As a belated April Fools Trick MLB commissioner Bud Selig sent a couple of flatfoot investigators over to Barnes & Noble where baseball's very own Shakespeare, José Canseco, was signing his latest epic tome, "Vindicated."
The book, whose cover features a baseball with a hypodermic needle stuck in it, details Canseco's ongoing low-rent crusade to clean up baseball. Oh surrrre! That puts him right up there with that other fearless reformer, Selig himself, who sat around mute for years while players were juicing themselves right up to the hilt with nary a discouraging word, like the where the deer and the antelope play, until public and congressional pressure started breathing down his back, making things so hot that he was finally obliged to throw some of the game's greatest stars to the wolves to save his own hide. Bud, you take the cake! The dogfood cake made with 100% pure Alpo.
In his book, Canseco reserves the place of honor for his erstwhile chum, A-Rod, whom he admits presenting some years ago to a character he describes as "a known steroid dealer," though he does not summon up the courage to actually do more than insinuate that A-Rod possibly may have contaminated himself by suggesting that soon after that fateful encounter A-Rod seems to have ballooned up 20-30 lbs. If you say so, Jose!
Canseco is also circumspect about his opinion of Roger Clemens possible steroid consumption, on the advice of his book publishers who are necessarily sensitive about Clemens' litigious proclivities. Sensing that discretion is the better part of selling bogus garbage books about professional sports, the publishers restricted Canseco's accusations to the realm of snaky, back-alley insinuation.
Which leaves the most explosive charge for last - that Canseco introduced A-Rod to his then- future ex-wife, Shirley, who was a cocktail waitress at Hooters, and that A-Rod tracked the poor, innocent thing down and corrupted her like the wicked Frenchman in "Les Liaisons Dangereuses", so that when Canseco finally married her she wasn't a virgin at all like he had imagined! The Horror!!
Of course, he has no proof of this either, because his ex- denies it and A-Rod refuses to even grace it with any commentary whatsoever.
In short, what you have here is a book which is about nothing, which reveals nothing and which resolves nothing. Now don't get me wrong, I am not writing a book review. I wouldn't waste my hard-earned filthy lucre on a piece of garbage like that when there are so many other worthwhile books on the market with names like "Cooking With Fruits and Nuts" and "Butt-a-Roni The San Francisco Treat."
But now that Canseco is becoming a major literary figure, right up there with Funny Cide, the first racehorse ever to write a book (he didn't write it himself, stoopid, he dictated it to a stenographer when he had his little horsey butt in a sling), he is attracting the attention of Bud Selig and MLB, who probably feel they have nothing to lose by teaming up with him to produce another Coney Island public relations sideshow. Not to impugn the respectability of Coney Island, which is a pristine source of wholesome, clear spring water compared to the sewage slop of professional sports).
Selig and Canseco should make a lovely vaudeville song and dance team. I can actually see Canseco as the prima donna like Daffy Duck and Ol' Bud as the impresario Elmer Fudd in MLB's version of Les Grands Ballets de Looney Toons, where freakin Canseco leaps across the diamond into Selig's waiting arms.