What's with Kenny Rogers' hand?

See for yourself.

Ten years ago this autumn, in Game 4 of the World Series, the Yankees came back from 6-0 to defeat the Braves 8-6 in 10 innings. What is best remembered about that game is Jim "King" Leyritz's three-run homer in the eighth off of Mark Wohlers to tie the game 6-6, and, essentially, end Wohlers' career. (I have a framed photo of King's swing in my den.) What is less remembered about the game is how the Yankees found themselves down 6-0 in the first place. The main reason was Kenny Rogers, whose pathetic start was all but called gutless, point blank, by Joe Torre in Torre's ghostwritten book on the 1996 season.

Speaking for myself, I don't think I've ever seen a more exasperating start by a World Series pitcher. Facing the likes of Andruw Jones, Fred McGriff, and Brian Jordan, Rogers would attempt perfect pitch after perfect, even after it was clear that his control was subpar. Between innings, Torre all but begged Rogers to challenge the hitters more, and Rogers refused, shaking Joe Girardi off again and again until the bases filled. Then the Braves, knowing he now had to throw his fastball, would simply sit back and clobber him. After Rogers departed, the Yankees (these were the bad-ass Yankees of Paul O'Neill, Tino Martinez, and Tim Raines, in addition to rookie Derek Jeter) cut the lead in half. King tied the game, and then, in the tenth, Torre's pinch-hitter (Wade Boggs--the last man off the bench; it was either him or re-activate Zimmer) coaxed a bases-loaded walk from Steve Avery to take the lead for good.

There is a lot I remember from that magical 1996 season: the Yankees' unsinkable bullpen (Mariano Rivera as set-up man!), the emergence of Derek Jeter, Doc Gooden's no-hitter, Paul O'Neill playing through a wave of injuries, and David Cone visibly pleading, "Skip, I'll get him," to manager Torre on the mound during Game 3 of the World Series, the winning of which was the first of fourteen consecutive World Series victories by the Yankees through 2000. But what I also remember was the Yankees, again and again, rushing the breach to Rogers' rescue.

The Yankees won all three of Kenny Rogers' postseason starts in 1996. Rogers' post-season record that season? 0-0. Think about that. I certainly did last night, watching Rogers mow through a Cardinals team of Albert Pujols, Scott Rolen, Jim Edmonds, and David Eckstein.

It was one thing to watch Rogers go through the Yankees during the divisional playoffs (the Yankee team of Derek Jeter, Jason Giambi, blah blah blah), then repeat his performance against an A's team (of Frank Thomas, blah, blah). But this is no mere comeback. This is no hot streak. This is a performance of historic proportions, a performance to place Rogers with the post-season giants of the game: Christy Mathewson, Lou Burdette, Whitey Ford, Mariano Rivera. And it is absolutely without precedent. Not only in Kenny Rogers' career but in the whole of baseball history. It is one thing for an aging slop-thrower like Howard Ehmke to set a World Series single-game strikeout record, or for a journeyman like Don Larsen to throw a perfect game (against Jackie Robinson, Roy Campanella, blah blah). These are one-game phenomenons. It is quite another for a 41 year-old journeyman with a post-season 8.85 ERA to throw three near-perfect games in a row against three of the best eight teams in baseball.

With no more than one start--and maybe no starts--remaining in 2006, Rogers' ERA stands at 0.00. Zero point zero zero.

I spent all yesterday thinking that the almost arbitrary, who's-hot-who's-not nature of baseball these days had cut into the enjoyment of the game. In the absence of a superteam (the 1998 Yankees, the 1976 Cincinnati Reds), can we even say there's such thing as a post-season favorite? When a single hot arm (Josh Beckett in 2003; Jose Rijo in 1990; Orel Hershiser in 1988) can be the margin of victory over overwhelming favorites, what is the point of speculation? If a career post-season flop like Kenny Rogers can suddenly resemble the man he claims is his idol, Sandy Koufaz, why have any expectations at all? Why not simply sit back and see who gets hot, who gets lucky?

And then I saw the gunk on Kenny Rogers' hand.

I say "gunk" because I don't know what it is, and I'm guessing nobody but Kenny Rogers quite knows, either. It's not dirt because dirt doesn't adhere to the skin that way. It's not rosin because it's too thick. It's not--I'm told--pine tar, because pine tar gives off a distinctive smell.

But it sure as hell is something. And--as Woody Paige, in his twice-a-month perceptive moment--pointed out, no way is it there, and staying there, by accident, not the way pitchers obsess over every square inch of their million-dollar throwing arms and hands.

There is something eerie about Tony LaRussa's passivity, both during the game and after. Is his friendship with Jim Leyland sot deep that he wouldn't even request to have Rogers' hand inspected? Billy Martin would have obtained a search warrant for Rogers' glove, cap, and pockets. Earl Weaver, up against Mr. Zero Zero Zero, would have fulminated for a half-dozen minutes, trying to freeze Rogers, and I mean literally. Even nice-guy Joe Torre would have asked for an inspection. For LaRussa, nothing. In the post-game press conference it was LaRussa, not Leyland, who seemed embarrassed.

Odder still were the umpires. Time was that suspicion in a late-August game between a fifth- and sixth-place team would warrant everything short of a cavity search. I can remember twenty years ago, watching Joe Niekro being ordered to empty his pockets while four umpires surrounded him at arm's length. (He had an emory board, and attempted unsuccessfully to flip it away when he drew his left arm out of his back pocket. Ten-game suspension.) In in a playoff game in 1988, Dodger reliever Jay Howell place pine tar in his glove, and probably would have gotten away with it, except the umpires forced him to pitch in a drizzle and the stuff ran off his fingers and onto the bill of his cap, discoloring it. Tommy John and Rick Rhoden weere searched so many times they started leaving notes on slips of paper for the umpires and then sticking them in their pockets and between the fingers of their gloves: "Warmer." "Right church, wrong pew." Last night, the umpires said nothing more than "Go wash your hands," as if they were calling Rogers to the dinner table.

Has Major League Baseball suddenly turned inward? Has eight years of a steroid cloud made cover-our-asses the default position of everyone involved?

I don't know. But now I want to. And I'm not alone.

And if Kenny Rogers thought he was under a spotlight last night, just wait until Game 6--if necessary.