The greatest joy is the shameful joy

Schadenfreude.  Malicious pleasure derived from other’s misfortune.  Loosely translated from German: shameful joy.

Roger Clemens.  A fat egotist who worships money and fame.  Loosely translated from English: Collie-molesting Ohian who pretends he is a good ol’ boy. 

So, I’m usually pretty level-headed when it comes to sports.  Sure, I’m borderline psychotic during the contests, but I’m usually able to find some semblence of perspective and personal enjoyment quickly after the fact of even the most disasterous and infuriating sporting events.  Yet, when the topic is Roger Clemens, there is no perspective.  The fat slug holds no warm place in my heart, though there are some other areas of my insides which I do associate him with quite closely.  He is a vile, shameful man who deserves nothing but unrepentant vitriol and uncompassionate berating.  Also, based on his choice in child names (Koby, Kevin, Kermit, Konseco, and Koocooforcocopuffs), sterilization should probably remain on the table as a good option.  He is an abhorrent human being, a con man not intelligent enough to mask his ridiculously self-serving intentions under his idiotic and weak cover stories, and he insults our intelligence every time he opens his mouth by presuming we could ever sink down to his level of mite-grooming, poop-flinging discourse.  The man is a blight upon the sport, the country, the human race, and possibly Texas. 

 Now, before I let this post drift into my real feelings on the man and actually say something that is mean just for the sake of being mean, I want to clear up what this is not.  This is not an attempt to relive and recount the numerous offenses; Bill Simmons does a good job taking him up through part of his reign in New York (version 1.0) in his balanced and level-headed examination of him in his piece: Is Clemens the Anti-Christ?  While his assinine jackanery continued through his turns on the Astro (“I’ll take a hometown discount of $5mm per season.” and “Last season was so much fun that I’d be thrilled to do it again; for $22mm”) and the Yankees (version 2.0, which coincidentally was the number of games he pitched well).  There is no sense harping on every minute transgression, every illegal trade he forced, every huge contract he didn’t live up to only to turn around and ask for another huge contract and get it from another team where he actually showed up in shape (and apparently on his wife’s ‘roids).  Other have done that.  Other far better writers than me have written all about one of the greatest pitchers in history, one whose perserverence, grit, and fortitude that could only be felled by in an NLCS game seven by one of the alltime greats.  Obviously, this would be unneccesary.

Also, this is not the forum to discuss the merits of a man who might very well have perjured and witness-tampered his way to an indictment the other day.  We don’t even need to discuss how he blamed everyone and anyone else for his numerous and suspicious ties to steroids: his hand-picked trainer, his best bussom buddy Andy Pettite, his lovely wife Debbie, and Jesus.  Again, other writers have covered this.

Finally, this is not an attempt to bash the man or dance merrily through the effervescent joy that came from watching the greatest bung-hole of a generation, and possibly ever, slither and squirm in front of the most powerful legislative forum in the world.  Though, admittedly, that was very fun.

The real reason I’m discussing Roger Clemens is to ask a question.  Does anyone else find it odd that Roger Clemens sees his reputation tarnished, which is immediately followed by Fidel Castro resigning?  A more suspicious man than myself might put these two events together and conclude that perhaps Castro’s entire reign of terror was predicated on Clemens’ success and reputation, basing his horrific and powerful regime on the Dayton Dumby’s status as a baseball icon.  Food for thought…