An open letter to Roger Clemens
It's me -- your brain.
You remember me, don't you? We used to be tight. I was the one who told you to throw that nasty 3-2 slider to
Anyhow, I know we haven't spoken in some time, and that things ended sort of awkwardly between us (hey, I thought posing for the Swimsuit Issue would do wonders for you and
I'm not sure whether you're listening to your agents, or your paid advisors, or your kids, or -- heaven forbid -- that Rusty guy, but in the name of
To begin with, wake the hell up and face reality. Nobody believes you. Literally, nobody. Not the media, not the fans, not even your former co-workers. The more you defend yourself, the guiltier you sound.
Did you hear the
Roger! Your step dad -- no biological relation!? Your brother
Here's another tidbit -- stop assigning nicknames. For God's sake, man, you're 46-years old.
Also, I beg of you, quit hinting that you might -- just might -- make a comeback. You're a delusional accused steroid user approaching his 50s. Who, exactly, is calling your home to offer a contract? The Newark Bears? The St. Paul Saints? The Sunrise Senior Living Center slo-pitch softball team? It's over, babe. Over.
Yet all that being said, there's still one slim ray of hope. First, take a deep breath, look in the mirror and repeat after me: "I'm sorry. I was wrong, I've made mistakes, I'm going to make good. I'd like to apologize to the fans, and anyone who was hurt by my actions. I love this game, and I want to do right. Thank you, and God bless."
I know ... I know. You say you're innocent ... that the world is out to get you. Guess what? Doesn't matter. Remember what
That's what you need to realize: The venom directed toward you isn't about the steroids -- it's about the arrogance. You played that taped phone conversation with
So why not try a new approach? A different approach? A better approach?
Yeah, you might end up going to jail for perjury. But you'll have your dignity back. At least some of it.