Alex Rodriguez. Two words, one name, that, if you follow sports in even the most cursory manner, induce reactions from one end of the spectrum (eye rolls) to the other (dry heaves.)

I've written about Rodriguez before, of course. Who couldn't? He's the quintessential sports train wreck, the ultimate 21st century "tragi-lete," Hamlet in pinstripes, lacking only the compelling backstory and the excuse of regicide-induced madness.

I poked fun at his over-the-top reaction to being broadcast, live, as he was hand-fed grapes by then-girlfriend Cameron Diaz at the 2011 Super Bowl. He was being served like a Roman emperor of old by one of the world's most desirable women and A-Rod squirmed so uncomfortably afterwards you wondered if he was in third grade. Eew! Cooties!

I made what I thought was a pretty compelling case for forgiving A-Rod four years ago, in 2009, when he was finally caught red-handed, and rightly, finally, proven a cheat.

"The only thing I ask of this group today and the American people is to judge me from this day forward."

That's what he said then.

And here's what I proposed.

"You are forgiven. All is forgotten. You get to play out the rest of your career as a professional athlete, with all the trimmings and trappings that come with it.

But you have to start over. You don't get to keep any of the numbers you've piled up to date. You start from scratch, right here, right now.

Lifetime batting average? .000. Home runs? None. Singles, doubles, triples? Nada, zero, zilch. Gold gloves? Not yet.

If Alex Rodriguez wants to be in the Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, he has the rest of his career to make the case. But the C.V. he's put together to date is too circumspect, too rickety, too questionable to be considered.

Most people would kill for the chance to start over with clean slate, from scratch, with neither obligation nor presumption.

For A-Rod, it seems the least we can do.

After all, he's earned it."

Fast forward to today.

Rodriguez has been caught up, once again, in a mare's nest of lies, deceit, intrigue, payoffs, accusations, threats and innuendoes.

At the center of the latest maelstrom swirling around Rodriguez was Biogenesis of America, the Coral Gables, FL, based "health clinic" that specialized in weight loss and hormone replacement therapy. In addition, according to reports originally filed by the Miami New Times, Biogenesis was also actively engaged in helping a still as-yet-undetermined number of professional athletes circumvent their respective leagues rules on performance enhancing drugs.

Major League Baseball, after conducting its own investigation and striking its own deal with Biogenesis whistle-blowers, suspended 14 players for violations of baseball's drug agreement, namely for use of banned performance enhancers, and, in the case of Rodriguez, "attempts to cover up those violations and obstruct a league investigation."

Taken together, the players were collectively suspended for a total of 876 games, or nearly five-and-a-half regular seasons.

Much of that suspension, nearly a quarter, was given to Rodriguez: 211 games, total, or the rest of the 2012 season and all of the 2013 season, at the time of the suspension.

Of the players suspended, all but one decided to accept the punishment and begin the process of moving forward. The one?

A-Rod.

To date, Rodriguez has vehemently denied all the charges against him, has professed to being the victim of a grand, near-Machiavellian conspiracy orchestrated by MLB and the New York Yankees to deprive him of his livelihood, surrounded himself with a legal team the likes of which have not been seen since O.J. was on trial the first time, and endeavored to cast himself as his union's white knight, standing up to the oppressive overlords for all the little guys behind him.

He has denied allegations that he ratted out fellow major league players in an attempt to deflect attention from himself, and that he tried to pay off the Biogenesis employees testifying against him.

He has repeatedly stated that the truth would come out, "when the time is right." Only on planet A-Rod could there be a specific, somewhere-in-the-murky-future moment when telling the truth is the right thing to do. As opposed to, well, always. Or, at the very least, now.

So A-Rod, for now, plays on, for the team, as accused by his own lawyers, that tried to end his career, for the league that tried to run him out, and for the union whose members seem, at best, divided over their brother's plight.

His attempts to wrap himself in the protective cocoon of the regular season, surrounded by the reassuring and familiar walls of ballparks across the country, channeling all his focus and resolve into helping his team push for the playoffs, is all so much fluff, so much transparent hokum, so much been-there-done-that hooey.

A-Rod once had the opportunity to go down as one of the greatest players of all time, certainly the greatest of a generation.

But his desperation, his narcissism and his sociopathic tendencies have led him down a path solely of his own design.

You reap what you sow, as the old folks used to say.

And A-Rod, methinks, is about to reap the whirlwind.