A Valentine for Roger Clemens

Happy Valentine's Day, everyone!

Dateless though I may be, it's been a pretty great V-day so far in that I finally managed to wake up and get myself to work after 3 days holed up on my sofa killing brain cells with a heady combination of Theraflu and daytime television. The world on the whole looks sunny and sparkly, and I'm sending lots of loverly wishes to everyone out there. In honor of the day, I encourage you to read Jean Teasdale's magnificent Valentine's column from a few years ago and have a nice, cynical laugh. As for my holiday plans, they include eating oranges and going to bed early. Woohoo.

One advantage to being home yesterday was that I got to watch the Roger Clemens hearing almost in its entirety. Honestly, I thought Roger came off pretty well until the end when Senator Ratface had to gavel him down. McNamee looked like a squirmy little liar to me. And yes, dammit, I'm biased. I've made no bones about the fact that I love Roger, and I am perfectly willing to take his claims of innocence at face value until I am presented with more conclusive evidence to the contrary. To call this whole steroids thing a witchhunt is to label it perfectly, as it seems the accused are left utterly without recourse to clear their names once they've been fingered. I detest a system so lacking in merit, and I refuse to buy into it. At the same time, I respect Andy Pettitte for his candor; the idea, though, that no response other than a full-on admittance of guilt is an acceptable one makes a mockery of our justice system. The purpose of the steroids investigation should be to foster a more honest major league baseball environment in which individuals are held accountable for their actions going forward, not to muddy and disgrace the great games and players of the past without sufficient evidentiary cause for doing so.


Roger Clemens, you get to be my valentine this year. You're my favorite athlete of all time, and even if no one else supports you, I do. I've always loved you, pinstripes or no, and I don't intend to quit now. Last month I stayed up until midnight one night to watch your 20-strikeout game against Seattle on NESN Classic. I knew what was going to happen on every pitch before you threw it, and I still clapped my hands and shrieked like a giddy schoolgirl for every fastball that went whiffing over the plate. You sure as hell weren't on steroids then; you were running on youthful adrenaline and blinding natural talent. You are an asshole, that's for sure, but history will attest to the fact that "men I love" and "assholes" are practically* concentric circles in the Venn diagram of my life. So there you have it, Roger. I choo-choo-choose you. Happy Valentine's Day.



* The exceptions, of course, being my dad and brother. Happy Valentine's Day, boys, and a big one to Mom and the little bug too!

Are you there, God? It's me, Curt.

In honor of the impending Day of Thanks, I have opted to hand over the reins for today's celebratory post to Boston's very own Curt Schilling, who had asked me if he might use this blog as a forum to give his very own special thanks for those things he is, well, thankful for. Hope you enjoy.

Dear Lord,

I know we talk all the time, and I'm sure you're busy right now dreaming up new ways to punish Michael Vick and stop anyone from taking pro cycling seriously -- because they shouldn't. That shit's not really a sport. Whoops, sorry Lord. Anyway, I wanted to take a minute today to give you special thanks for all of the many blessings you have showered me with this year.

Thank you, of course, for another year of inflated defense budgets and predictable Supreme Court voting. Thank you also, Lord, for smiting Barry Bonds, as you know I hoped you would do. Thank you for sending an army of children to be the starting rotation of the Red Sox so that a veteran like me looks like an attractive option to the front office rather than a fat, washed-up fastballer whose early days of glory are all being negated by slumping performance on the mound and diva-like behavior off it. Thank you for Hungry Man frozen entrees, Lord, especially the ones that come with mashed potatoes, although Thou knowest I can no longer eat those because of the weight clause in my new contract. So, in that case, I guess I should thank you for the Lean Cuisines my wife keeps buying me.

But above all, Lord, I am thankful for your deliverance of the Red Sox through our exodus from the misery of finishing a season behind Toronto in the division standings to being World Series champions. Thou knowest it was not an easy journey. First you assisted us in vanquishing those so-called Angels, lord, who claim to be emissaries of Thy kingdom, but lay down in the face of our breaking balls of righteousness. Plus, Thou knowest they were only there because the AL West is a pushover division. Am I right, Lord? Then, Thou sent us to bring Thy word to the red-faced heathen peoples of northern Ohio, where I faced the man who sold his soul to the very Devil, and we were once again triumphant in bringing news of Thy word, just as were our Pilgrim forebears on this very day so many years ago. Also, I am sorry I gave Ryan Garko the smallpox, and that I got Grady Sizemore to trade me all the land in center field for a handful of beads.

But, Lord, you had other trials in store for me: we were to face your supposed Chosen Team, those on whom you had, uh, made your Face to shine when they defeated the snakes in the desert (despite having failed to even secure the NL wild card in 162 regular season games, Lord, but I shall not question your divine plan). Yea, but they were false prophets, and Thou knowest that a team that couldn't manage to win more than 44 games before the All-Star break does not truly belong in the playoffs. Oh, wait, maybe Thou doesn't know that. Still, the Rockies too were conquered in the face of our righteously outscoring them 29-10, plus their starting pitching has no idea how to work through an AL lineup. Yes, we went to the top of the mountain, where you banished your Chosen (or, "designated") Hitter to first base for 6 long innings, but we came down from that mountain in a blaze of glory and Dropkick Murphys songs.

Yes Lord, Thou has truly blessed me this year, and for that I give you thanks today.

Also, thank You for Everybody Loves Raymond. That show is awesome.

xoxo,

Curt

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! Big ups to the Gavster for letting me know Curt wanted in on this one. I'm getting up early to do a 5K with my mom tomorrow, so it's time to turn in. Remember to follow in Curt's footsteps and give thanks for all that you have this year, unless you're a Dolphins fan, in which you may want to consider making a pact with some sort of evil deity. It worked for Bill Belichick, and for that I am thankful.