Median and mean are hard to measure, but the modal reaction to the Mitchell Commission report seems to be: Roger Clemens! This is usually followed by some formulation either of "Wow, it's worse than we thought," or "I knew it all along." Neither of which is a story.
After a brilliant early career, Clemens' trajectory was defined by
• a return to dominance after a mild decline
• thrilling greatness for longer than thought possible
• unheard-of power approaching 40 and after
• a record number of awards and a run at numerous other records
• a huge fucking head.
If there's a story in the Clemens revelations, it's not that the Rocket was juiced. Or that we shoulda known he was juiced, or did know he was juiced. It's that he bore transparently and exactly the same signs of juicing as Barry Bonds, and rode them to utterly parallel and heretofore unknown achievements. And yet there was no talk of asterisks, no endless whisper campaign, no media indictment, no requisite holiday party debate over Roger. The fetishistic spanking of Barry Bonds, which predates the millennium, is now obviously rendered as the racist exercise that many pretended it wasn't. The spankers got off on it, under the flag of moral judgment: essentially a free shot. And the justifications just look embarrassing now. Barry's case wasn't more obvious. He wasn't closer to the spotlight or the record books. He was not even a bigger asshole. But he was quite a bit darker of skin.
Posted by jane at December 15, 2007 03:44 PM | TrackBack