Put it this way: Watching Clemens lighting it up in Canada was like breaking up with your girlfriend, then watching her hire a personal trainer, shed 15 pounds, spend 10 Gs on a boob job and join the cast of “Baywatch.”
(If baseball were wrestling, this would be the point where Clemens came into the ring carrying the Canadian flag, shouting epithets about Nomar and Pedro, making unflattering jokes about Boston and forcing everyone to stand for the playing of the Canadian anthem. In other words, all ties had been severed — he was an official “Bad Guy.”)
Even the staunchest Clemens sympathizers in New England couldn’t defend him anymore. He had crossed over to the dark side. He was Darth Vader with a Texas accent. He was the enemy.
(By the way, if you’re keeping track, Clemens was officially a quitter, a cheater, a fibber and a traitor at this point).
Here was his last chance — I mean, ever — to salvage his ties with Boston fans. And he blew it. At this point, we were like Michael Corleone in Godfather 2 after finding out that Fredo knew Johnny Ola: “Fredo, you’re nothing to me now. I don’t want to see you. I don’t want to know you. If you visit our mother, I want to know a day in advance. You’re dead to me.” Or something like that.
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