Roger Clemens, you insist that you’ve never taken any performance enhancing drugs.
Mike, I would never do anything to endanger my Hall of Fame chances and sadden my millions of adoring fans. Before we cut to this interview, you saw footage of me smiling, holding hands with my loving wife, and playing catch with how ever many kids I have. That footage clearly proves that I’m a good person who would not do bad things.
But you’re accused of doing steroids in a federal affidavit.
I’m accused by Brian McNamee, who is a lying scumbag. No one should believe any words that come out of his mouth. Unless he says, “Roger Clemens is awesome,” because those words are very true.
If McNamee lied to federal prosecutors, he would face serious jail time. Why would he take that risk?
I told you, he’s a scumbag. Scumbags love jail time. Science has proven it. I read it in last month’s Soldier of Fortune .
McNamee was your trainer for many years. You even insisted the Yankees hire him when you were traded from Toronto. So obviously, there was a time when you trusted him.
Mike, sometimes we misplace our trust. I trusted McDonalds when they came out with the McRib. I believed in the McRib. Then without any warning, they took it off the menu. A little piece of me died that day. Although sometimes the wife will get these barbecue sandwiches at Sam’s Club that are almost as good. They come in packages of ten. Sometimes I throw all of them in the microwave at once, pierce the plastic sleeve, and inhale the bounty’s sensuous pork mist…
So you’re saying that McNamee never injected you with anything?
No, I did receive regular injections from him. I was told these injections were a mixture of St. Joseph’s baby aspirin and orange Tang. He said that the combination of ibuprofen and citrus flavor would prevent a build up of lactic acid in my muscles, and also make my pee smell like orange juice. I only began to suspect something was wrong when my nads shrank to the size of Tic-Tacs.
I find it hard to believe that a professional athlete such as yourself would allow himself to be injected with something, yet not know what it is.
Mike, I only took these injections in order to recover from injuries, which makes it totally okay. If I didn’t do everything in my power to pitch my best, I would be letting down my team and its fans, whoever they might be at the time. For some pitchers, this means adhering to a strict workout regimen. Me, I chose to be stabbed in the ass with mysterious fluids.
If these mysterious fluids were really okay, why didn’t you get the injections from a doctor? Why trust them to your trainer, who was not licensed in any form of medical treatment?
Mike, I’m a simple guy. I come from simple people. When I was growing up, my momma taught me that doctors are actually evil trolls in disguise who want to steal your pee-pee and put it in a little jar in their basement. Say what you will about that ol’ folk wisdom, but I still have my pee-pee. Sort of.
What do you say to the people that believe these accusations taint your legacy?
All I can say is, I’m not the only guy who allegedly used “performance enhancing substances”. Did you know Mike Piazza used to come to the batter’s box holding something called a “Louisville Slugger”? And that he actually would hit “home runs” off of me? Does he have a death wish or what? I’m gonna aim a pitch right at his dome. AND THEN I’M GONNA RIP HIS HEAD OFF AND DRINK BLOOD STRAIGHT OUTTA HIS GAPING NECK HOLE!
Roger, your answers to these serious allegations strain credulity, and certainly warrant further questioning.
But I swear I’m telling the truth! Jeez!
Oh, you swear? I’m very sorry. You couldn’t possibly be lying. Please forgive my impertinent queries. Could you sign this baseball card for me?
Hey, Hank Steinbrenner here. Just wanted to let you 60 Minutes viewers know that the Yankees are still in the Johan Santana race. Those deadlines I mentioned during the Winter Meetings were deadlines only for the year 2007. I guess I kept talking after all the reporters left the room during my press conference. I do that sometimes. Anyway, we are totally done dealing with the Twins.
I thought you just said you were back in the race for Santana.
Yes, we are totally not continuing with trade talks, but Santana will be in a Yankees uniform by next week, except I’m okay with our staff as it us, but we like our chances to acquire Santana, that is, he’s not on our radar, but he totally is.
…
See, I’m hoping that my crazy talk will confuse Minnesota so much that they’ll let us have him for Melky Cabrera, Latroy Hawkins, and a picture of Rudy Giuliani in a Yankees hat (unsigned, of course). I also hope this will prevent the MLB head office from slapping me with tampering charges. Although it would be kinda cool if I could be just like Dad and get banned from the game for several years.
I would love to see Johan Santana in pinstripes. AND THEN I WILL FEAST ON THE SPLEEN THAT I’VE CARVED FROM HIS FLESH WITH A RUSTY BOATHOOK!
Tag Archives: roger clemens
Take Your Medicine
Fellow baseball fans, I say this with love: grow the fuck up.
If you think the Mitchell Report is the worst thing to ever happen to baseball, that tells me two things about you.
(1) You have not even skimmed the report, because if you had, you’d know that it hardly names any major player we didn’t already know about. Aside from Roger Clemens and Andy Pettite–and if you had two eyes and an ear for gossip, you’d have known about them already, too.
(2) You know nothing about the history of baseball.
Up the Middle with Skitch Hanson
Lots of stuff has been going on in the sports world lately, and the one-man editor’s board of Scratchbomb can’t cover it all. So we’re delighted to welcome Skitch Hanson to our fold. You may know him as the author of the highly popular syndicated sports column “Up The Middle,” the six-time winner of the AP’s Fence Sitter Award for “Writing Least Likely To Offend Anyone”. You may have read his best-selling books “Your Eight Heavenly Visitors: The Afterlife Made Easy!” and “My Saintly Mentor”. You may have seen him on ESPN’s “SportsCranks,” where he’s often seen debating against his “urban”
counterpoint, b-ball pundit Hoops Washington. Without further ado, here’s Skitch.
It’s Super Bowl Week, and everyone who’s anyone is in Miami. Since I’m somebody, that’s where I find myself now. My employers at the syndicate have put me up at the Jupiter Best Western, a mere 2 hour drive from Dolphins Stadium. Perks abound for media types like myself. For instance, you know what the breakfast buffet in the hotel has? Those tiny little poppy seed and orange muffins. All you can eat.
I love tiny muffins.
But I am not in south Florida for muffins. I am here for Super Bowl XLI. The Colts versus the Bears. These two teams have never faced each other in a championship game. But there’s an even bigger first that will happen for the first time on February 4th.
A first so big it warrants a one-sentence paragraph.
Possibly even a sentence fragment.
This Sunday, for the first time in the history of the NFL, both Super Bowl teams will be coached by Afro-Americans. Those two coaches are Lovie Smith of the Chicago Bears and Tony Dungy of the Indianapolis Colts. And typing out their full names and team names has allowed me to fill precious column inches.
Precious, precious column inches.