Look. Clemens gets home at 9:30 in the A-M, and if he doesn't know where he's going to be, there's no telling what he's apt to do. But he knows there isn't a sign out front that says "7-time Cy Young winner storage" because storing 7-time Cy Young winners ain't his fuckin business.
Dude just wants to pitch. He's still dominating. Yeah, he got fat and my dad hates him because he left the Sox, but just stop teasing all these G.M.'s dicks already. You've got Theo and Cashman positively creaming themselves, and the Rangers are drooling and wondering what it would be like to have someone other than Kevin Millwood as their ace. Plus I think Clemens could do a better job running protection from camera guys than Kenny Rogers did.
Mm, hickory smoked. It's the wood that makes it good. (Well, he is The Gambler.)
If all else fails, I guess, he could always go back to Houston and have his son take him yard again. Plus Oswalt's got that sweet tractor and ouzo for two-zoh. And what could be sweeter than a ride through the swamps of Texas with your favorite