From the anti-sports dungeon, succumb in stacks of notes, I’m running rampant in my mind’s eye, just to scope a look at a few sports highlights.

It has been a solid week since I’ve had a chance to really take in and swallow the world around me. I’ve been trampled with a traveler’s bug–unlike the type you scratch on a wayfarer, freewheeling Euro-trip — tugging behind a roller suitcase filled with foul, unfolded laundry in the pits of what Cheech calls Al-Laye.

Yes I said foul. And no, I won’t take back the roller-suitcase. I’m 31-years old and fighting tennis elbow without even playing tennis, so give me some grace. Sheesh.  And as for the Cheech reference, if you don’t know who he is I suspect you grew up in a Monastery conducting a dozen Hail Marys for drinking one-too-many cokes.

Jest and non-jest aside, I’ve noticed a few things this last week that might mean something to both our sport-opinions and our everyday lives. Here goes….

Barry Bonds is a Hall of Famer

And not just a Hall of Famer, but get this…he’ll be a first ballot Hall of Famer. When you hit 764 home runs over the span of a career that consisted of more MVP awards than anyone in league history, you’re due your day in the sun.  It’s true, I like Barry Bonds as much as I do the idea of a colonoscopy. He stinks. But opine aside, the man is one of the three greatest hitters of all time, blessed with a bat speed unparalleled by any of his generation–with or without the juice. Which means…

If the door is opened to acceptance of the juice, so follows Sammy Sosa.

Sammy’s popularity is equivalent to his fading skin color. He’s been cursed with the Michael Jackson disease. But, if we open the door to Bonds, how can we not do the same for a man who, alongside Big Mac in 1998, reignited the great pastime with a record-breaking home run chase for the ages? His 608 home runs rank him 8th all-time, and the man is a legend in his own right.

But get this, Clemens will be excluded.

I know it sounds shady and two-sided, but Roger Clemens pissed off more purists, than either Bonds or Sosa. His unbelievable denial of a drug he popped straight from the hip, to the elbow, down into the jugular vein, will not now, and never will be pardoned by a makeshift conclusion at a ridiculous Federal court hearing. He has turned himself into nothing more than another Pete Rose.

They should let most of these guys in. Especially Pete Rose. By Kjunstorm from Laguna Niguel, CA, US. Color-corrected, cropped and red eye removed by Daniel Case 2008-07-16 (Pete Rose) [CC-BY-2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons

A buddy of mine told me that two summers ago, he stood in a line at what seemed like a 5-by-7 baseball card shop, behind one overly large man wearing a Chris Sabo jersey, and two skin blotchy prostitutes, to get Rose’s autograph. For 50-bucks he walked out with a signed bat. Said Rose looked like hell, had a hollow grayness and smelled of Popov. Not even 4,000-plus hits all-time can save you from the purists’ guillotine. I still think Rose deserves the hall. So what if the man wagered against a game. He was like a switch-hitting Tony Gwynn blessed with an even softer, more fluid swing, and he played relentless and balls-out night in night out.

Which proves the disconnect between the Baby Boomer generation and ours, “ours” being ages-16 to 40.

How hypocritical to think our parents began a movement in the sixties more pornographic, pill popping, sexually explicit, than an uncut version of “Girls Gone Wild,” and yet despite this they want to preach moral stances on drugs, sex and rock n’ roll. The purists need to let it go with Lucy in the sky diamonds. She’s waiting. Because this generation has the right to judge and reinterpret the game for what it is today.  The era “we” were born into fostered PED’s and illegal sport wagering. That’s nothing like running naked in a psychedelic forest after bra-less gnomes. Embracing a moral relative stance on things, muddies the world around us, no doubt. Yet it allows for the right environment to induce all evolutionary phases of our lives.

With this, I propose a Generation X,Y,Z and Z1 rebellion via Facebook, Twitter and text-messaging.

Tweet complaints 2 @puristssuckballsanddie free Peter Rose; Post naty ill-infrmd fb mssags abt raunchy cheerldrs; Nd continue ths mssg by txt. “Lts strt a revolution btchs.”

//www.youtube.com/watch?v=0SsYVu1HkBA

Free Rose! Free Bonds! Free Sosa! Free Clemens! Free Palmeiro! But don’t ever let A-Rod in. Don’t even think about it. Even I have a moral code, and A-Rod is definitely the antithesis to it.