Clemens and trainer Photo by Steven Senne-AP	A younger Roger Clemens Photo-Jim Rogash - Getty

Part 1
His wife woke him early the next morning to let him know she was going Christmas shopping with the boys.  Roger said, “ok, honey, I’ll just catch a few more winks, see ya later.”  He awoke a little later to the sound of Jingle Bells.  Although it was very loud, it was coming from his cell phone on the night table.  He thought, “one of the boys must’ve been playing with the settings as a joke, wait until I get through with him.”  “Hello,” he growled.

 

“Merry Christmas, Roger, I’ll bet you didn’t know Jingle Bells memorializes the 'cutter' drag races in Boston, where spiffed-out sleighs would race between Medford and Malden Squares, and the drivers would try to pick up the local chickies.”  The voice was chuckling as he said this, and then continued more soberly, “I’m the next spirit you arranged for with good Mr. Alzado. If you’d be good enough to hit “Send” again, you and I are going on a sleigh-ride of our own.”

 

As the events of the previous evening flooded over him, Roger shuddered a bit, but then, figuring he had no real choice in the matter, resolutely hit “Send” and in a flash, he was dashing through the snowy streets of Boston again in what seemed to be an open sleigh, and he heard rather than felt the thundering hooves of one great black stallion pulling them along.  Roger looked to his left, and there was a big, smiling man seated next to him.  He was wearing an old Red Sox uniform and he held a baseball in his left hand.  “Can you guess who I might be, Roger?  I’m in the Red Sox Hall of Fame too, me and Cy and a few other pitchers.”  And Roger knew in a moment who it was and exclaimed. “Lefty Grove!”  he yelled, over the sound of the wind whistling through his ears.  “That’s right, Roger, now, c’mon, we have a couple of stops to make.”

 

Roger now found himself in the same warm kitchen as the night before, but there had been a few changes, tile for linoleum, some stone material had replaced the bright formica.  And there sat the same family, and Roger looked for the young teenager who had hoped his hero wouldn’t leave Boston, the same little boy who had marveled to Roger’s early heroics on the Fenway mound. 

 

But now the youth was older, probably 17 or so, and the boy’s Dad said, “Charlie, you’ve been a terrific pitcher, but if you want to get that scholarship, you have to get stronger.  I know you’ve been working hard in the gym, but it’ll be your senior year, and the college scouts will be out in force.  You’ve got to figure out how to get bigger.”  And the mother scolded her husband, “You be quiet, Charles Donovan, Charlie Junior’s doing fine.  He’ll grow naturally as he gets older, look at you ! And all the Donovan boys grew to be six footers and they all were 230 pounds if they were an ounce.”

 

Lefty then held the baseball out to Roger and, as he took hold of it, the kitchen swirled, faster and faster, and then the whirling stopped.  Roger now found himself in a high school auditorium, and there were about fifty men attending a meeting of some kind.  He heard the man on the stage say, “All right, it’s up for the vote, if you want Roger Clemens to address the Coaches Association dinner, signify as such by raising your hands.  And Roger saw quite a few heads looking around, hesitating, and some of those faces were people he had known for a long time.  Then he felt Lefty’s hand on his arm again, and he found himself back in his bedroom once again.

 

Roger was trembling now and said to himself, “I don’t need to see any more spirits, I’ve got to talk with Alzado, maybe he’s still on the car’s GPS system.  So Roger went out to the garage, then hit the garage door-opener switch, but, instead of the door rolling up in its tracks, a screen rolled itself down.  There appeared a tall young pitcher dancing on the infield in what looked like a weird combination Irish jig and river dance, and he knew in a moment, it must be Jonathan Papelbon.

 

And then Jonathan appeared next to him, and he said, “c’mon, Roger, dance with me,” and as fearful as Roger was, he couldn’t help but smile and he seemed to know the steps as they both cavorted in the garage. But soon it was a garage no longer, and he found himself on still another ballfield of some kind, but there were no fences, just a big field, and there on one end was an old backstop, and about 60 ft. from that an improvised mound. 

 

And on the mound was Charlie Donovan again, now pitching to his Dad, but he appeared to be bigger now, and older, and he heard Charlie’s Dad say, “That’s all right for college ball, Charlie, but if you want to be a major league pitcher someday, ya gotta be hittin’ at least 95 on that gun.”  And then Jonathan nudged Roger and said, “c’mon Rog, let’s dance.”  And now they were in a locker room, and there was Charlie again, and he was bending over, and his friend was saying, “don’t worry, Charlie, they still can’t test for this stuff.”

 

Now Roger and the crazed dancing spirit found themselves in what appeared to be a newsroom, and two men were having some kind of heated discussion, and Jonathan said, “Roger, check out the calendar,” and he saw that it was 2013, and one writer was saying, “sure, Roger won a lot of games early in his career, and holds all those records, but Curt was a real warrior, especially at the end of his career, and who could ever forget that red sock.” 

 

And Roger fell into a swoon, but Papelbon quickly held him and did a little pirouette with Roger still in his arms.  When Roger came to his senses, he found himself in a small stadium, and the Commissioner of Baseball, smiling ear-to-ear, was saying “and now it gives me the greatest pleasure to introduce to you, maybe the greatest clutch pitcher of all time, a pitcher who finished his career in Boston…” 

 

But that was all Roger heard, his stomach gave a lurch, and he became physically sick. He pleaded with Papelbon, “oh spirit of the future, are these images that have to be or can these apparitions be changed if people change their evil ways?”  And Jonathan said nothing, but wiped his soiled foot on Roger’s pants leg, a look of disgust on his face.  And he said, “things could change but you’re dancing on your own now”. But he was smiling as he said it.  And the last thing Roger saw was a fading bouncing and kicking.

 

Roger found himself back in his own living room.  His wife and sons had returned and his son said, “Dad, what the heck is that on your pants?”  And his wife cried, “And what are you smiling about?  I’ve never seen you so happy!”  And Roger rushed to his wife and spun her around, then grabbed his sons, one by one, and hugged them, even though they did say “Ewwwwh!”

 

Roger fired his lawyer and called the Commissioner’s office and admitted the full extent of his wrongdoing.  And he called a press conference and did the same.  And he finished his career with the Red Sox.  And he became like a second father to Charlie Donovan, who never did drugs of any kind, and became a pitcher with the Red Sox in his own right. And he was open with the press and all the media, especially at Christmas.  And, in later years, though he never made it to Cooperstown, it was said that if anyone embodied the spirit of baseball, it was he.  And, as young Charlie observed, “God bless baseball.”  And God bless us, everyone.

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