Spring Training Chapter 2... The Missing Link

FIRST THINGS FIRST:

We've been roach-free for 48 hours and counting.

Apparently an exterminator came by the condo this morning while we were at the ballpark just to make sure none of our friend's roach cousins were still skulking around, but I like to think my thorough thumping of our boy on Sunday night sent a clear message to the complex's roach community:

Don't eff with unit 1332.

Yeah, my six-legged neighbours know better than to come back up in here.

Anyway, it took me exactly two days on the Blue Jay beat to learn my college friend Raheem Covington is the "lookalike missing link" between me and Blue Jays pitching prospect Fabio Castro.

First, let me explain.

Each of us has a lookalike somewhere in the world. I've got quite a few -- everyone from Tommy Davidson to Vinnie from Naughty By Nature to the pretty boy backup singer from RnB one-hit wonder band, Ideal (that's him, back row on our left).



A missing link adds one degree of separation to the lookalike phenomenon, because he looks like two people who don't really resemble each other.

For example, rapper-turned-actor Will Smith looks like NBA championship magnet Robert Horry, who in turn looks like recently retired NBA center Alonzo Mourning, even though Smith and Mourning don't look all that similar.

See?

This guy:

Parents just don't understand...

This guy looks like this guy:

Horry, six championship rings not pictured.

Who looks like this guy:

Zo... but he don't look like Will

Got it?

Okay, so during my senior year at The Harvard of the Midwest I met Raheem Covington.

I had retired from the ball team by then and was working in the athletic department, and he was a freshman cornerback who looked JUST like me, except with a goatee (back then I was clean-shaven, like dude from Ideal). A little taller than me, but not by much. Similar athletic build, same skin tone, cheekbones, eyes and hair texture. More than one freshman chick I had never met walked up to me and started convos, thinking I was him.

Anyway, I always liked Raheem. Thought he was a handsome dude.

And this morning I swore he walked past me in Blue Jays' locker room. I knew Raheem had played a couple of years in the CFL, but had no clue he had remained in Canada and switched to baseball.

Turns out he hadn't.

It was a lookalike. Fabio Castro, a southpaw relief pitcher looking to jumpstart his career with the Jays this season.

But Castro doesn't look like me. I mean, he's a handsome dude, too, but besides being 5-foot-7 and brown skinned we don't look all that much alike. Raheem and I could pass for brothers, while Castro at best is a distant cousin on my dad's side.

See?

This handsome guy:

World's Greatest Sportswriter

Looks like this guy:

He loves Winnipeg despite the mosquitos...

Who in turn resembles this guy:

But he doesn't quite look like The World's Greatest

Haven't spoken to Castro yet. Not sure he speaks English. But even if he doesn't, estoy aprendiendo mas y mas espanol cada dia, so even if he knows no English, pienso que podemos hacer una entrevista en espanol.

Either way, by week's end, I'll have the story behind the story on the guy at the other end of the lookalike chain.

LOOKING AHEAD

All A-Roid, all the time.

Yankees visit Dunedin to open their preseason against the Jays, and apparently former MVP, admitted (under duress) steroid user and all-around stand-up guy Alex Rodriguez will play.

A month ago this game figured to be pretty mundane, but l'affaire d'A-Rod gives it a spicy subplot.

What a way to start spring training.

Can't wait.

Stay Tuned.

Spring Training, Day One -- Buggin Out

When you work in the newspaper business reminders accumulate daily that your way of life -- or at least your way of making a living -- is about to change profoundly.

Woke up this morning to learn that one more big city newspaper group is declaring bankruptcy. This time, it's Philly.

Still, life where I work hasn't been too bad by contrast. Thanks to the Star's sheer size (biggest paper in our market by far), the Canadian economy (which hasn't tanked as deeply as the U.S. economy... yet), and the 5 million or so employees who took buyouts last year, our place hasn't reached New York Times levels of poverty.

Yesterday I arrived in Tampa for Spring Training on a flight the company paid for, rented a car on the company credit card, and drove straight to the condo the company has rented through the end of March.

Yeah, life is still pretty good over here.

But look closely and you'll see subtle signs that the Rich Uncle's money is growing shorter.

Like the cockroach that scurried across the living room floor last night.



I was sorta surfing the internet and sort of watching the Oscars when I caught him in the corner of my right eye, a black dot emerging from the pantry and moving toward the front door.

He didn't move all that quickly, as though he were real comfortable here; as though his were his condo and we were just squatters. And he didn't seem scared. Even as I grabbed the Air Force One and cocked it back behind my head, he stood still, as if he knew I wasn't going to come into his house and disrespect him like this.

Like Hell.

I brought the AF-1 down hard across his back.

Whomp.

He disappeared briefly beneath my shoe. The floor vibrated. Dishes rattled on a nearby table.

And the cockroach?

He took my best shot and kept smiling. Stood there looking at me like, "Zat all you got?"

Naw, punk. I got some more for that behind.

Three quick ones.

Whomp. Whomp. Whomp.

The cockroach gloated no more.

I scooped him up and dropped him in the trash, then spent the rest of the night paranoid, Air Force One cocked like a hammer, just wishing some roach would walk his ass out into the living room looking for trouble.

Understand this:

I'm not scared of roaches.

I just hate them, just like my dad, and his dad before him.

I hate them for what they symbolize, which, more than anything, is poor hygiene, either in a household or in a building. I don't necessarily mean poverty -- I've lived in the hood and not had roaches.

I mean poor upkeep and a general lack of cleanliness.

I've been here before.

Grew up in a townhouse, and one year when I was real young a family from Jamaica moved in next door.

These. Folks. Were. Country.

They removed the panes and screens from their windows, so they just had holes in the side of their house. If the kids owned shoes, I didn't see them. And if they had indoor plumbing, nobody told their youngest boy, because he used the patch of asphalt in front of our house as his personal urinal.

A few weeks after they moved in, we started seeing roaches in our house. It took a while to figure out the bugs had hitched a ride from Ja. with the family next door, stowing away in their furniture and luggage.

So my pops headed next door to confront the neighbour about his bug problem, and precipitating the following exchange:

Pops: You need to do somethin bout these roaches, Willie. I'm tireda this mess!

WIllie: Easy nuh'mahn. Roo-chez hev'reh-weer bahk hoom. Dem like like flies in Jamaica.

Pops: N*gga, this ain't no GOT DAM Jamaica!

And neither is this.

But its symbolic of the times in this business. The last time the rich uncle sent me to Florida he put me up at the Hyatt. This time we're staying in a condo complex with roaches. A beautiful complex otherwise, but still one I share with that big bug I killed last night, plus a few thousand of his cousins.

Whatever fits the budget, I guess. We've all got to sacrifice in tough times.

But remind me to buy a roach trap tonight, and expense it later.

A-Fraud? Ster-Rod?

Saturday morning Sports Illustrated broke some (really not very) shocking news:

Before Yankees third baseman and Barry Bonds heir apparent Alex Rodriquez did Madonna, he did steroids.

*This is not A-Rod but clearly he was into this kind of thing.

In fact, according to the story he did at least two of them, testing positive in 2003 for both testosterone and primobolan.

News of the positive test taints the MVP award he won that season, and threatens to damage the legacy of the guy many people hoped would knock (accused) steroid user Barry Bonds from atop the all-time home run list.

The scandal only promises to widen and deepen as more facts about the test are revealed.

...

Yawn.

...

Seriously, am I supposed to care that A-Rod and 103 other guys -- probably more when you include the guys who beat the test -- were flagged as steroid users during an era when MLB didn't punish drug use? Given the laxity of MLB's drug policy back then I'm surprised more guys didn't test positive.

Four years ago Jose Canseco's first book outed Mark McGwire's steroid use, just a few weeks before Big Mac himself pleaded the fifth before congress rather than confess that a steady diet of fastballs and andro wasn't all that contributed to his astronomical home run totals.

A year later Mark Fainaru-Wada and Lance Williams let us in on another poorly-kept secret:

Barry Bonds had a little chemical help in transforming from this





to this.




Then last year came the Mitchell Report, which confirmed our steroid suspicions about Roger Clemens 88 other less accomplished MLBers.

So how many more times are we supposed to act surprised, insulted and disillusioned when we learn some baseball star took steroids during an era when MLB took no concrete steps to prevent doping?

Look, we live in uncertain times. None of us knows how much when the price of gas will skyrocket for good, or whether the local newspaper has enough cash to publish tomorrow's edition, or how many hours before Michael Phelps embarrasses himself in public again.

But of these three things, I'm certain.

Republicans have artificial hearts.

Porn stars have fake boobs.

And if you don't deter athletes with severe punishment -- fines, suspensions, the singing Obama Brats -- for doping, then some of them dope.

Have any of you looked at a track and field record book?

Notice how most the world records in the throwing events and women's sprints are from the 1980s, when athletes weren't tested for drugs outside major competitions. They could take whatever they wanted while training (and plenty of them did) knowing they only needed to pee clean a few times a year. And honestly, if you know months in advance the doping control guys will be there, it's not longer a drug test -- it's an I.Q. test. Either way, aside from major meets athletes had little to fear.

And in the late 1990s and early 2000s, neither did players in Major League Baseball.

I'm not saying everybody playing between 1998 and 2004 was dirty. I'm not even saying most players were. I'm just saying that after Game of Shadows, the Mitchell Report, and this latest news about A-Rod, we shouldn't have to act like any new steroid revelations shock or offend us.

I'm finished acting surprised to learn about any baseball star's past doping, and if MLB didn't care enough about steroids to enforce its own ban, then I refuse to feel bad for MLB as old drug tests expose steroid era stars as a generation of cheaters.

Coming Attractions

After a couple of weeks off to take care of some family business and rest my throbbing brain, I'm back on the blog and ready to keep you guys abreast of what's happening with your favourite sports writer.

And I'll update you on myself, too.

This month, for instance, I'll be a pretty busy guy.

Not only am I just 20 days from departing for my first-ever MLB spring training, but in case you guys didn't notice, it's February.

February means Black History Month.

And Black History Month means that for 28 days I become one of the most sought-after freelance writer/social critic/public speakers in the city. Yes, just about everybody sweating me now will forget about me as soon as March starts (though I'll be too warm in Florida to notice the cold shoulder), but for now I'm cashing in.

For this week, you can look for me at one of two places.

First, I'm I'll be one of three guest speakers at the CBC's Black History Month Celebration. That happens Wednesday afternoon, Feb. 4, with your boy taking the mic sometime between noon and 1pm. I'm hoping it's closer to noon because I've got a press conference (yes, big stars like yours truly still attend those) at 1:00. Luckily it's right across the street, but I still might have to flash some of that 4.4 speed (I think I still have 4.4 speed... over 30 yards at least) if I want to arrive on time.



Anyway, it all takes place in the Atrium at the CBC Building, 250 Front St., downtown T-Dot. If you're in the area, feel free to stop by and support me.

Bring signs. Scream my name. Ask me to autograph keepsakes and body parts.

Do whatever, just make sure you make me seem important. As I've said, we're building a brand here.

After I finish that speaking engagement I head back to the office and resume doing what they actually pay me for -- writing great reads.

Right now I'm writing an essay I hope will run in Sunday's Star examining the concept of post-racialism.

Basically, the election of pioneering president and newspaper industry savior Barack Obama has a lot of folks hoping we're on the precipice of a post-racial era in (North) American Society. You know, a time when differences between races will dissolve, nobody's ethnic background will matter, and we'll all be colourblind brothers and sisters in the human race.

A noble ideal at first glance but really a shitty proposition if for anybody who, like me, actually enjoys being black. So my essay, is a a defence of race in the face of all the post-racial optimism folks have been spouting since November.

Alongside that I hope to run a sidebar explaining why our "Post Racial" president really is black, despite how certain black folks (he's not black enough) and white folks (he's half white) classify him.

And all that's just in the first week.

What else will Black History Month bring, besides some work in the Sunshine State?

As soon as I know, I'll let you guys know too.