No Apology Necessary
I couldn’t care less about Mark McGwire’s weepy apology. He’s a big crybaby — a slightly less bulky, slightly less acne-challenged version of the man we saw slinging the BS in front of Congress a few years ago. Save it, Mark. Nobody’s buying it. Your explanations are spinning logic around like a little leaguer trying to hit a good curveball. You were scared, and you lied. We get it.
I also couldn’t care less that Mark McGwire pumped himself full of junk. I knew what was going on in 1998. Everybody knew! Jocks, musicians, actors, comics, fighter pilots, and politicians have always used every advantage to enhance their performances. I’m not one of those pontificating, pompous, moralizing blowhards who needs to preach. McGwire was a big boy who made his decisions. The long term health ramifications are his business, not mine.
Some tell me that I need to vilify McGwire as a lesson in cheating for my son. I don’t buy it. My son already realizes that the world of entertainment isn’t fertile ground for examples of exemplary behavior. He can find role models much closer to home.
