Covering My Bases

“I didn’t think they were steroids. That’s part of being young and stupid. It was over the counter, it was pretty basic, and it was really amateur hour…It was two guys doing a very amateur and immature thing. We probably didn’t even take it right.”

—Alex Rodriguez, Feb 17 Press conference

Thank you. Thank you for coming today, especially in this nasty weather. And thank you for giving me an opportunity to address this issue, an opportunity I am humbly grateful for, given how I will have betrayed your trust at some point in the future. A trust you so faithfully put in me, and are so faithfully putting in me even as we speak, and which I will so foolishly abuse. Allegedly, at a time yet to come.

Today I apologize for that deed which I will certainly do, or error in judgment I will most probably make. For it—or them if there is more than one—I deeply and sincerely apologize. I am sorry. I will have acted stupidly, selfishly, and/or arrogantly.

I only hope in time you can understand the pressure that will have been heaped upon me by you after gaining the limelight which I am so vigilantly, tirelessly seeking, with the bloodlust of a rabid hyena, now, in my every action and word, every moment of every waking day, aside from today, when I obviously am here addressing you, and later, uptown, addressing Katie Couric and then later still the folks at something called “The Forgiveness Forum with Don Mackintyre.” I hope you can see how the hurly burly of the media circus I presently want nothing more than to gain the attention of inevitably will skew my moral compass. And I hope you can forgive what will almost surely arise as an unpardonable breach of social etiquette, a wince-inducing abomination, violating any and all codes of decency and an affront to good taste which, moronically, I thought would be understood for its playful good humor and satiric intent. But sorely, sadly, will not have been. When it happens. As it must.

To my fans, I am sorry. To my friends and family, I am sorry. To my dear wife, I am sorry. Honey, I love you. To my legions of support staff: my editors, my agents, my former advisors and tutors, my fellow fiction workshoppers, from both the US and the UK,—neither of which countries will receive my gruesome blunder with the comic appreciation I will hope for, especially when I am seen the following morning leaving the apartment of my alleged accomplice, and especially more after making the ill-considered admission to the Access Fictionwood cameras that he or she and I will have been, or had been the night before, when the malfeasant act was performed, “very shit-faced.” To all you, I convey my deepest regrets. Your forgiveness, should I receive it, will have been and will from then on continue to be, a most undeserved but welcome blessing.

Thank you. Thank you. I will now sign autographs at the autograph kiosk. Please queue in an orderly manner.