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It was just a week ago -- seven short days -- when baseball as we knew it fell apart. George Mitchell and his merry band of henchmen, armed with nothing but a clubhouse attendant and a polite request, brought the game to its knees. 400+ pages outed 80+ players, past and present, calling them cheaters and liars.

For a generation who grew up watching home run totals skyrocket and a new individualistic approach to a nine-man game, the report came as not-quite-so-solace. We knew the truth, but at least we knew the truth. A strange day that featured the sky falling on the east coast and baseball collapsing under its own incompetence ended with a mix of hope, anger, and confusion.

Then a strange thing happened. After the dust settled and names were named, players, much to the chagrin of their attorneys, admitted it. Placed in the crosshairs unlike any time in baseball history, many players chose to open up, drop the cyborg-athlete speak, and admit their past misdeeds.

It started with home run great F.P. Santangelo (21 career home runs, for the boys and girls counting at home). Santangelo confirming part of Mitchell’s allegations, saying he had used HGH on two occasions. Made into a bit of an unlikely and unwilling hero, Santangelo’s admissions prompted others named to follow suit.

Paul Byrd, Fernando Vina, and Brian Roberts, followed with a ‘my bad’ ridden with qualifiers. It was “a one-time use” or “under doctors orders” or “officer, I only had two drinks”. But the damage was done. Baseball players for the first time were confirmed as guilty, or at least not innocent, and even the biggest names in the report refused to refuse the truth.

Except one man. After seven Cy Youngs and 46 years of life, Roger Clemens emerged from the pack with the same vehement denials typically reserved for Jose Canseco steroid probes. In a statement so robotic I think it was leaking oil, Clemens (through his agent, of course) criticized steroid use and called it a “destructive shortcut” for athletes.

Now, ten years after the twilight of his career, Clemens is under a microscope for the first time in his career. Immune from the watchful eyes that followed some of baseball’s mightiest sluggers in recent years, Clemens defied logic, age, basic physics, and retirement by continuing to pitch at a high-level over a decade after weight and injury issues led him to a plus-4 ERA in two of his final four years in Boston.

But after a strength training regimen prescribed by David Copperfield, Clemens had a resurgence. 11 seasons later, Clemens cemented himself as one best pitchers of all time.
Now, as Clemens watches the ceiling cave in and his wife struggles to reach him due to lackluster cell phone reception, Roger is the kid alone at recess refusing to play with the other kids. I don’t know much about fashion, but you can’t tell me that there’s anything trendier these days than presidential candidates, snow shovels, and admitted use of performance enhancers.

To make matters worse, his best friend just picked up a tetherball. Andy Pettitte’s half-admission of HGH use not only corroborates the legitimacy of former Yanks’ strength trainer Brian McNamee, but leaves Roger in a difficult position. Now, every ESPN analyst under the sun is calling for congress to talk to Roger. Police squads are being put on watch, FBI officials are practicing looking cool when they flip open credentials, and Robocop is getting his dome polished all in anticipation of congressional action.

I have another solution and it’s so brainlessly easy it will never happen. It doesn’t matter who Roger Clemens talks to but what he says. And this time his agent can’t speak for him.
For as long as our generation has been blinded by 450 foot blasts and “mediocre” 30 home run seasons, we’ve been stupefied by athlete-speak. The brainless post-game submissions of millionaires saying nothing while putting on the illusion of saying something. Bill Belichick’s Patriots are holy savior of this phenomenon, but it’s been in existence for years and Roger may just be the best in baseball at it.

After signing with Toronto, Clemens never batted an eye at his Boston past. Instead, his eyes glazed over with visions of dollar signs dancing through his head (agents don’t deal in sugar plums).

But for the first time, it seems, we will get a candid Roger, instead of a canned-Roger. After agreeing to an interview on 60 Minutes (yes, the same 60 Minutes where A-Rod expressed his heartbreak over Scott Boras).

If there’s one thing sports does NOT need right now, it’s more canned speech. Roger has used it his entire career, but whether innocent, guilty, or semi-guilty-but-repentant, the last thing the baseball public needs are more lies.

The truth needs to come out, however sordid, seamy, or seemingly suspect.

We need to know.

Roger will be trying to save face more than anything else in this interview, but for once, let’s all collectively root beyond party lines. Beyond uniforms, logos, and regional definitions.

Let's root for the truth. Let's root for baseball.