Exit boyhood hero. Roger,
you had it all. You were a Yankee and I liked you. Really. In my book, you were one of four Yankess I’d
always revere despite the pinstripes. I even
kept myself from cursing you when you became an Astro—a rare feat indeed. Yes, I smiled when you’d challenge guys high and
tight, when you’d buckle ‘em with your splitter. You were an icon who wooed me in 1986 when you
struck out all those Mariners, including Phil Bradley, my Uncle Dave’s friend
and confidant. You made me turn on Phil, man.
And I never looked back, Roger. I never looked back, until yesterday. I looked back and I thought, gee, all these
politicians are getting together over this? Isn’t there something better they could be
doing, like giving me a larger tax rebate so I can finally pay off the Chinese
mob and get on with my life? Then I
heard you speak and I thought, Roger, you really should take a page out of
McGuire’s book: “I am not here to talk about the past.” Done. Over. Move on. Because if you’d just shut up, and get on
with your life, and go watch your kids play ball in Texas, Roger, we’d all
forgive you and forget about it just like we have with all the rest (except for
Palmeiro who I consider the poster-child of douchebags). That’s true, Roger. Very true. We’re all human. We make dumb
decisions sometimes. Yes, you are the
Rocket but you’re no exception. You
screwed up. And now you’re wasting our
time. You have the audacity to think you
can lie to us and get away with it. Well, your time is running out. That little boy you swooned with your fastball is all grown up now, and he knows better.
Enter manhood hero:
Peace and "Yes, We Can."