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Friday, June 28, 2013

Nets made out like bandits in deal with Celtics

I received two phone calls from avid NBA fans Friday morning, guys who know that I have spent a portion of my life as a sportswriter covering the Nets, both in New Jersey and now in Brooklyn.

They called because they wanted my take on the blockbuster trade that Nets general manager Billy King pulled off Thursday night, as the NBA Draft was taking place at the Barclays Center.

Somewhere in the bowels of their home arena, King made his biggest trade to date, far bigger than the acquistions of Deron Williams two years ago and Joe Johnson last year.

Although the trade cannot be officially announced until July 10 due to the NBA collective bargaining agreement, it is believed that King secured the services of future Hall of Famers Kevin Garnett and Paul Pierce, along with reliable guard Jason Terry, from the Boston Celtics for a pile of players and draft picks.

The Nets apparently have surrendered Gerald Wallace, Kris Humphries, Toko Shengalia, MarShon Brooks, Keith Bogans and Kris Joseph, along with first round draft picks in 2014, 2016 and 2018, in order to get the package from the Celtics.

My opinion on the deal? It's a steal for the Nets. A downright Brink's job.

My two friends disagree, but my point is this: The draft picks mean absolutely nothing.

In today's day and age, any draft pick that comes in the lower half of the first round is not a player of impact. The Nets will be a very good team for the next five years or so, therefore the draft picks that the Celtics receive will be lower tier picks in the first round.

When you weigh the players the Nets gave up, only Wallace had any real value and his game was in decline last year, as he had career lows in points and rebounds and couldn't make a shot past 10 feet. Humphries' game also suffered last year as well, losing his starting position to the immortal Reggie Evans, a rebound machine who couldn't throw a beach ball into the East River.

Brooks had a decent rookie year, but he took a step back last year, trying to do too much when he got on the floor. The rest have contracts and not much else.

In return, the Nets have now given themselves a legitimate shot of winning the whole shabang. They're not as good as the Heat, but with Garnett at power forward and Pierce at small forward, they're close.

And I don't care what anyone says, but as they are constructed right now, the Nets are a better team than the Knicks. In fact, it's no comparison. Brook Lopez at center, Garnett and Pierce at the forwards, with Williams and Johnson at the guards. All five have been NBA All-Stars. All five are proven scorers.

The Nets are not going to run up and down the floor like they did when new coach Jason Kidd was playing for the franchise. In fact, they're going to have to be a methodical team, concentrating on the half court approach, with the new acquisitions.

But they're going to be much better than the team that won 49 games last year. They're going to push the 55-win mark and perhaps 60 if both Garnett and Pierce, both 37 years old and on the down side, can play 70 or more games.

When Russian billionaire Mikhail Prohkorov bought the Nets three years ago, he boldly proclaimed that the Nets would contend for a championship in five years. I sat at the press conference when he said those words and chuckled under my breath. I thought mighty Mikhail must have been nipping at the vodka a little too much. The Nets won 12 games the year before he bought the team. They were a complete laughingstock.

But with this trade _ and taking the hit on what will be an incredible $80 million luxury tax _ Prohkorov has proven one thing. He's willing to win at all costs.

Is the trade a gamble? Sure it is. Garnett and Pierce are not getting any younger. They've both seen better days. There's no guarantee that they will stay healthy, although both have been pretty injury-free throughout their storied careers.

With this new lineup, the Nets have one, maybe two years to go after the NBA title that Prohkorov promised.

The way their roster was before Thursday, they could count on winning 50 games tops, go to the playoffs and perhaps win a series or two. Now, with healthy playoffs from Garnett and Pierce, the Nets are legitimate contenders.

Sure, there will be obstacles. Garnett likes to shoot from the perimeter. Pierce and Johnson are very similar players, who like to get the ball in isolation and play with their backs to the basket. There's only one ball to go around for five offensive-minded players to share.

But in one day, the Nets instantly became the best team in New York and put themselves in solid contention for an NBA title.

And if anyone thinks that it was a bad move for the Nets and a good move for Boston, you need your head examined. The Nets got two future Hall of Famers for basically a pile of nothing.

Last week, while everyone in the metropolitan New York area was mourning the passing of brilliant actor James Gandolfini of "Sopranos" fame, the sports world suffered a loss whose death was overshadowed by the sudden passing of Gandolfini at a young age.

Dave Jennings died after a long battle with Parkinson's disease. He also died young at 61.

Jennings gained fame in local sports as an All-Pro punter, both for the Giants and the Jets, in the 1970s and 1980s. Jennings was a standout for the Giants at a time when the Giants were not good, back in the days of planes flying over Giants Stadium with a message "Fifteen Years of Lousy Football: We've Had Enough," and fans burning tickets.

Jennings did his job and obviously had to punt a lot for the Giants, because the team wasn't very good.

In 1978, I was just beginning my senior year in high school. I had no idea what I wanted to do for a living, where I wanted to go to college. I had no course to follow.

But I received encouragement about possibly becoming a writer from my journalism teacher at St. Peter's Prep, Jim Horan.

I had an assignment for my journalism class to interview someone and do an in-depth feature. I had a suggestion to interview a professional athlete and decided I wanted to interview Dave Jennings.

I went to an autograph session where Jennings appeared and asked if I could somehow interview him. He gave me the phone number of the Giants' PR person, a wonderful man named Tom Power, and told me to call Power to set up a day that I could do the interview.

Well, Power went out of his way to call me and told me that I should come to Giants Stadium on a Wednesday afternoon after practice. There was only one problem. I didn't have my own car and I knew my mother wasn't going to be home in time to drive me to Giants Stadium.

So I called my friend Alex Chiarella, who was a huge football fan, but he liked the Cowboys. I told him that if he drove me, I could get him into the Giants locker room, but he just had to wait until I did the interview with Jennings. He was happy to do so.

I went to Giants Stadium, nervous and excited, fearful and happy all in one. I had a list of questions I wanted to ask Jennings and went through each question with the poise of a scared high school senior.

Jennings was wonderful. He never once treated me like a kid. He answered every single question. I learned that his favorite football player growing up was a Giants receiver named Del Shofner. I then did my research about Shofner, a player I never heard of before, but now know a lot about because of Jennings.

I learned that he always thought he would be a basketball player first, because he never punted once before he was a student at St. Lawrence College in upstate New York. I learned about his family life, his student life, his getting noticed at a free agent camp by the Giants. In a span of perhaps 15 minutes, I got to know Dave Jennings.

When the interview ended, Jennings praised me for doing a good job.

"Maybe I'll read you one day in the Daily News," Jennings said as he shook my hand and bid farewell.

The article about Jennings was submitted to the Prep school newspaper, the Petroc. It was the first published article I ever wrote that received a byline. The article then received an award at the state high school newspaper competition at Princeton University later that year. I won two awards at that competition, the first awards of my career.

Through Jim Horan's guidance, I went to Marquette to study journalism like he did. It gave me a sense of what I wanted to do, becoming a sportswriter. Dave Jennings was the first athlete I ever interviewed.

As I got older and started to cover the Giants and Jets regularly, I would see Jennings from time to time. He always remembered that interview. He would kid me about it, saying that I asked better questions then than I do now.

The last time I saw Jennings was at the Ring of Honor ceremonies at MetLife Stadium, in December of 2011. I went down to the field to interview Alex Webster to do a story for the Kearny Observer, one of the papers I work for.

Jennings was bothered by the cold that day. I only said Hello briefly. I was there to talk to Webster, the Kearny native, who knew of me from being an avid reader of his hometown paper, doing so online every week.

I didn't realize it was the last time I would see both Alex Webster and Dave Jennings, as both are gone now.

I owe a lot to Dave Jennings for giving me that bit of encouragement when I was a teenager. I still think I was predestined to be a sportswriter, like that was my calling even as a kid. I just didn't realize it. But Jennings helped to push me along and I'll be forever grateful.

That's why I was so saddened by his passing last week. I'm glad his suffering is over, but I'll forever remember the many times we shared space in the Giants' press box _ and that fateful fall afternoon in 1978.

You can read more of my work at, and

Sunday, June 16, 2013

My Dad created my own personal 'Field of Dreams'

This column was first printed in the pages of the now-defunct Hudson Dispatch on June 29, 1989. It ended up winning several different awards from the New Jersey Press Association, the North Jersey Press Club and the Garden State Society of Journalists. It was also reprinted in Reader’s Digest later that year (although I never got credit, the paper did).

For several years, the clipping sat in an old Avon box in my basement. We had a major flood two years ago that ruined a lot of my old clippings, including several of the old Dispatch articles. But somehow, this one survived. It’s very weather beaten and faded, but it survived.
So here it is again today, because after all, it’s Fathers’ Day.
I ventured to the movie theater the other day. No, not to see “Batman” or even “Ghostbusters II.” I’m not a trendy type of guy. In fact, I’m a little behind the times. I saw “Field of Dreams.”
OK, so the rest of the western world has already plunked down the cash to see “Field of Dreams.” We’re in the midst of a blockbuster movie season. “Field of Dreams” is old news to movie freaks. After all, it was only released nine weeks ago.
But “Field of Dreams” is about baseball _ sort of. And besides, “Batman” is not about Don Mattingly. I am a sportswriter _ at last check. And I’m a movie fan. Just a tardy movie fan, that’s all. I had to go see it. Who cares if I’m late?
I heard so many things about the movie. It was supposed to be the best thing ever to happen to baseball movies _ which wouldn’t be a hard feat, considering that most baseball flicks flounder.
I went with an open mind, waiting to be disappointed. I left feeling wonderful, feeling alive, feeling good. “Field of Dreams” touched me more than any other movie. It was clearly the best picture I’ve ever witnessed.
And my strong feelings about “Field of Dreams” had nothing to do with baseball. It had to do with life. Or, for that matter, afterlife.
For those who have not had the chance to see “Field of Dreams” _ like all seven of you _ you can stop reading here. Take my word for it, the movie is excellent. It’s the best thing you’ll see all year.
Now, for you other fortunate folk.
Let’s face it. “Field of Dreams” has its flaws. I mean, Shoeless Joe Jackson batted left-handed in real life and threw right. In this movie, the exact opposite. He batted right and threw left.
Brings up a good question. Do your extremities become mirror images after death? Only Elvis can answer that one. Remind me to ask him the next time the King is spotted at a 7-11 in Michigan. Elvis probably shoots at TVs with his left these days.
Gil Hodges is mentioned to be on the “Field of Dreams.” But there were no Brooklyn Dodgers uniforms to be found.
Still, this movie was absolute perfection to me, because it was able to touch me in a way that some people can relate to _ but hopefully not many.
Because of one movie, I got in touch with the huge vacancy that has been dominating my life for the last 18 years _ namely the absence of my father.
I was 10 when cancer snuffed Jack Hague away from me. He was sick, dead and gone within one month’s time in 1971. He was my everything. He was my inspiration, my motivation, my life. He was my Little League manager, my friend. He taught me so much about life in 10 short years _ and then he was gone.
It left me with a brother who was 60 miles away with his own family, a sister who was maturing rapidly _ and a loving mother, who had to be both parents from that point on. It was not easy.
Especially because of my obsession with sports _ something I shared with my Dad. We would watch ball games together, talk baseball constantly, play catch in my backyard.
With no father, those times came to an abrupt halt. I longed for the days of playing catch in the yard. They were long gone.
“Stop throwing like a girl, James,” I could hear him saying. “Step and throw.”
There were so many times in 1972, the first year after my father’s death, that I would stand in the yard, hoping he would come back. I just kept standing there, smacking the ball into my empty glove.
Little League was no longer fun without my Dad. It was a struggle to play for some other manager.
That summer, my mother bought me a “Pitch-Back,” the net that snapped the ball back to you after you tossed it. However, the damn thing never offered advice. It never told me what I was doing wrong. It just stood there.
And the “Pitch-Back” could never tell me what I was doing wrong in life. Of course, my mother did _ and worked hard at it. But living with two women and no man’s view of life certainly was no breeze for a moody kid who found his only release through sports.
As time went on, I tended to forget about my Dad. Not entirely, but enough that he wasn’t a major part of my life anymore. I lost his set of values, his standards. I forgot what Jack Hague stood for. I wanted to be independent, my own person. I couldn’t fill the shoes of a memory.
Sure, sports remained my one constant _ and still is today. Without it, I would be lost. But mst of all the other values I thought I had disappeared.
People think I’ve lived a good life, an exciting life. But it’s been fairly shallow. I never realized that until recently _ and never more so until I saw “Field of Dreams.”
It was a total awakening for me. I knew how important my father was _ and still is. Sure, my father was gone, but I should never let him stop being my parent. I should have left his values live on in my life instead of being pigheaded and stubborn and wanting to be something and someone else.
“Field of Dreams” touched me so much that I wanted to build a field in my backyard, albeit a small patch of brown grass nestled in Jersey City. And all the greats of yesteryear who are now departed could come back. They wouldn’t even need an invitation.
Gil Hodges would wear a Met uniform and run the show. Thurman Munson would be behind the plate. Satchel Paige on the mound, Lou Gehrig at first _ and Jackie Robinson stealing bases all night.
And the players would leave a little spot where right field would be, just enough for a grey-haired man with a three-finger glove could throw some high hard ones to his son.
“Field of Dreams” did what it was supposed to do _ make us all dream. It made me dream _ of the days when my father taught me about baseball and life.
I almost took those days for granted. I look back now and cherish. I never realized how much I truly missed my father.
So this is somewhat of an open call to all our readers. Stop, take time out and realize how important your father is.
Sure, there may be some differences and there may be some strife, but the day may come when your father is suddenly not there _ and that vacant feeling of his loss almost gets a stranglehold of you.
I know what that feeling is like. I knew it 18 years ago _ and I rediscovered that huge gap 11 days ago. Yes, Fathers’ Day, the day I saw “Field of Dreams.” I had totally forgotten it was Fathers’ Day. It was so totally ironic I saw the movie on that day.
I’ll never forget Fathers’ Day again. That’s why I love the movies so much _ and why “Field of Dreams” is the best movie I’ve ever seen. I found my Dad. I’m grateful for Hollywood for that.
That’s why I’m asking all of you to find your fathers, too. While he’s still around.
NOTE: Forrest Gump now ranks up there with my favorites. It's now 42 years that Dad is gone. And he's still a major part of my life. I'm not even close to be the man he was, but he's still the motivation in my life as I approach the age he was when he left us. And now, since Dad's favorite Ted Williams is also gone, he would have definitely made sure that "Teddy Ballgame" was part of his "Field of Dreams." Happy Fathers' Day to all.

Wednesday, June 12, 2013

Are the Nets Kidd-ing us with J-Kidd as head coach?

Let me get this straight, because my brain hurts from thinking about it.

The Brooklyn Nets won 49 games last season -- 35 of which came under the leadership of P.J. Carlesimo -- and made the NBA Playoffs for the first time in seven years.

But then the Nets management canned Carlesimo, saying that they wanted to go in a different direction.

And that direction is the recently retired Jason Kidd.

Nothing against Kidd, who was a great player for the Nets, a guy who singlehandedly saved their franchise and without his accomplishments, the Barclays Center would have never been built. I think Kidd is one of the best point guards to ever play the game, a player with great vision, a player who made everyone around him better.

But as a head coach right away? As a head coach instead of Carlesimo?

Are you Kidd-ing me?

Kidd hasn't an ounce of coaching experience. He sure was a genius with the ball on the floor and had great insight in terms of basketball knowledge with the ball in his hand.

But as I remember, coaches don't exactly play the game. Kidd can't make Deron Williams play better because he's standing on the sideline in a suit.

How in the world is a coaching nebish like Kidd better than Carlesimo? He can't be. There's a lot to handle in being an NBA head coach. There are film breakdowns and scouting reports daily. There are the countless demands of facing the media -- something Kidd wasn't overly comfortable with as a player. There is the psychoanalysis of every single player -- and Kidd was just a player a few weeks ago.

The Nets also thought of Pacers assistant Brian Shaw and former Memphis Grizzlies coach Lionel Hollins. They even apparently brought Shaw in for an interview Wednesday after allegedly offering the job to Kidd with a three-year contract.

None of these selections are better than the man who held the position, albeit on an interim basis, for the last five months of the season and into the playoffs. It wasn't a fluke that Carlesimo coached the Nets to a 35-19 regular season record and three wins in the playoffs. He was the perfect elixir for a team in disarray after Avery Johnson's reign.

But now, Nets general manager Billy King is turning the team over to a guy with no coaching experience whatsoever?

Don't forget Kidd's past. He was arrested of domestic violence during his days as a player in Phoenix, an incident that greased the skids out of Arizona and to New Jersey for Stephon Marbury. It did turn out to be the best trade in the Nets' history, but there's no denying that Kidd once beat his wife.

And a year ago, Kidd was arrested for DUI after an accident in the Hamptons. That case has yet to go in front of a judge.

This is the guy you want to be your head coach? Will Deron Williams listen to Kidd? At least the two have something in common. They're both coach killers. Williams got Jerry Sloan out the door in Utah and Kidd stood on his head to get Byron Scott fired in New Jersey.

Make no mistake about it. As a player, Jason Kidd was the best thing to ever happen to the Nets. He led them to two NBA Finals appearances and put life into the Continental Airlines Arena (now IZOD Center) that it never had before. Those were exciting times in the Meadowlands with Kidd leading the fast break. I witnessed hundreds of those games and never once was disappointed about Kidd's play, until he faked a headache in his final days, pushing Rod Thorn to trade Kidd to the Mavericks.

But can this same guy lead the Nets to another level? Who knows? It's a huge gamble for a team that already has a core in place for the next five years at least. There is no wiggle room with the Nets' roster right now. They're pretty much stuck with the top players they have.

Is a rookie head coach the answer for a veteran team? I guess we're going to soon find out.

But the bottom line is this: There is no way on this green earth that Jason Kidd is a better coach than P.J. Carlesimo. It's not even close. I don't care that Kidd hasn't coached a game. I've seen Carlesimo handle every single aspect of the coaching game and done it with a flair, a grace and a dignity.

So Billy King is going to roll the dice and hire Jason Kidd as a head coach. King shouldn't care, because he just got a three-year extension of his own.

The whole thing is beyond ridiculous. If it's a ploy to gain attention away from the Knicks, well, that works for one whole day _ the day that Kidd is announced as head coach. The day after, the proof, as they say, is in the pudding.

Mets GM Sandy Alderson went on WFAN the other day to talk to Mike Francesa and said that the Mets are in a rebuilding mode.

Well, haven't they been in this same mode since Alderson arrived three years ago?

By now, there should have been some progress made.  But in honesty, the team has gone way backward, thanks to the recent implosions of starting players Ike "Let's capitalize the K in his first name, because all he does is strikeout" Davis and Ruben "Never to Be Seen Again" Tejada.

The Mets are headed on a dead impact pace of losing 100 games. You can see it now in their pitching staff, in their anemic starting lineup (batting a team .225), in their inability to make decent plays, in their hideous and disgraceful bullpen.

It's a lousy team, the worst I can remember in more than 25 years. But don't come out and say you're in a rebuilding mode now. You had three years to rebuild. There should have been some progress by now.

No, Alderson has been made a complete stooge by the hideous owners, Freddy Coupon and Coupon Jr., the tight-wads that only care about holding on to imminent domain of the chop shops and car repair facilities directly to the north of CitiField.

The Coupons only want to hold on to the franchise long enough to see a real estate rebirth in Queens, snare the opportunity to re-develop the area round the stadium and turn it into a commercial and residential paradise.

They care nothing of the shamefully disgraceful franchise they put on the field every night and expect the hard working public to spend $75 a ticket to watch such tomfoolery.

If the Mets were honest three years ago and came out and said they were rebuilding, maybe this season wouldn't be as painful. But they tried to sell us that Lucas Duda was potentially a star. Guess what? He's not even close. The rest of the roster is a laughingstock. Anthony Recker would have a tough time cracking a Class AAA roster. There are better catchers on the free agent market than Recker. That's only one position.

They sent down Mike Baxter and brought up Colin Cowgill. For what? They both are awful.

I thought I liked Kirk Niewenhuis when he first came up, but he strikes out all the time and can't make a play in the outfield. Ugh. It's painful to watch. It's like going to the neighborhood bodega to get a root canal. It's like taking the car to the pharmacy for a transmission rebuild.

The Mets are a complete shambles and that really upsets me.

You can read more of my work at, and The high school scholastic season is just about over. I can take up reading in the coming weeks. On my reading list are New York Post columnist George Willis' book about the Mike Tyson-Evander Holyfield fight and the biography of Earl "The Pearl" Monroe. I received both in the mail in the last few weeks and can't wait to get to both.

Wednesday, June 5, 2013

The gift that keeps on giving: Performance enhancement drugs

So Anthony Bosch, this bastion of wonderment who has been selling his illegal performance-enhancement drugs to big-time athletes, is about to come clean with Major League Baseball officials and will sing like a caged songbird as to who he gave his illegal crap to.

And sure, this will more than likely seal the end of Alex Rodriguez's tenure with the Yankees and probably end his career, because no other team will want to take a gamble on a two-time PED abuser. This time, A-Rod can't blame his cousin or his ignorance that he didn't know the cream he was using was illegal and that he thought all along that he was taking vitamins.

A-Rod's involvement and his identification of being involved with the Bosch group Biogenetics isn't that shocking and isn't that newsworthy, except that it pushes him to the head of the steroid-using class, ahead of Roger Clemens and Barry Bonds, simply because Clemens and Bonds were only implicated once and this is strike two for A-Rod.

Nope, the name that jumps out above the rest this time is another thought-to-be one-time steroid loser Ryan Braun.

If you remember, Braun, the 2011 National League Most Valuable Player, was believed to have tested positive for PEDs before the start of the 2012 season, but had his 50-game suspension rescinded when Braun claimed that the testing procedure was tainted and that it could have been anyone's urine that ended up in a Wisconsin lab, not his.

A federal judge ruled that Braun could not be suspended for the drug charge, simply because the urine taken from Braun sat in a Wisconsin lab for three days and was not properly marked, even though the chemist involved with the testing never had a problem with the thousands of drug tests he did before.

When Braun was thought to be vindicated, he held a press conference in Arizona, ripping the process, throwing the chemist (a diehard Brewer fan, by the way) under the bus, saying that the system was wrong and he was proof that the system didn't work. Instead of being apologetic and contrite, Braun was on the warpath, claiming that he was done wrong and his reputation was forever harmed.

Well, what in the world is Braun's reputation worth this morning?

He's now a two-time loser, like A-Rod. But when A-Rod was first approached about using PEDs, A-Rod admitted his mistake and vowed to never do it again _ a promise he obviously couldn't keep.

In the case of Braun, he lied about using, then got off on a technicality, then ranted and raved that he was unjustly attacked as being a user _ and now has to face the charges again.

What does Braun use as an excuse this time? It was not him who went to the clinic in Miami, that it was some other guy named Ryan Braun who looks like him? That it was his evil clone twin? That excuse might have worked on "The Young and the Restless," but not here.

One of Braun's advisors had the audacity Tuesday night to say that Braun was being targeted by MLB Commissioner Bud Selig to "set an example."

Dummy. Braun plays for the Brewers, a team once owned by Selig himself. A team that Selig still holds with great reverance and love. Selig doesn't want to hurt the Brewers. In fact, I would venture to say that Selig is sick over the fact that a beloved Brewer is involved.

If Braun was just a tad contrite last year when he held that ridiculous press conference, I might be able to feel a little sorry for him today. But right now, after he blasted everyone under the sun for what he thought was injustice and gets caught doing the same crap again, he can go far away. No sorrow here. If he's suspended for 100 games and loses millions in salary, then Braun deserves every single ounce of that penalty.

If this songbird Bosch brings down other ballplayers with his tell-all secrets, then so be it. Maybe this might lift the cloud of uncertainty that has hovered over the game of baseball since 1998. Does he do steroids, doesn't he do steroids? Who's on the Mitchell Report list and who's not? Who's with BALCO and who's with Biogenetics? You have to keep a scorecard, steroid or no steroid.

It's that way with the Hall of Fame. This year alone, Mike Piazza didn't get in because it's believed he used steroids and Bonds and Clemens didn't get in because they did. It's going to get to a point where Cooperstown will need its own wing for steroid users, because you can't tell who did and who didn't.

We know now that A-Rod is a two-time steroid user and that should end his career and all hope of the Hall of Fame. We also know now _ even though he won't admit it _ that Ryan Braun is also a two-time steroid user.

In the case of A-Rod, it was expected and it's not shocking. In the case of Braun, it's downright sickening, because of all the people outside of baseball who he sang botched his urine test and ruined their lives and reputations strictly because he wanted to save face. In this corner, his case is more disgusting than A-Rod's, because you had to figure Braun was innocent the way he was so adamant he did nothing wrong in March of 2012.

Well, guess again. Denial is not just a really long river in Egypt. It's the rally cry, the mojo, the motto of professional athletes who were caught red-handed using PEDs and they still deny they did anything. Lance Armstrong. Marion Jones. Rafael Palmiero. They all denied they ever did it. They're not denying it now.

So, Ryan Braun, don't let the door hit you on the ass as you begin to serve the lengthy suspension you should have received last year. Because if the door hits your rear, it might sting a little from where all the steroid needle marks were.


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