There's no crying in baseball

Isn't it hysterical that Mark McQwire broke down in front of Congress crying and still wouldn't admit that he did steroids? By not denying he did steroids he basically admitted that he HAD done steroids. Which, to me, is no big deal.

I've done illegal drugs before. If Congress were to question me, I would not break down crying and pointing out that I gave 3 million dollars to kids. I would say, "Yes, I smoked pot before. I've also driven faster than the posted speed limit." End of story.

Moral of the story? Don't do something of which you are ashamed. If you might be embarrassed by it--don't do it.

But isn't it even more hysterical that Congress is holding hearings on this? I mean Bush can get away with lying to the American people every day, but you've got some cheaters in baseball and all of a sudden, Congress feels the need to fix it.

What's odder in all of this is: Sports makes grown men cry. Take me for instance. Every time Lindsay Davenport plays a tennis match--I'm screaming at the linesmen, I yell at Lindsay for not going to net enough, for not being aggressive enough, etc. And if she loses? Forget it. I'm in a piss-poor mood. I don't want to talk to anyone and I really am on the verge of tears.

Today she was up 4-0 in the first set and lost it 4-6. Then she won the second set. But lost in the 3rd set to Kim Clijsters. Clijsters is only playing in her second tournament IN OVER A YEAR!!!! After she lost I had to leave the room. I was either going to cry in front of Kevin or I was going to hurl the TV out of the window.

What's wrong with me? I don't know her. She makes millions of dollars and yet I feel like the world ends when she loses. Is it her cute little barrettes? Is it the fact that when she started out people called her fat and I felt sorry for her? (My friend Ted used to call her Davenportly. I wanted to hurt him everytime he said that!)

Or do I feel so strongly about her because she hits the ball so damned hard that I'm in awe? I don't know. I guess I'm just weird.

The same goes for basketball. I can still feel my heart ripped through my chest when John Paxson shot the winning 3-pointer in game 6 of the 1993 NBA Finals against the Suns. I was in Germany at the time, so the game didn't start until 2:30 in the morning. George, Greg and I would get up at 2am to watch the game, take an hour nap and then do physical training. Needless to say, there was no nap after game 6.