Jacob Marley haunted the wrong guy.

If old Marley would have been assigned to A-Rod instead of Ebenezer Scrooge, he might have warned him of the terrible chains he was destined to forge after signing the by-far richest contract in baseball history with Tom Hicks and the Texas Rangers. Marley was not present to bang together his moneyboxes in warning and lament, however, so A-Rod was doomed to carry that burden until the end of his playing days.

Sure, he was disingenuous when he signed with the Rangers, a losing organization at the time destined to continue losing while the GM struggled under the handicap of A-Rod’s contract. But was he more so than, say, Mike Hampton’s assessment of the Denver school system or Roger Clemens’ annual Return for the Ring based more on the dollar than the hardware? (“Well, yeah, my Bulldog Mentality ™ is really the Driving Force behind my Unquenched Thirst for another championship, but you’re not going to see it out there for less than twenty million.”)

Probably not, but the toxic combination of The Contract, a fragile ego, and Scott Boras’ representation led A-Rod down roads many would choose not to travel, and eventually to his current Flying Dutchman act.

Was it the losing in Texas that got to him, or Buck Showalter? Probably some of both, but a desire to be revered rather than snickered at or derided as a greedy loser probably had something to do with it, too. Seattle, after all, had blossomed after his departure, an unexpected occurrence already leading to whispers about the true worth of the player who had sold his soul for the biggest possible dollar. He must have chafed at this notion; the only way to get out from under the perception was to play on the national stage with a ballclub that wouldn’t be totally dragged down by his salary.  So Boston and New York, already locked in the beginnings of their Sith-Jedi death struggle for American League dominance, beckoned as the most likely destinations for the mega-deal man.

Boston was his first shot at escape. It would be tough playing there, but there were a couple of positives. For one, the Sox had not yet won it all nor established any dominance over the Yankees. Like Orioles fans cheering on Albert Belle even while he gave the orange-and-black faithful the finger, they would have been a lot more forgiving towards A-Rod’s baggage if he helped overthrow the Evil Empire. The other positive was Manny; he was already under the local media microscope and might divert a lot of potential bad press. But the union intervened, and the deal was dead.

Then the Yankees came calling.

This was a marriage destined for issues from the very beginning. Jeter, in my opinion, has a lot of Cal Ripken's 'prima donna leadership' in him - an undercurrent of 'it's-all-about-me-while-I'm-acting-all-humble-and-clutch-and-blue-collar'. When Jeter chose to administer the Manny Alexander Treatment to A-Rod, there were turbulent days ahead indeed in the Bronx.

Based on the things A-Rod had said about Jeter in the unfortunate Esquire article the winter before he moved to the Bronx, it's not hard to see why Jeter was a bit cool and churlish towards his newfound teammate; but if he wanted things to max out in Yankeeland, he could have been a better teammate and spoken out more to help his fragile third baseman.

But, just as Teflon Cal glided through one dysfunctional splintered clubhouse after another during the second half of his O's tenure while the press fawned over his Leadership By Example ™, Jeter is above reproach in New York. He muttered under his breath (and sometimes not so under his breath) about the New Yankees not ‘doing what’s necessary to win’ season after season while maintaining his own image as Captain Clutch, but little was made of it. Instead, most of the press agreed.

That’s not to say that Jeter isn’t a magnificent player; of course he is. But it says here that if winning was the foremost thing on his mind he might have been better served by embracing his high-strung and complex teammate, the one who could hit fifty home runs and drive in a hundred and fifty.

But he made his choice, just as A-Rod has made his. History says that Jeter’s choice may be the one most destined to bear fruit, as A-Rod-less teams have fared better than the models that displayed his shiny wares. Still, one can wonder what might have been if Joe Torre had been able to/chose to fully embrace both his shortstop and third sacker as ‘true Yankees’ instead of holding one at arm’s length.

So now it’s on to the next stop for A-Rod. Will he find happiness with either club in L.A. or a more unexpected home? Will the next contract be a newer model of albatross for both A-Rod and the team that offers it? Or will the combination of a more forgiving press corps, a fan base starving for a winner, teammates who fully embrace him, and a manager he can play for finally add up to some peace between the lines for Alex Rodriguez?

Will Derek Jeter finally get another ring, or will he discover that the rare convergence of chance and chemistry that can lead to dynasty is more fleeting that he could imagine, even for the Yankees? Will he look back one day with regret at his often dismissive attitude towards his Hall of Fame teammate, or will the pinstriped juggernaut roll on without missing a beat?

As usual in baseball, there are more questions than answers. But for two players and a legion of fans, the quest - and the conjecture -continues.