Wow. According to US Weekly, citing a former lover, A-Rod had paintings of himself as a centaur over his bed.

Wow.

Wow.

I don’t even know what to say. I didn’t think it could get funnier than the Details photoshoot, but I think it just did. A-Rod is the comedy gift that keeps on giving.

A centaur. Half-horse half-man.

You know, I’ve been brainstorming for years trying to come up with some idea for my father to follow his Awesomeist classic, Vin Diesel and Usher Riding Into Battle on a Chariot Pulled by White Tigers. Years. I just couldn’t come up with anything that could match that.

But A-Rod did: A-Rod as a centaur.

What’s most amazing, I guess, is that no one had the cojones to stop him.

Which is more damning about the nature of celebrity: That the guy thought it would be a good idea to commission a painting of himself as a centaur, or that no one tried hard enough to talk the guy out of it?

I absolutely must see it. I have to. The A-Rod as a Centaur masterpiece should be in MoMA. It reflects the human condition. It is massurrealism at its finest.

And in this case, that actually means what it sounds like.

In a column for the Daily News today, Joanna Molloy details Alex Rodriguez’s new habit of dropping in on Little League games and stickball games around Washington Heights and the Bronx.

Molloy wonders if that has something to do with A-Rod’s playoff efforts. I seriously doubt it, and would much prefer to chalk his success up to randomness and the fact that he’s one of the best players in baseball.

But that doesn’t make it any less cool that he’s jumping in on area stickball games.

I love stickball. My friends and I played it all the time in high school, so much so that it made me something of a Luis Castillo-style wrist hitter, since it’s useless to take monstrous cuts with a stickball bat.

Part of what’s cool about stickball is that every single group of stickball players has their own set of rules, usually customized for wherever there are open spaces to play.

I know some people play with a Spaldeen and hit lobbed pitches off a bounce, but we played the variety that features a spray-painted strike zone against a wall, and where different distances are assigned different values.

One of my best friends was a stud pitcher in high school who could throw in the high 80s. Batting against him in stickball can be downright terrifying.

That’s all I’ve got. I just wanted to point out that stickball is really fun. I’ve got some meetings today so there won’t be much here for the next few hours.

Enjoy thoughts of Pedro tonight.

Allow me to briefly indulge a high-school football memory:

It was the fourth quarter of the homecoming game my senior year, and we held a comfortable lead over the cupcake West Hempstead team we scheduled for homecoming every season. Nevermind that it was due to be our first win of the season and only the fourth in the three years I had been playing varsity football; I was having the time of my life.

Our coach swapped in a new defensive end, a pothead who didn’t play much. He was supposed to bring the defensive playcall with him, but that was apparently too much for his memory to bear.

While the huddle gathered, I jogged to greet him.

“What’s the play?” I asked.

“Oh, s@#$,” he said, looking bewildered. “But yo, Wurst is having a party.”

I chuckled and approached the huddle.

“Forty-two, outside, Cover 2, red dog,” I said, improvising. “And guys — there’s a party at Wurst’s house tonight.”

What a leader I was that day! And what a fun-loving gang of hooligans we were! Just laughing and partying and keeping it loose. That was a team with chemistry.

Of course, the next week, while losing by double-digits, I got into a fistfight with our starting runningback on the sidelines. And after the game, instead of partying with my teammates, I went to the movies with my parents. I was ashamed to be seen in public after the stomping we took.

In the coming days, lots and lots of people are going to talk about A.J. Burnett and his whipped-cream pies and how the Yankees succeeded because they were able to stay loose in the clubhouse.

But that’s not really it.

When teams play well, the players have fun. Almost always. Baseball players become professional baseball players in part because they really, really enjoy playing baseball (even Carlos Beltran!). And to win consistently at the Major League level must be an unimaginable thrill.

So of course the Yankees nailed each other in the face with pies after games. And of course they appeared to be enjoying it. They were enjoying it, and they deserved to. They were that good.

But they were enjoying it because they were good, they were not good because they were enjoying it. Does that make sense?

The Yankees had a team full of All-Stars that were lucky enough to stay healthy. They replaced Jason Giambi with Mark Teixeira and revamped their rotation. That’s why they won, and so that’s why they had so much fun.

No one gets pied after losses.

Look: I’m not dismissing the element of team chemistry altogether. I’ve worked in groups, and obviously I recognize that it’s a much more pleasant experience while everyone’s getting along.

But is there a way to construct a group to ensure that everyone gets along? I doubt it. In fact, I’d bet the best way to secure the best possible clubhouse would be to put together the best possible team.

That’s what the Mets need to do this offseason. They must put together the best possible team for 2010 that does not prevent them from winning in 2011 and beyond.

And that’s all. There’s no need to go out and acquire good clubhouse guys or team leaders or pie-throwers. If the team wins games, there’ll always be someone to throw pies.