ROGER CLEMENS CAN STILL BRING IT

He tosses the ball to the Manager, points to the other players, and slowly walks off the field.  He doffs his cap to the fans, and dances into the dugout.  Three and a third shutout innings,  37 pitches -- 24 of them strikes.  One pitch clocked at 88 m.p.h.

He flops down at the far end of the bench.  He looks at his pitching arm, flexes his fingers, then wraps his arm in a towel.  Skeeter's Manager, Gary Gaetti, comes down the steps and sits next to him.

"I can still bring it, Coach," says Clemens.  "Fifty, and I still got it.  And I haven't played in five years."

"Gotta start your comeback somewhere," says The Manager.  "So what if it's the Sugar Land Skeeters, versus the Bridgeport Bluefish.  The Atlantic League.  It's still Professional Baseball."

"After seven Cy Young Awards, I never thought it would be like this.   Just turned 50 on August fourth." 

The over flow crowd, more that 7,700, find parking in the far field area.  Clemens, moves up the steps and waves again to the crowd.  They cheer back.  He bows.

"I'm thinking 50 is the new 25," he says to the Manager.

He sits again, rotates his pitching arm, and wiggles his fingers.
 
"You know, since I've been out of baseball, now for the five years, my name is on the Hall of Fame Ballot.  I want the voters to see me play.  They figure I was on some kind of drug, so let them test me now.  I can do this.  You saw me.  I'm still as good as I was.  Bring it on.  I'll show them."

The Manager turns toward Clemens.  His voice is low, eyes narrow, a toothy grin.  His face a light pink. "But it's the Bluefish you're pitching against.  Not the Dodgers.  This is Double-A.  You looked gassed after three innings, Roger."

"Look, I never really retired, you know. Not really.  It's a lot of work to go out and pitch.  Come on . I'm just having fun."

"Be a lot faster getting back in the Majors if...you know...They got drugs now that are undetectable.  Roger, you're 50 years old.  You gotta face reality."

The Manager's face turns red, two bulges form on his forehead.  As he looks sideways at Roger he picks at the sharp end of his tail.

"I'm back because I loves the competition and the big stage.  I can do this again.  So what if I got an ego the size of Texas.  I know that."

The Manager's face contorts, the grin is larger.  "Roger? Look at me.  You know who you're talking to?"

"What," says Clemens. "Wait,"  He jumps back.  .

"The Hall of Fame, it's all you got left.  This is the era of the Human Growth Hormone.  By the way, I had a big hand in developing that, thank you very much."

"I did not take drugs."

 "Roger, this is your life.  You have to get back on a Major League roster.  Then your balloting will be extended another five years.  That way you won't be lumped in with all those other players who showed up on the List, the Mitchell List.   You'll have a better chance then to get elected to the Hall." 

"Who are you, anyway." says Clemens.

"Being on that List tags you as a juicer.  Hey, I didn't make you use the stuff."

"I'm clean now...I've always been clean...it's all I know how to do.  Pitch."

"Hey, look into my eyes," says the Manager. "You see that?  Every time a reporter want an interview, or somebody's looking for an autograph, every little kid that looks up at you, they'll be thinking, you cheater, you used drugs, you are a disgrace to the game."  He smiles.

"The fans still love me.  You heard them cheer."

"Eighty-eight mph ain't going to get there. Three innings, come on, the Bluefish?  They aren't the Angels...poor choice...not the Rays. You're nothing Clemens.  You've become someone that fans laugh at."

Clemens begins to cry.

"They were all using it," says Clemens.  He blubbers.  "I wasn't going to let them get away with it, after all I'd done. I had to do it.  I had no choice.  They're the cheaters."

The Manager, waving his red tail in the air, head back, laughs loudly.

"Football doesn't even test for HGH.  Remember when I threw that bat at Piazza in the World Series?  I was so pumped, I forgot about it until the next day when I saw it on SportsCenter."

"Word is The Astros'll give you a chance. It's a stunt. They got nothing to lose, on their way to another 105 game losing year.  A sad...obvious...attempt to suck up to the fans.  But hey, I'm all for dishonesty."

"I'm not a bad guy," says Clemens.  His mouth is open as he cries.  "I had to do something.  My word against McNamee, guy who gave me the stuff.  He made me take it.  But the Jury believed me.  Me...not him."

"I was there, my friend.  Of course, I'm just about everywhere."  A toothy grin.  "The judge crippled the prosecution.  He didn't allowing the majority of the evidence.  Had the jury seen everything..."

"Jury said I was truthful.  All that matters," says Clemens.

"Here's why you won. You had more convincing lawyers, they didn't like the Prosecutor, and they though The Man was coming down on you out of some kind of spite.  What evidence?  You got lucky.   Not Guilty and being Innocent are two very different things."

"Come on, just give me a second chance.  4,672 strikeouts, 11 All-Star teams, a 24-year career.  I don't want it to end this way.  I can do this."

Still crying, "I got a right to be here.  I still got a chance..."

"You want to get back in the Majors, Roger? " says the Manager, his grin larger, his fingers working, his tail straight up in the air.

"It's what I have to do in return, isn't it?"

"Bravo. Now you get the picture.  Look, they're undetectable.  It's some new stuff that only I can get..."

A gust of hot air hits there faces.  A loud voice booms from the top of the dugout.  The Manager cringes.

"Hey, get away from him," says The Voice.  "You have no good reason to be here."

"Go away, can't you see I'm busy here."  He loses his grin.  "Besides, when I leave here, I'm going over to see Mike Trout, and the other guy, Trumbo.  See if they're interested.  Then off to Boston, and the Yankees.  They always seem to be ready to negotiate."

The Manager strokes his long tail, his dripping grin is back, and he laughs loudly, shaking his head.

"Get away, and stay away from Trout, and the Angels.  If I see you trying to push your drugs on any baseball player, or anybody, for that matter, you'll be in one heap of trouble, my friend."

"You don't scary me."

There is a tremendous blast of air.  It hits the Manager flush in the face.  He rolls backwards, tail over horns over claws, and hits hard against the far wall.

He jumps up, fists out.  "Is that all you got?"

"Grrrrrrrr..."

 "All right already.  I'm leaving.   But hey, I got a whole bunch of other...Delights...up my sleeve.  You can't stop me forever."   A high pitch squeal and he scurries off down the tunnel.

"Thank God," says Clemens.  "What just happened?" His voice very loud, very shaky.  He looks around.  "I don't know what just came over me.  Oh, man."  He looks at his arm, and wiggles his fingers.  "What am I going to do?  What am I going to do?"

Tears run down his face.

Manager Gaetti looks down at Clemens.  "Roger.  You okay?  What are you doing sitting way down there all alone?"

Clemens sniffles, wipes his eyes, and joins the manager at the rail.  In silence, he watches the rest of the game.
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........................................................................................

WILL ROGER CLEMENS WEASEL OUT OF TROUBLE?

"Coming up, What's going on in Orlando with the Magic?  After Stan Van Gundy gets the axe, will ownership further trash the team, by dealing Dwight Howard?  To the Nets, or the Clippers or to the Lakers.  What about Pau Gasol?  Still a Lakers?

"Will Lebron have another ringless season?   And the Kings, will they kiss the Stanley Cup?   We'll talk about all this.  But first,  Brentood Belair, West Coast Sports Writer, he'll be with us.  We'll hear what's on his mind.  Be right back.  Roswell Hobbs, Sports in the Afternoon. KLUK Radio, AM 1600."

"...Home owners, even if you've re-financed your home within the last two weeks, Vito Corleone Financial, we got your best interest in mind.  Okay, maybe there is a small closing fee, inspection fee, appraisal fee, prep fee, document fee, transfer fee, registration fee.  But come on in.  Guarantee, we'll make you an offer you can't refuse.  Really..."

"We're back. . .And you can find us on Facebook, and Twitter.  Or call in, we'll talk, Roswell Hobbs, KLUK Radio, Sports in the Afternoon.  So, we have Brentwood Belair on the line.  No introduction necessary.  Brentwood, what's up in your world of sports?"

"Thanks Roswell.  But call me Woody."
  
"So, Woody," says Roswell."  What's on your sports mind this afternoon?"
 
"Well," I say.  "My column today in the Valley Post Picayune, 'Will Clemens Weasel Out of Trouble?'"

"Roger Clemens?  I almost forgot about him."

"Everybody's riveted on the Pacers, Thunder, the Heat, and the Stanley Cup.   But there's something else that's very important going on.  It's hidden back on page six."

"Your right.  I haven't been keeping up with his perjury trial."

"Let me refresh everybody," I say.  "Roger Clemens, future HOF pitcher, maybe, is charged with lying to Congress when he testified in 2008 that he never used steroids or HGH.  That's human growth hormone.   Brian McNamee, Clemens' longtime strength coach, says he injected Clemens with steroids in 1998, 2000 and 2001 and with HGH in 2000. He is the only one who'll testify Clemens used this stuff."

"Clemens did say though," says Roswell.  "He took something, but it wasn't illegal."

"But there's more,"  I say.  "There was a pool party, hosted by Jose Canseco, where Roger took some kind of drug.  He denies being there, but the prosecution has a picture of him standing in shallow end of the pool.  He claims he was out golfing at that time.

"Prosecutors also have the Miller Lite can with the used steroid syringe in it.  Bottom of the can had the correct date code for the time of the party.  But alas, no fingerprints."
 
"Comes down to which one the jury believes, McNamee or Clemens.
 
 "So," I say.  "That's the background for my column.  It's in the Valley Post Picayune, this morning.  Check it out."  I laugh.  "Is that too much of a plug for my column?"

"We got links on the website, so we'll get people to read your stuff, Woody."

"Fair enough." I say.   "Okay, here's my take on Clemens.  And your listeners can tell me if I'm wrong about this guy.

"Clemens is a rich person in a high place.  But he's unlikable.  I think his personality will put him behind bars.  Had he come clean, did a bunch of community service, we would have forgiven, and forgotten.  Charley Hustle, same thing.  Tell us the truth.   We know you're sorry you did it.  We'll give you all a second chance."

"Okay, let's take a quick break," says Roswell.  "And we'll be right back to take your calls. Roswell Hobbs, Sports in the Afternoon, KLUK Sports Radio, 1600."

...'I saved $590...I saved $1900, ...I save $13,200 on my car insurance by changing to FrogCo Insurance...yada, yada, yada...'

"We're back.  Roswell Hobbs, KLUK Radio, Sport in the Afternoon.  We're talking to Brentwood Woody Belair, Sports Know-It-All."

"I like that," I say. "And, you know, you're probably right."

"Okay, let's take some calls.  Mulligan, in Malibu.  Your on with Brentwood Belair."

"Of course he used. Of course he lied. Of course he is not going to jail. And the worst,  thee worst, is his arrogant, condescending, hot dogger of a lawyer, Rusty Hardin. Guys like him only take cases for the spotlight.  I know the case is about lying,  but these lawyers are just as despicable as the clients they represent."

"Clemens hired him," I say.  "Maybe they're a pair, both trying to prove something?"

"Okay, here's Naomi, from North Hollywood."

"Thanks for taking me call, gentlemen.  Okay, this SOB Clemens thinks he's above the law.  Who does he think he is?  Remember in the world series, when he threw the bat at Piazza?  Should have been ejected on the spot.  Gutless umpire.  No, can't do that.  He's  Roger Clemens.  He lies, then stares you down, and we're supposed to jump back.  He should do jail time, long jail time, you ask me."

"Well, that's one lady's opinion.  Okay, here's Luke, from Long Beach."

"Here's what I think.  Clemens' biggest failing is this.  He views anyone who is not Roger Clemens as a degenerate.  Everybody's disposable.  He's the only one telling the truth.  Clemens, you're a scumbag.  Time to face the music, pal."
 
"Sounds like people don't like Mr. Clemens very much." says Roswell.

"You think?" I say.

"Veronica, from Venice, You're on with Woody Belair."

"This McNamee character is a rat.  They all had those drugs.  Baseball owners knew it.  Drugs saved baseball, come on guys.  They won the fans back after the strike.  All those home runs, McGwire, Canseco, all of them.  Baseball was a real game.  I say this:  Thank Gawd for drugs."

"I think we all miss the home runs," I say.  "Most people I think liked baseball better when players were under the influence.  Hard to admit."

"Our listeners have some strong opinions. Let's see...Larry from Laguna Beach."

"Guilty, Guilty, Guilty. Clemens and Bonds should have their numbers taken off all their records because they got caught cheating.  Man's a thug.  I feel bad for Hank Aaron the true Home run King."

"Another caller...Okay, here's Dude?  Yes, that's Dude from Downey.  Dude, wha-cha got."

"That pool party.  At Canseco's.  I was there. Bro.,  And it Jammed.  We will, We will, Rock you.  The crack was Dy-no-mite. Canseco was moon walking everywhere.  Let's Part-ay.  Clemens was acting funny, but we all knew he was anything but sober.  The juicer never got turned off.  Mixing everything.  No regular fruit juice neither.  Spiked?  I guess.  And we weren't there to do no swimming, Bro.  No way.  He says he didn't shoot up.  Unbelievable."

"Woody, what do you think about this.  The Dude was there, so he says."

"Can't ask for more than an eye witness.  But I have my doubts."

"It's true," says the Dude.  "They were all there.  And there was this Pony, but it got real good when those Aliens flew in, this beam of green light, it was like incredible, really..."

"Okay, okay, Dude," I say.  "How come I don't get invites to parties like this?"

"You call me, Man.  I'll hook you up."

"I'm sure you will, but what if I get abducted?  I think I'll pass, Dude."

"Okay, Brentwood Belair," says Roswell.  "About out of time. Thanks for dropping by.  We got thirty seconds.  What's your final take on this?"

"Here's my take," I say.  "The owners should be held accountable.  They knew steroids were being used.  Balls were flying out of the park.   Pitchers were striking out fifteen, sixteen a game.  They claimed it was the ball, it was wound too tight.  Owners made big money then.  Look, players will always try to get an edge.  They did it with drugs and they got richer.  Why is this so different from life in general?  The risk of future harm to their body, was secondary.  They were living in the moment.  That's my take, Roswell."

 "Okay." says Roswell.  "Thanks Woody.  Check out his Sports website, StiffLeftJab.com

"Thanks for having me, Roswell."

"We'll be right back with Pete Rose.  That's right.  Brentwood mentioned him.  What's he up to now.  He's living in Vegas, so now's your chance to ask him anything that's bugging you.   Be right back.  Roswell Hobbs, Sports in the Afternoon, KLUK Radio 1600."

..........................

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