The Lonesome Snitcher

George Croom
Thee Score Guest Writer

Before I issue this display of intelligence and eloquence let me say in no way should reflection be mistaken for glorification, stay strong T.I.!

The world of sports is the ultimate glimpse of life as it is. Oddly we seem to find simple life truths in between the sidelines, baselines, foul lines, and penalty boxes.

This week’s truth, the snitch that just wants to collect his check and run is usually the one telling the truth.

Enters, Jose Canseco.

When the ridiculously ripped ex-major league slugger and VH1 celeb-reality punch line dropped his book, Juiced: Wild Times, Rampant 'Roids, Smash Hits, and How Baseball Got Big, the world balked at the idea that his admission of widespread steroid use in MLB was even remotely true.

They crucified him. The writers, the players, the commissioner, and the fans beat him down like the homosexual male cheerleader that told the squad he had sex with football players.

But, just like the fairy spirit brother we now know that he got beat down so bad because he was telling the truth.

Canseco told us that A-Rod had more juice in him than a cherry gusher. But, since people liked A-Rod’s marketable smile, fat paycheck, and big bat they turned a blind eye and watched as he made history from the negotiating table to the 7th inning stretch.

Well, in hindsight, the long ball doesn’t mean big balls because he too was juiced.

Or is it Boli’d? Maybe the elusive “cousin” can shed some light on that. It seems that steroids, like college co-eds and Mary Jane, ain’t no fun if the homies can’t have some.

I digress.

Bud Selig can say what he wants. Baseball loved the packed stadiums and huge revenues brought on by Mark McGuire and Sammy Sosa’s run at homerun history. Let’s remember that revival came in the wake of strikes and Charlie Hustles (Pete Rose) gambling addiction.

Canseco’s moment of clarity only brought an untimely screeching halt to the money train. All of a sudden groupie senators and cubicle clinging sports writers were ready to open the dialogue.

McGuire’s bat bag became less of the focus and the bottle of Andro next to the picture of his kids was a highlight. Barry Bond’s growing MVP’s took a back seat to his growing head. Overnight Sosa couldn’t SPEAKA enough English to answer questions. Rafael Palmeiro wagged a finger to shake a lie. And the world finally questioned how a 40-something Roger Clemens was retiring more 20-something’s than a Desperate Housewife.

They say that punks jump up to get beat down. In that case, Canseco emerges from the steroid era the unlikely hero-punk prophet.

In a weird way he alone saved baseball. Saved it from itself. From literal implosion, undercover corruption, and irreversible tainting.

I’d say thank you but that could call into question the STRENGTH of Thee Score blogs.