Dear Mr. Clemens,
I hear you’re going back to the Yankees. Please accept my most heartfelt apologies.
You didn’t have to do this, Roger. You could have hung up your spikes after your stint with the Astros and rode off into the sunset like the Texan you say you are. You could have returned to end your career with the Red Sox ““ the team you spent a seemingly forgotten 13 years with.
But not the Yankees. Anyone but the Yankees.
I used to root for you, Roger. You were the heart and soul of your Red Sox teams way back when, even earning MVP of the league in 1986. No Red Sox player has worn your No. 21 since you left Boston. Then you had two legendary years with the Blue Jays; two Cy Young Awards and two Triple Crowns. But still no championship. Even when you went to New York in 1999, I thought you just wanted your World Series win and you’d be on your way. You even made your final year in pinstripes a farewell tour that had everything but a ticker-tape parade. You earned two championship rings. What happened?
You saw an opportunity to pitch in Houston, near your home. That’s understandable. It was one more year for The Rocket before he settles back into family life.
Then, after dancing around the issue of retirement for a couple months, you decide that $18 million would make it worth your while to stick around for one more. As the highest-paid pitcher ever in baseball, you pitched well, leading the majors with a 1.87 ERA and the Astros to the World Series.
You announced your retirement and everyone believed you. For the first time since 1983, you were not on a Major League roster to start the season.
Then the Astros offered the equivalent of a $22 million salary to come back midseason in 2006 and all of a sudden you’re back on the mound. For every inning you pitched, you made over $100,000. Was it a desire to pitch close to home again, or the absurd paycheck that vaulted you back in the game?
Now after un-retiring for more times than I have fingers, you’re going back to the Yankees for another stint at the ripe age of 44.
Brian Cashman and George Steinbrenner dangled $4.5 million per month in front of your eyes and suddenly you’re wearing a Yankees cap faster than you can say “it’s not about the money.”
You’re not The Rocket I grew up watching. You’re The Mercenary ““ you’ll pitch for anyone if there’s enough zeros in the contract.
Forty or 50 years ago, this would have been blasphemy.
In 1956, instead of being traded to the rival Giants, Jackie Robinson retired at the age of 37.
Now thanks to you, Roger, there is a new era. Team loyalties don’t exist and holding out to the highest, most desperate bidder is accepted.
You will make about $750,000 per start. That’s about $7,500 per pitch. Do you fall asleep laughing at night, knowing what kind of a scam you’re running?
Roger, do us all a favor. Announce you’re taking a 90 percent pay cut and returning to the Red Sox to finish your career as you should have done a long time ago.
Either that, or head to the Giants. We could use you in the bullpen.
E-mail Feder at jfeder@media.ucla.edu if you think Clemens will be back in 2008.