I swear I didn’t do it, Mom… I mean, Mitchell

I never thought I’d be able to relate to a Major League Baseball player. That was, until I heard Fernando Vina recreate the same speech I gave to my parents when they found pot in my duffle bag.

“Oh no mom, I’ve never done anything more than a little weed” … “I pretty much just try some when it’s around at a party” … “I was carrying that for a friend” … “Somebody just told me it could help my creativity, you know, help me get a better grade in art class” … ” Bottom line. It was stupid. I’m embarrassed now, and it didn’t help, either.”

OK, so that last one was literally right out of Vina’s statement, but you can see the point I’m getting at here. All these steroid shenanigans are just childish. All we’ve really accomplished is managing to revert a bunch of washed up millionaires into pimple-faced teens, tripping over their words for some semblance of an excuse.

These guys are all putting makeup on pigs at this point. No matter how pretty and innocent they try to cast themselves, they still cheated. I would love for just one of these guys, just one, to come out and say, “You know what, I did it. HGH, steroids, everything that the report says is true and that shouldn’t surprise you one bit. These drugs were everywhere when I was playing, and anybody in the league could point you in the direction to get some. So when I felt backed into a corner, I did all I could to protect my future, and that led me to cheating. I’m sorry, but that’s what happened.”

And the funny thing is, while the media circus would come to town for all of a day, after that, it would pretty much be over for that player. No more prying questions, no more following him and his kid to school. Cuz that’s the thing about the media: Once they get what they want, they usually move on.

Instead, we have the guys who have already proved themselves as the most selfish in the sport once, continuing to put themselves and their “image” first. I’m sorry Fernando, but hardly anybody remembers you. You have no image to maintain.

You know who I would rather hear from? All the guys from the Triple-A teams in Texas, Baltimore, New York, and all these other teams riddled with juiced up starters. Those are the guys who never got to live their dream because some melon-headed outfielder cheated his way onto the squad. Those are the guys who lived in apartments when their counterparts had cribs. Those are the real losers in this entire ordeal. Not the fans, not the record books and certainly not the “integrity of the game.”


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December 2007
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