dennis Keogh, Senior VP of marketing for The Cloudbreak Group, which has been working with the Yankees and MLB to develop the new fragrance. "On any given day, 30-40 percent of the stadium is filled with women, and it's actually the fastest growing segment of Yankees merchandize. We actually have a whole store dedicated to women's apparel and accessories."

Honestly, we could see the male cologne selling in its classy black bottle; evoking a scent not unlike a spray-on version of Old Spice.

"This is what Alex Rodriguez's pheromones smell like, right?" we asked, sniffing.

"No," said Mr. Keogh. "We didn't want to base it on any one player. People should be able to project whoever they want onto this: Babe Ruth, themselves. It's the idea of the Yankees an iconic experience that we've tried to capture."

"This is a sparkling gourmand," said Mr. Keogh, spritzing the perfume, which came in a pink bottle. "It's got fruity notes on top, and dries down to the sanctuary notes... for the more alluring side."

To us it smelled like a combination of vodka hidden in plastic water bottles and bubblegum, so that was about right.

The New York Yankees fragrance will be available for sale at Macy's and Yankees Stadium the first week of April, and its launch will be accompanied by several in-store special guest appearances. Though Mr. Keohe couldn't tell us who the secret celebs will be, we're assuming it will be Derek Jeter, and he will be bringing us gift baskets of signed baseballs.

One of the several items you receive after hooking up with the Yankees star!

That man is Derek Jeter.

The Yankees heartthrob, whose breakup with Minka Kelly earlier this years counted as news to New Yorkers, despite none of us knowing who Minka Kelly was. (Is she a Gossip Girl character?) Now, only four months later, Mr. Jeter is wining, dining, and screwing people in his penthouse of the Trump Hotel...and then sending them home with gift baskets! Including a signed baseball that will remind you, every time you look at it, of what a stud and gentleman Mr. Jeter is.

One ungrateful lady complained was apparently miffed after she slept with Mr. Jeter twice--twice!--and received a gift basket both times:

“This summer, he ended up hooking up with a girl who he had hooked up with once before, but Jeter seemed to have forgotten about the first time and gave her the same identical parting gift, a gift basket with a signed Derek Jeter baseball,” the pal said.

Those signed baseballs, by the way, sell for hundreds of dollars on the Internet. So maybe we should all just try to sleep that much harder with Derek Jeter, not that we haven't been trying really, really hard this year.

Highlights:

• Derek Jeter nicknamed the kid "Squeegee." Because Mr. Jeter thought said batboy looked like a Squeegee.
• Mr. Jeter used to greet the batboys as "bee-yotch-es."
• When Bill Clinton dropped by the clubhouse, Mr. Jeter's only words for him were "Hey, Mr. President, you staying out of trouble?"
• Mr. Jeter sent his trainer to pick up women he was attracted to in bars, rather than initiate contact with them himself.
• Jorge Posada once tipped the batboy $7,000 at the end of the year. Alex Rodriguez? $1,400.
• Former Yankees manager Joe Torre used to bet on horses. From the dugout. During games.
• Whenever Yankees owner George Steinbrenner was in the house, the code used was "RED ALERT."

The most endearing tale, however, may be reserved for designated hitter and outfielder Hideki "Godzilla"  Matsui, the otherwise quiet and reliable 2009 World Series MVP, who the Yankees let go the next season on a one-year $6.5M contract to the Los Angeles Angels in a flub that still stings Yankees fans to this day. This wonderful anecdote about Mr. Matsui's mystique-shrouded clubhouse demeanor—which little was known about, as he was never much of a talker, even for the Yankees—may only serve to make Yankees fans miss him more.

The setting is a locker room meeting before Game 7 of the 2004 ACLS, which the Yankees lost to the Boston Red Sox, who went on to win the World Series. And, scene:

At the end of the meeting it was traditional for Joe Torre to ask Jorge Posada what we were going to do. He would reply, "Grind it!" This time -- I guess to make Hideki Matsui feel more part of the team -- Torre turned tohimat the end of the meeting.

"What are we going to do?"

Hideki paused for just a second before replying.

"Kick ass. Pop champagne. And get some ho's."

Reminder: Mr. Matsui emigrated from Japan to play for the New York Yankees in 2003. It took less than two seasons with the Yankees before he got to that point.

There is truly nothing in the world like a pinstriped baseball player of New York.

fkamer@observer.com | @weareyourfek

Derek Jeter came of age during a time now referred to as baseball’s “steroids era.” It was a time of astounding home run records, achieved by players with thick forearms and broad shoulders—the result, we were led to believe, of their commitment to fitness. Of course, we now know otherwise. All those records are now regarded as false, the product of cheating on a vast scale. A sport that revels in its history and that is custodian to some of the athletic world’s best-known individual achievements has been left to figure out how to account for fallen heroes and their tainted achievements.

Sports historians, however, will not be able to dismiss the steroids era with broad generalities about those who made their reputations during a tainted time. That’s because they will have to account for those who went about the business of excellence the right way. They will have to account for, among others, Derek Jeter, whose legacy of achievement and performance under pressure is no more awe-inspiring than his dignity, class and integrity.

No other Yankee has recorded as many hits as Derek Jeter has. Given the transitory nature of the sport, it is unlikely that his feat will be outdone any time soon. The Yankee captain has been a Yankee lifer and will remain so until he calls it a career.

But the measure of Derek Jeter’s importance goes beyond the record book, and even beyond the five World Series rings he has won. It goes beyond, too, his personal highlight reel—the dive into the box seats to snag a foul ball, the famous flip play at home plate and even the dramatic home run for his 3,000th hit.

Derek Jeter’s importance, as a player, as a Yankee, as a New Yorker, is as a symbol of all those qualities some believe have been lost forever in the hypercommercial, hypercompetitive world of professional sports in the 21st century. He has played by the rules, he has been loyal to his fan base, and he has managed to do the right thing at the right time.

He is a refutation of our most cynical thoughts. For that, more than anything else, we owe him thanks.

So, Monday was fun. Not only did we learn that embattled amateur underwear model and unwavering mayoral aspirant Anthony Weiner really did tweet that infamous crotch shot to Gennette Cordova, in addition to numerous other indiscretions conducted over social media (we couldn't resist imagining how a certain member of--well, Mr. Weiner’s person--may have felt about the whole affair), but we also learned that Andrew Breitbart has no qualms about creating new photo ops for himself.

In a bizarre turn, the conservative blogger stepped out of the press gallery and up to the podium, where he proceeded to speak for 13 minutes, announcing at the outset, “I’m here for some vindication.” (While he was undoubtedly referring to the yfrog-friendly Mr. Weiner’s public denials of crotch shot distribution, we can¹t help but wonder if the man who once self-identified as “Matt Drudge’s bitch” was also eager to atone for other things--like calling Michelle Obama fat.) Mr. Breitbart went on to announce that he possessed an “X-rated” image of Mr. Weiner, presumably not for personal use.

But despite Mr. Breitbart’s best efforts, Ms. Weiner’s most helpful (if belated) counsel may have come from the actress Reese Witherspoon, who, while accepting a “Generations Award” at the MTV Movie Awards on Sunday night, told the audience--which included recent smartphone self-portraitist Blake Lively--that, when she came up in show business, “if you took naked pictures of yourself ... you hide your face, people! Hide your face!”

Escaping pictorial evidence of his crimes‹but not the wrath of his victims‹this week was Dominique Strauss-Kahn, who entered a not guilty plea at his arraignment Monday morning after weeks of hiding his face in $14 million Tribeca townhouse. As the former I.M.F. chief entered the courthouse, a row of chambermaids chanted, “Shame on you!” After the hearing, D.S.K. was placed under house arrest (which, if we've learned anything from Martha Stewart and Gossip Girl, means lots of scone-baking and ambivalent Gilt Groupe shopping).

Another photo finish--albeit somewhat less risqué--may be the 2012 presidential race, according to the latest ABC News/Washington Post poll numbers, released Tuesday. If Mitt Romney is the G.O.P. nominee, the poll indicates that he will defeat President Obama by a 3% margin, while if Romney and his Aquafresh campaign logo fail to woo the Republican base, the incumbent has an edge over possible opponents Sarah Palin, Newt Gingrich, Tim Pawlenty, and Jon Huntsman. (And former Pennsylvania senator Rick Santorum, who announced his candidacy Monday despite being voted out of office by his constituents in 2006, entered the race too late to be considered, but we're betting his odds of winning the nomination are about as good as those that the unsavory definition of “santorum” coined by his detractors will fall from the top spot on Google.)

And how ‘bout those Yankees? New York's dominant baseball franchise began a series with the Boston Red Sox Tuesday night, the outcome of which will determine who's number one in the A.L. East. We haven't been this excited since--well, since every other year this happens.

At least there are a few goings-on to distract us from sext scandals, sports and premature political projections. It’s Internet Week, for starters--like Secretary’s Day, but for your Tumblr!--a city-wide event that’s attracted such illustrious keynote speakers as Chuck Schumer and Nicholas Kristof (no word on whether notorious web maven and future former Times editor Bill Keller was offered a spot). In celebration--or by coincidence--The Observer relaunched its website early this morning, just as the copy of the paper you’re holding was dropped onto your doorstep with a few modifications of its own. We’re sleeker! We’re wordier! We’re ever so slightly more fanciful!

But we’re not trying to steal anybody’s spotlight. And we’re not looking for vindication. We’re just not afraid to show our (ever so slightly improved) face.

Mr. McKay said that the company's moniker, fictitiously identified on its Web site as referring to a "Paraguayan entrepreneur and financier," was selected largely at random by Mr. Ferrell.

So no, conspiracy theorists: The young star from the Dominican Republic, whose $3 million 2009 signing bonus was the largest the Yankees have ever given an amateur or a position player, isn't simply a comedic counterpart to Talladega Nights' Ricky Bobby or Eastbound and Down's Kenny Powers, both released by Gary Sanchez Productions. Nor is he a complete hoax, à la George Plimpton's famous pitcher-slash-yogi Sidd Finch. "Oh, that would've been genius!" Mr. McKay said. "But no, the kid can legitimately play and his name is legitimately Gary Sanchez. How bizarre."

"I will never have a heart attack — I give them," once said George Steinbrenner, the endlessly quotable owner of the New York Yankees, off and on, since 1973.

On Tuesday morning, he finally had one. Steinbrenner, 80, died of a heart attack, at his home in Florida.

On the New York networks, he was lionized and hailed as a runaway success who was brash and unapologetic; the man who brought the Yankees out of their nadir in the late '60s and early '70s and made them champions.  

He would have been plenty pleased with the coverage. "George was a totally new invention," said Peter Golenbock, author of George: The Poor Little Rich Boy Who Built the Yankee Empire and the '70s classic about the early Steinbrenner days, The Bronx Zoo. "He was an owner who wanted to see his name in the paper every single day. He was the sort of guy who didn't care that much whether he was praised or lambasted. He just wanted to see himself in the paper every day."

If the Yankees today, with their outlandishly high payroll of $200 million-plus and their $1.6 billion value and their $1 billion new stadium and their history and their rings, are the Evil Empire, Steinbrenner was their guiding force. He has at times been loathed equally by fans and by the baseball world-he was once socked with the same lifetime ban from the game as Pete Rose and Joe Jackson after he hired a bookie to get dirt on Dave Winfield, only to have the ban lifted and return to the Yankees. This is the man who oversaw the exile of Yogi Berra from the Yankees family; who feuded with legends like Billy Martin and Reggie Jackson and Joe Torre; and who took a proud franchise and made it a laughingstock by rotating more than a dozen managers in and out of the Bronx. 

And yet this is also the man who won. "Winning is the most important thing in my life, after breathing," Steinbrenner famously said. "Breathing first, winning next."

Since he bought the team, Steinbrenner won more titles than any other owner in New York sports. The Giants have won three times, the Rangers once, the Mets once. During the time Steinbrenner owned the Yankees, they won the World Series seven times, and 11 American League pennants. 

The Maras may have delivered championships quietly and politely, but they won less than half of what the Yankees have brought home in the era of Steinbrenner. "He was a guy who if he ran a newspaper or a shipbuilding firm or a baseball term, it would have been successful," said Gay Talese. "He never left anything to chance. He was on top of everything."

He was, in many ways, a quintessentially complicated New York leader. If Robert Moses rebuilt the city and left behind an amazingly mixed, even ugly, legacy, Steinbrenner did the same. He led on his terms, no matter the cost.

"There were people whose budget for public relations was a total waste," said Mr. Talese, who compared Steinbrenner to Moses and Abe Rosenthal, the imperious and legendary former editor of The New York Times. "They didn't know how to behave beyond what they were. They didn't have a capacity to spin anything. They were so incontrovertibly who they were. They didn't make a secret of it.

"Abe Rosenthal loved Steinbrenner, too," Mr. Talese continued. "And there was kind of a similarity in personality-a great editor, but someone who was loathed up and down and on every floor of the building."

By time the '90s rolled around, Steinbrenner seemed softer, even a little kinder. The YES Network, which spews cash for the team  with their documentaries and live concerts, seemed classy and stoic. Hotheads like Reggie Jackson and Billy Martin were replaced by the cool-headed leaders like Derek Jeter and Joe Torre. Even Phil Rizzuto and Bill White, two wacky announcers in the 1970s, are long gone, replaced by the painfully serious Michael Kay.

And then, in 1999, fences were mended and Yogi Berra came back.

Naysayers say the Yankees built their two championship teams (the '77 and '78 team; and the 1996-2000 team) despite Steinbrenner. The argument goes like this: After he was suspended following some shady contributions to Richard Nixon's presidential campaign, it allowed team president Gabe Paul time to pull together the talent that the made the Yankees champs. Likewise, when the Boss was banned from baseball, Gene Michael built the team that would later dominate in the late '90s since Mr. Steinbrenner wasn't around to trade them away.

But that seems too fine a point. He laid the ground for those men to do work. He created the atmosphere that led to that team.

To a Mets fan-and that's what I am-there's no better way to illustrate the Steinbrenner legacy than the 2000 World Series. The Yankees had won three out of the previous four World Series, and were trying to put the capstone on their dynasty. The Mets were a ragtag bunch that included the likes of Turk Wendell and Jay Payton and Benny Agbayani.

It's been said by many sportswriters that Steinbrenner hated losing attention to the Mets (many argue that the Boss became so unhinged in the '80s because he was trying to find a way to match the Mets) almost more than anything.

In that series, which the Yankees won four games to one, the Yankees outscored the Mets by only three runs. It was a close series. But the team that acted like a champion did win it. The Mets, lovable losers as they are, never stood a chance. Whereas Mets fans would fall to their knees and scream in joy when they got as much as a single against the Yankees, very little (other than winning) could satisfy Steinbrenner. 

Mr. Talese said that when he visited the Steinbrenner box in the '90s, the Boss was drinking a beer and eating his popcorn and screaming and cursing, probably at some beloved Yankee like Bernie Williams because he probably made some very minor mistake. Wellington Mara or Leon Hess or Nelson Doubleday this was not.

"He was like a crazy man," said Mr. Talese, "but later that day, or later in the week, the results were evident. He was ahead."

jkoblin@observer.com