New York Yankee Alex Rodriguez hit his 569th and 570th home runs on Saturday, moving up to 10th place on the list of all-time home leaders, ahead of Rafael Palmeiro.

In other words, one steroid-using cheater passed another.

Someone tell me why I - or anyone - should care, or take these "accomplishments" seriously.

Let me see if I have this right:

State Sen. Perdro Espada, a Bronx Democrat, stabs his party in the back a month ago by joining the Senate's Republican caucus — giving the GOP control of the chamber in the process — in return for a ledership post in the new majority.

Thirty-one days later, he jumps back across the aisle, returning the Democrats to the majority, and is given the leadership post (Senate majority leader) in return.

In my world, the rough equivalent of this would be quitting my job as the Freeman's city editor with no advance notice, going to work for, say the Poughkeepsie Journal, and then agreeing to come back to the Freeman a month later — but only on the condition that I be made managing editor or publisher.

That's not the way things work in the business world. And they shouldn't work that way in government, either.

For a moment there on Tuesday, I was ready to declare the Michael Jackson memorial service the perfect tribute.

It was understated; never gaudy, garish or glitzy; never over the top.

The musical performances by Usher, Stevie Wonder, Jermaine Jackson, Mariah Carey and others were sincere and powerful.

The all-star treatments given to "We Are the World" and "Heal the World" were exuberant, even joyous.

The brief but heart-wrenching statement by Jackson's 11-year-old daughter, Paris, was unforgettable and is sure to become the most-rerun video clip from the event.

And the sight of Jackson's casket being wheeled in by his brothers and former Jackson 5 bandmates is an image that will endure for years to come.

But then the Rev. Al Sharpton goes and blows it by saying to Jackson's children, during an otherwise stirring eulogy, that there was "nothing strange about your daddy."

Excuse me, Al? Did you sleep through the last 25 years? In case you did, here are a few highlights of Jackson's life during that time: A best-friend chimp named Bubbles. Sleeping in a hyperbaric chamber. An estimated 25 plastic surgeries, including procedures to lighten his African-American skin color. Living on an estate with an amusement park and a zoo. Sharing his bed with young boys. Two accusations of child molestation - one leading to a reported $20 million settlement, the other to a circus-atmosphere criminal trial. Dangling his infant son over the railing of a hotel balcony. Putting masks on his kids when taking them out in public. And, oh yeah, dying at age 50 after, according to most accounts, years of being addicted to various drugs.

Nothing strange, Al? More like nothing but strange.

Praise the man all you want, Rev. Sharpton. But at least tell the truth.

Driving from Kingston to the town of Ulster (and back) this morning, I was struck by the wide disparity in gas prices - not just between competing chains, but even at pumps owned by the same company.

Of particular note: The Stewart's Shop at Lucas and Catskill avenues was charging $2.75 a gallon for regular unleaded, while the Stewart's at Boice's Lane and Morton Boulverad was charging $2.61 and the Stewart's at Albany and Foxhall avenues was at $2.60.

Also, the QuickChek at Washington Avenue and Sawkill Road was charging $2.65 while the one on Albany Avenue was at $2.59.

I don't get it.

Reporting today on the 500th save thrown by New York Yankee pitcher Mariano Rivera, ESPN called the rightie reliever "the best closer of all time."

Really?

Rivera doesn't hold the record for most career saves. (That distinction belongs to Trevor Hoffman, who has 571 and is still playing.)

Rivera doesn't hold the record for most saves in a single season. (His best season was 2004, when he had 53 saves. Four pitchers have done better, with Francisco Rodriguez topping the list at 62, accomplished last year with the Angels.)

And Rivera is one of the few pitchers, if not the only one, in the history of Major League Baseball to blow a save - and cost his team the championship - in the ninth inning of Game 7 of the World Series (in 2001 vs. the Diamondbacks).

Is Rivera a great pitcher? Of course.

Will he be enshrined in Cooperstown one day? You can count on it.

But is he the "best closer of all time"? No. Not even if ESPN says he is.

I’ve tried to be sad about Michael Jackson’s death. Really I have. But it just isn’t happening.

Perhaps it’s because I never much cared for his music. Perhaps it’s because his passing at age 50 came as no surprise, given all his self-destructive behavior over the last 15 years. Or perhaps it’s because we, as a society, have become so desensitized to tragedies like this one as TV news outlets increasingly treat them like run-of-the-mill tabloid scandals rather than the moments of profound sadness that they are. (I mean, seriously, Jackson’s body wasn’t even cold yet when all the self-important squawkers on the tube started guessing who might get custody of the singer’s three children.)

In a media environment where all the celebrity trash aired by “The Insider,” “Entertainment Tonight” and HLN is treated as real news, regardless of its significance, it’s become hard to differentiate between who-gives-a-crap hokum like the divorce of Jon and Kate Gosselin and a truly shocking event like a heart attack cutting down one of pop music’s most influential figures.

It’s all just a blur and a lot of white noise.

Previous untimely deaths among giants in the music industry — Elvis Presley and John Lennon are the best examples — felt more like body blows because the news media of the time (read: three responsible TV networks, newspapers and no Internet gossip sites) properly conveyed the gravity of the losses. They reported the news, and the reaction to the news; they focused on the influence of the fallen stars; and they steered clear of silly speculations, rumors, third-hand accounts and paparazzi photos.

Perhaps today’s TV reporters and bloggers could learn from that history. And then perhaps we, the people affected by the news, could properly grasp the enormity of a story like Michael Jackson dying.

Perhaps. But I doubt it.

For the last 20 years or so, a man who died on Thursday in Los Angeles has been in the news for sharing his bed with young boys, allegedly molesting at least two of them, dangling his baby son off a hotel balcony, having so much plastic surgery that he looked almost inhuman, marrying and divorcing two women, nearly going bankrupt, having a chimpanzee as a best friend and sleeping in a hyperbaric chamber.

Sometimes it's easy to forget the same man had a brilliant music career in the 1970s and '80s that included the best-selling album of all time, 13 chart-topping singles, more than a dozen Grammy Awards, electrifying live performances and the adoration of millions (perhaps billions) of fans worldwide.

Indeed, after witnessing Michael Jackson evolve from child singing sensation to pop music megastar, it was both sad and painful to watch his life deteriorate into the bizarre freak show that it ultimately became. And it was sad, too, of course, to learn on Thursday that that life had come to an end after a mere 50 years.

Sad, but sadly not surprising.