The Monster from the Bronx

There is a menace wandering the streets of the Bronx, with muscles and flesh part human and part science fiction. But rather than petrify and curdle even the strongest of wills, this madman is among the most revered swatsman in all of base-ball.

What gives?

This gives, I tell you.

Indeed, Alexander "Slaps" Rodriguez, it has been reported, is guilty of that cardinal sin of doping one's body with pharmaceutical-grade gibberish. Instead of sticking with the tried-and-true and remedying his maladies with Duffy's and a pinch of salt-cured ham, Slaps took the easy way out, sticking his rump with the types of needles best left to the bums in the Bowery or those caustic and nihilistic song-scribes from Tin Pan Alley.

And who is to blame? Why, good readers, we are to blame. Stuffy and I carry the weight of this. For our periodical is called "Full Circuit Clout," and we are single-handedly contributing to this nation's fundamental fascination with the long-distance swat, the moonshot four-bagger, the sweet sassy molassey. It is I, old friends, that takes responsibility for championing the full circuit clout above other base-ball pursuits such as mitten-wielding, field running and pill tossing. Oh, to take a step back in time and rearrange this disaster!

Alas, not a thing is possible. Slaps is forever tarnished. And truly, am I right to feel the shame of leading him to ruin? Is celebrating the most heroic of all sporting accomplishments -- the full circuit clout -- truly to blame for pushing Slaps toward his fateful decision? Am I not just a pawn in this opera of skullduggery and intrigue?

I am not complicit, dear readers! I neither procured the doping agent nor stuck Slaps in the hindquarters with a druggist's hypodermic. Let his fall from grace be his punishment, and let Full Circuit Clout continue to celebrate all that is good with the sweet four-bag roundtrip from each of the game's most accomplished swatsmen!