Guest Editorial by Barry Bonds Genitalia-

Well it’s finally over and Hank Aaron’s vaunted home run record has fallen. It took a lot of hard work from both Barry and I to get to this point, but it was worth it. We deserve this honor. Barry has been a model professional and maintained a spartan workout regimen throughout his career, and I have contributed greatly to the effort as well.

We achieved these goals in spite of the best efforts of the buttocks who took every opportunity to gripe about a mysteriously recurring pricking sensation and his so-called “acne problem.” Hey, I’ve learned to live with the right hand keeping me more or less in a constant choke hold. We’ve all got our crosses to bear. Would it kill you just for once to man up and be a team player?

Unfortunately, during a time that should be all about celebration and joy, there remain many naysayers out there who question the ethics of this baseball legend. Allegations of steroid use continue to hang over our heads which threatens to put an asterisk alongside Barry’s home run record.

As one who is very close to the situation, I say these charges are rubbish. I am no physician, but from what I know, steroids are supposed to bulk you up. Create massive amounts of muscle. I can testify that this is not the case here.

Barry and I have stuck to a strict fitness and diet plan that has enabled us to maintain our physical well-being for many years. Sure Barry has added a bit of muscle, but eating right and getting plenty of exercise has a lot to do with that. Hello, can anyone say “protein shakes?”

And take a look at me. I am in the best shape of my life. I haven’t been this fit and trim since my schoolboy days. In fact, at my recent physical I learned that I am actually below my birth weight. I can already smell the jealousy from the other guys at my upcoming high school reunion!

I hope this puts the rumors of steroid use to bed once and for all.

Related: Asterisk Says It Wants No Part Of Barry Bonds Record; Suggests Question Mark “Step Up For Once”

As baseball fans heatedly debate the merits of Barry Bonds’ inevitable ascendance to career home run king, a different controversy surfaced yesterday when the asterisk, the star-like typographical symbol expected by many to appear alongside Bonds’ place in the record books to denote the slugger’s steroid use, announced that it wanted “no part” of Bonds’ record. In the shocking announcement, a visibly testy asterisk said the association with the slugger’s tarnished image would sully its “storied reputation” and perhaps impact its ability to find meaningful work in the future.

“I usually try to stay out of controversy, but Barry Bonds is a pompous, narcissistic fool,” said the asterisk. “I’m drawing the line. It’s time some other punctuation marks start to carry some of this dirty water. In fact, I’ll call out the question mark. Why don’t we put the very symbol of uncertainty, doubt and improbability alongside Mr. Bonds’ skid mark in the record book? WHY IS IT ALWAYS THE ASTERISK?”

The question mark was unavailable for comment. A phone call to its home was answered by the semi-colon, who said the question mark was attending a seminar on the proper use of conjunctive adverbs with the apostrophe and the ellipsis. But the semi-colon offered some insight into the debate.

“Look, the asterisk has a point; we all need to take a good look at this,” he said. “I, for one, thought this might be a great opportunity for the ampersand to step up and recover from the Hall & Oates tragedy. But it might just be that the horrid responsibility of having linked the two guys who wrote the song Maneater is too much to overcome.”

Update:  A representative for the period told our sources that a blockbuster deal with the asterisk was scuttled this morning.  Details are sketchy, but the period had offered to assume responsibility for Bonds’ record in exchange for being relieved of its responsibility as the shorthand expression for a woman’s menstrual cycle.  The deal imploded when the National Organization for Women threatened to abandon all punctuation usage entirely if women were forced to say, “Oh crap, I just got my asterisk.”

Update 2:  The umlaut ¨ reportedly offered its services to the asterisk without condition but was turned down for being “too French, even for Barry Bonds.”  When the asterisk was told that the umlaut appears in several other European languages, it responded, “Oh, no, does this mean that they won’t like us?  Cause I’m really worried about pissing off the Europeans right now, when my entire existence is about to be associated with a guy who looks like an over-cooked Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man.  Really.  Let me check the old asterisk-priority list pronto, cause heaven forbid we PISS OFF THE EUROPEANS, THE FOLKS WHO BROUGHT US THE GODFORSAKEN TILDE (~),  BASICALLY A WANDERING, SPINELESS DASH THAT MEANS YOU SHOULD SAY “NYAH.” 

Does the mystical Gyroball (pronounced YEE-roh) exist? No one knows for certain, but the Kansas City Royals are willing to gamble $7.5K to find out. The Royals outbid the perennially big spending Florida Marlins earlier this week, inking Greek pitching phenom Yagana Swinganamis to a 5-year deal.

Just mention the word “Gyroball” (pronounced YEE-roh) in the midst of baseball fans and you are likely to spark a heated debate, the likes of which makes Lincoln-Douglas look like a bad Little Rascals Skit. The problem is, no one can say for sure if they have seen it.

“Based on the people that our scouts have interviewed, this kid throws the real deal,” said Royals General Manager Dayton Moore. “Granted, none of the scouts speak a word of Greek, but Jimmy Sanders does own Troy on DVD. The editor’s cut. Anyways, we are excited about the things we’ve seen.”

The pitch, based on complicated double souvlaki physics, is reportedly impossible to hit. Slugger George Tzatzikionmahdik of the Mykonos Felchers won’t testify to seeing a Gyroball (pronounced YEE-roh), but he certainly saw something strange.

“I can’t say for sure what it was,” recalls Tzatzikionmahdik, “It left his hand hot, like saganaki… oopa!!… and then crumbled at the plate like a good feta would.”

The majority of Greek players, however, claim it is nothing more than hype. Philo Beto of the Athens Bathhouser’s is no exception. “The kid throws a great breaking ball and that’s it. Why is that so hard to swallow? Greek men have been swallowing worse things for years. This is no exception. I mean, c’mon, spare me all of this Gyroball (pronounced YEE-roh) talk.”

Whether or not Swinganamis actually throws the mystical gyroball (pronounced YEE-roh) remains to be seen. The Kansas City Royals are just hoping the 23-year-old generates enough buzz to at least fill the seats. As Royals catcher John Buck put it, “I don’t care what it is, as long as its sweet… like baklava.”

(UP) Victoria’s Secret, looking to branch out into the male undergarment category, has signed David Ortiz as spokesperson for their new line of “Boy Booby Cups”.

“David Ortiz had a phenomenal year last year,” said Victoria’ Secret spokeswoman, Kathy Delaney. “He’s a very hot property right now. Plus, he’s got massive male knockers. He’s perfect for this new line.”

Ortiz was thrilled with the opportunity. “If it wasn’t for my ta-tas, I wouldn’t generate the power I need to hit the ball deep,” he said. “But when I’m away from the game, I like to keep my yabos reigned in a bit. Boy Booby Cups give me the support and lift I need. And they come in some fab colors.”

Boy Booby Cups will be available where fine male undergarments are sold.

“Baseball is the greatest topic of conversation America has produced,” wrote George Will. Jason Giambi has thrust himself front and center in that conversation, as America is both aghast and cynical about the revelations of steroid use in baseball. And while some appear to be supportive of the former MVP, it seems more are hoping that his slide from MVP to cheating, scandalous .250 hitter continues to a final destination of, perhaps, former baseball player/Gym owner.

If you can stomach the tragedy, tragic figures are fascinating. It’s a veritable Happy Meal of fame, self-destruction and regret. The final destination—regret–is the most excruciating. It is self-torture at it worst, insanity at its purest: the fallen hero sits alone in their own head, as the projector replays over and over again the moment when things went bad. Regret is a hungry, consuming parasite, the flesh-eating bacteria of all emotions. It is likely devouring murderer Scott Petersen right now. This is his true, deserved, punishment, and it will probably last 10 years. In his case, relief is provided only by death.

But for Jason Giambi, a good man who’s made a huge mistake, regret must fuel rehabilitation, not to survive as a baseball player, but to survive as Jason Giambi. His journey back does not begin in the weight room, it begins in the mirror.

I don’t fault Giambi for all the times he took steroids, just the first time. That’s when he very knowingly made a wrong decision. It’s a slippery slope after that. I’m sure the rationalizations took many forms: everyone else is doing it; I need this to be competitive; I’ll stop if it gets out of hand. Understood. But Giambi must own the first time. It’s his forever. And when he owns it like it’s a part of his DNA, that’s when he starts back.

Only time will provide proof for the skeptics, who will have every legitimate reason to laugh at any positive rhetoric that Giambi throws at us in spring training. Whatever the outcome, it will be a year that Giambi will always remember. Hitting a tumbling baseball traveling at 95 MPH is hard, but it will be a different challenge entirely when it’s attempted in front of 60,000 human beings who believe you betrayed them.

What does Giambi do? He once said this to The Sporting News…

“I don’t think there are many 11-year-olds taking batting practice for fun, but that’s what I did all the time. And I never went on summer vacation. I was always playing on a team, but I never felt like I was missing out. That was exactly what I wanted to do.”

Giambi must become a boy who loves baseball again. He needs to remember what it felt like to be 11, and what the game meant to him. And quietly, either on the bench or in the field, he needs to show that to us. He needs to accept the inevitable viciousness, doff his cap, and get cups of water for Tino Martinez. He needs to dive, he needs to crawl, he needs to charge the mound. The only thing that is important right now, is that Jason Giambi shows us who he truly is. Perhaps homeruns by the dozen will bring forgiveness from some. But for those with longer memories, those who’ve been forced to have awkward conversations with their teenage sons about steroids, more is required. We want Jason Giambi to show us he’s learned.

10. Kevin Millar was un-willing to give up pre-game alcohol binge
9. Winner of last year’s “First one to Slap a Yankee like a girl gets to be Captain” contest
8. Red Sox Management didn’t want to sit through another one of Curt Schilling’s “If it wasn’t for God” press conferences
7. Has critical “Special Olympics Hugger” experience management was looking for
6. Knows how to coax Johnny Damon into barber chair with Jolly Ranchers
5. Can speak convincingly to any of Manny Ramirez’s multiple personalities
4. Knows special “tuck-in” technique for David Ortiz on road trips
3. Beat the snot out of a bat-boy in final “full-contact” round of Captain Selection
2. Knows how to work locker room fire extinguisher

1. Players fell for his “Less Running/More Cake” Campaign Promise

In an unprecedented move to support their financially struggling back-up first baseman, the Red Sox announced yesterday that they would hold a bake sale on opening day to create a college fund for the children of Doug Mientkiewicz.

The Mientikiewicz’s situation came to light recently when it was revealed Doug was holding on to the ball he caught for the last out of the World Series “to put my kids through college.”

“People think baseball players make so much money,” said Mientkiewicz’s wife, Jody. “But there’s a lifestyle we have to keep up with. It’s quite challenging on $2.8 million dollars a year.”

In fact, Mientkiewicz was quick to point out that his 2004 salary of $2.8MM was just above the league average of $2.3MM. “So, when you think about it, if the average household income is $43,000, I’m only making $52,000 a year. I think it helps regular folks when I put like that.”

It certainly did. The immediate public outpouring for Mientkiewicz and his family in and around Boston has been overwhelming, as thousands of financially struggling taxi drivers, construction workers, and waitresses have sent money to the Red Sox.

“I just feel simpatico with the guy,” said one waitress we spoke to at a bustling diner near Fenway. “I’m worried about college for my kids too. Hey, if you see Doug, can you ask him what the deal is with his name? How you get “Men-ka-vich” out of Mientkiewicz is beyond me. It should be “Mient-ki-witz.”

The bake sale concept was a clear signal that Red Sox management understood Mientkiewicz’s plight.

“Do the math,” said Theo Epstein. “Doug has made $5.2MM in his career so far. After luxury cars, McMansions, boats, jewelry, bodyguards, publicists, therapists, and pet camp, you try to pay for college.”

So fans entering Fenway on Opening Day will be greeted with an array of tasty treats, many made by the players themselves. Rumors are that Manny Ramirez will contribute one of his famous “Chocolate Salsa Swirl” Pies. John Henry and his wife Kathy will serve the thousands of fans as they come in with aprons that say “Save Minky’s Kids”.

“I wish I could pay Doug more,” said an obviously emotional Henry. “I understand what he’s going through. You have tough choices to make when you’re making $2.8MM a year. Chauffeur or Spa Treatment? Dual Monogrammed Hummers or the summer house in Vail? And then college on top of it?”

“I’m not going to sell the ball for a few years, so the bake sale is perfectly timed,” said Mientkiewicz. “ I need a deposit for my fishing trip to Alaska.”

Jan 4:
In the middle of a possible breakthrough with Schilling on his chronic lying, I was paged with an urgent message concerning Millar: “Get to Fenway at once.”

The scene was chaos when I arrived. After getting through a gauntlet of emergency personnel, I made it to the field. The site was unnerving. Kevin had painted “Cowboy Up!” in three foot letters on the Green Monster and then duct taped himself to the wall. He was wailing:

“I don’t wanna gooooo to Toronto! It’s all the way in Michigan, dude! Cowboy Up! Go Sox!! You can’t trade me! Red Sox Nation won’t allow it! I promise to stop drinking before games! I’ll even hit better! I don’t wanna goooooooo….”

Police were trying to calm him down as they cut through the tape. I convinced the police to release him into my custody….more later….

First, about the curse: I have never believed in things mystical. The curse has always been interesting window-dressing to a bitter rivalry. The notion that millions of people would really believe that some sort of super-natural entity was prohibiting the Red Sox from winning something is somewhat far-fetched. Not to mention, and more importantly, it undermines both the old truth–that the Yankees had simply been better than the Red Sox —and the new truth– that the Red Sox, today, are the better baseball team. This is why the games are played on the field, and not via message board posts.
The awful reputation that Yankee fans have earned over the past several years, fairly or unfairly, always makes me want to provide my qualifications: I began rooting for the Yankees in 1972 as a six year old boy who idolized Bobby Murcer. I can no more change the team I root for and feel passionately about than I can grow an extra few inches (and I could use them). The Yankees were an awful baseball team until 1976, had a good five year period, and then returned to mediocrity for almost 18 years. You all know what the track record has been since 1996.
Things earned the hard way—like baseball championships—taste better. This is a fact of life, and one that I’m sure most Red Sox fans would agree with this morning. The 1996-2000 period was an amazing one for the Yankees, but for their fans, it was like being on a high dose of Prozac for way too long—championships lost their specialness and became expected. The last four years, where the Yankees made the playoffs every year and the World Series twice, have consequently been “disappointing” to Yankee fans. I can see why this would be perceived as arrogance.
Starting pitching aside, at the root of the difference between the Yankees and Red Sox is chemistry. In a desperate effort to continue the euphoria of 96-2000, the Yankees have aggressively signed high-priced free agents with less consideration for “clubhouse fit” than they have in the past. The Andy Pettittes, Tino Martinezes, Scott Brosiuses, and Paul O’Neills have been replaced with Kevin Brown, Jason Giambi, Alex Rodriguez and Gary Sheffield. All boast excellent paper credentials, but are unproven as team players, clubhouse leaders, and grounded human beings. I still have my reservations about the character of the Red Sox clubhouse, but there was undeniable chemistry. The self-described idiots were willing to walk the plank together.
I believe an analysis entitled “The Law of Diminishing Returns with Free Agent signings” will be done in the near future, and that the Yankees, unless they make some strategic changes in the way they approach the art of putting together a team, will be Exhibit A. “Greed is good,” said Gordon Gekko, but it’s also misleading. The Yankees need to stop building for fantasy baseball and re-build for the game on the field.

Curt Schilling has announced that he will have his foot amputated so that he can pitch another World Series game.

“It’s the least I can do,” said Schilling. “My team needs me.” Asked what sort of prosthetic device he would wear, Schilling announced his intention to simply push off his bloody stump.

Opening bids of $20,000 were quickly posted on Ebay for Schilling’s severed foot.
Schilling has also announced his intention to have the amputation done at a live news conference, without any anesthesia. The operation will be performed by a local high school biology class.