The headline in my morning paper was the height of mediocrity: “A Standoff Over Steroids.”
Edward R. Murrow would be proud.
Watching Congressman Henry Waxman interrogate baseball’s Roger Clemens this week was maddening. In the middle of a war, while the right to intercept electronic messages by our terrorist enemies is being thwarted by anti-war Democrats, as the economy lumbers down some shaky railroad tracks, and illegal immigrants continue to stream across the border siphoning social services from our local communities, a bunch of grandstanding Congressmen have decided to grind Washington, D.C. to a halt and decide if some pampered, spoiled millionaire baseball player is telling the truth when he denies having Human Growth Hormone injected into his butt.
In the grand scheme of life, I wonder how many taxpayers are on the edge of their seats wondering if some trainer named Brian McNamee is being truthful when he testified that Clemens is lying about his use of steroids and HGH.
It ranks right up there with concern about what Brittney Spears is going to do next in her train wreck of a life.
I’d like to believe that most of us have full enough lives that the personal habits of baseball players or pop divas don’t even register as a blip on our collective radar.
It’s one thing to see paparazzi (what a stupid word) stalk Hollywood celebrities like a bunch of crazed vultures and realize what a ridiculous environment could lead to such a debacle in la-la land.
It’s quite another to recognize that our tax dollars have funded this baseball/steroid three ring circus, a giant waste of government resources if there ever was one.
It’s important to make comparisons between the Brittney Spears and the Roger Clemens of the world because they are both in the exact same type of business: entertainment. Nothing more, nothing less.
Too many folks take the baseball steroid controversy seriously because they love their baseball. To them, it’s all about the records, the World Series, celebrating the great American pastime and all.
But baseball players play the game for one reason: our entertainment. They are our movie stars, our pop singers, our recording artists. We expect them to hit the ball, throw the ball, run the bases, and win games.
What grown men inject into their bodies in order to achieve our expectations of them should not only be of no significance to us, it sure as heck is no business of the U.S. Congress.
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