SI Column: An open letter from Roger Clemens’ brain, to Roger Clemens — you need to tell the truth
It’s me — your brain.
You remember me, don’t you? We used to be tight. I was the one who told you to throw that nasty 3-2 slider to Lenn Sakata back in ‘84. The one who said Florida real estate was a better investment than a line of tuna-flavored chewing tobacco. The one who said 17-year-old country singers have fake IDs, too (dude, you really should have listened to me on that one).
Anyhow, I know we haven’t spoken in some time, and that things ended sort of awkwardly between us (hey, I thought posing for the Swimsuit Issue would do wonders for you and Deb). But, bro, I’ve been watching you these past few years and well, call me cocky, but you need me. Really, you do.
I’m not sure whether you’re listening to your agents, or your paid advisors, or your kids, or — heaven forbid — that Rusty guy, but in the name of Malik Yoba, stop. Please, stop. Ignore ‘em all. It’s my show now.
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Tags: Roger Clemens
