So there's been a lot going on, and a lot of catching up to do . . .
Just in case you're the last apologist on the planet, now it's pretty safe to assume that anybody on Earth who had a.) money and b.) any common sense is, has or tried to beat the MLB drug testing policy. That's just how it was - it happened. To be honest, I would have done it too - both for the drive to become the best, and because HOLY SHIT TWENTY MILLION DOLLARS. That doesn't mean it's right, and there is absolutely no way to endorse its effects on children (which is really the true downside to athletes using), but there it is.
There are SO MANY great things about the Manny story, though. First, his excuse is, essentially, a "piss-the-bed" excuse - it requires about the same level of self-delusion as the time you woke up after a night of drinking and thought, "hey, I really sweated a lot last night - it is kind of hot out here, after all, and I'm nearly certain the sweat isn't localized in the crotch region either *whistles*" . . . and I assume everyone's been there. Oh, you haven't? Awkward. Manny's supposed infertility is awesome - dude's not even 40, and already has a kid. Good work, Boras - apparently your deal with Satan does not include believable lies.
Luckily, it appears that NO ONE CARES! Seriously - it was a two-day story and now . . . gone. Does this mean we're finally getting over the media-fueled hysteria and can start to focus on real issues (like, oh, teaching kids the dangers of steroids, or teaching players how to do them more safely so they don't die at age 44)? Probably not - it's likely apathy. What a world.
The most interesting part though? If reports that the MLB investigation was triggered by elevated synthetic testosterone levels are accurate, then holy shit . . . that means whatever steroid Manny is using is NOT CURRENTLY DETECTABLE BY MLB. All he had to do was keep that 4:1 ratio, and no one would have ever found out. We always suspected that, much like the Acme Anvil Company versus the Road Runner, rogue chemists were multiple steps ahead of testing. This is literal proof - this is the puff of smoke the Road Runner left behind, or the sour taste in your mouth left after a continuation of that hack analogy. Apparently, still - no one cares.
A-Rod. Fuck You.
Selena Roberts still, well, sucks - seriously, her righteous indignation over the "culture of masculine impropriety-slash-rich people are awesome-tude" during the Duke Lacrosse Shitshow makes Louis Farrakhan look like MLK (note: that comparison brought to you by the Rooney Rule). However, the A-Rod book (awesomely titled "A-Rod" - no shit!) is simply brilliant. If we ignore, well, any semblance of journalistic integrity, and simply take all this shit at face value, we learn:
-A-Rod had a clubhouse attendant put toothpaste on his toothbrush after every game. This is not only epic douchebaggery (not even the richest, most entitled fuck on Wall Street really thinks he's above toothpasting), it's also just amazing. Like, the first thing you're thinking after a game, at 11pm or whatever, is "boy, I really want to brush my teeth, but I'd like that to be facilitated for me so it is just a little bit less demanding of me and my time"? Shouldn't a wealthy pro athlete think "boy, I should send that clubbie out for hobags" instead?
-His pickup line was something along the lines of "who's hotter, me or Jeter?" Durrr, he fucked Mariah Carey and Jessica Biel while you traipsed around with manly Canadian strippers, you dense fuck. Boy, I wonder - who could it possibly be?
-Seriously, it just keeps going from there . . . Bitch Tits? Awesome.