I originally wrote this in Dec of 2007 for Truebluela after the Mitchell report showed that Gagne was probably a steroid user. Back then Truebluela rarely got comments so it was nice to see it hit home with some people. We didn’t have many registered users so most of the comments were on Dodger Thoughts. That is just how it rolled back then.
He sat on his bed and wondered why life sucked. Was it that long ago that he watched his idol blow through the hated Yankee’s at Dodger Stadium? The same player he used to adore he now reviled. He hadn’t even cared about baseball until one day when his older sister had taken him to a game. He had been bored stiff until all of the sudden the crowd’s mood changed and then exploded into hysteria as the big Canadian lumbered in from out of the blue to the tunes of some song that sent shivers down his spine. For the next 10 minutes, he was on his feet and screaming with the other 50,000 fans. From that moment on, the Canadian was his guy and he couldn’t wait to go to another game. Baseball became his game. Life was good then, fun and simple.
Now he was tired and his eyes were red. He was no longer the little boy who didn’t understand baseball but understood the excitement. He was now a teenager who shouldn’t care about such things but he did. He had left the Gagne poster on his wall even when Gagne left the Dodgers. He had even left it on the wall when he became the laughing stock of those fools in Boston.
In just a few short years his life was no longer simple or fun. His older sister who first introduced him to baseball had gone to Iraq and was still there. His Dad had bought a house he couldn’t afford and instead of striking it rich like everyone else had done, they were being forced to move into an apartment nowhere close to his current school and friends. His Mom and Dad bickered constantly because of the stress of possibly losing their daughter and the house.
Gagne was now an embarrassment to baseball. His bobble head sat on his dresser and mocked him. His sadness became anger and he couldn’t control it. He started throwing things at the bobble head and with each hit, the head went up and down but it stayed in place, standing pat on his dresser. In final frustration, he ripped the Gagne poster off the wall, rolled it into a big ball and with a scream of fury flung it as hard as he could at the mocking bobble head. With immense satisfaction, he scored a direct hit and the bobble head was finally knocked off of his perch. It went hurling to the ground and crashed onto the floor, bounced high and then to his amazement it landed in an upright position with the bobble head doing it’s best Phil Alvin imitation. The balled posters energy wasn’t spent and as it careened off the bobblehead it glanced off the picture of his sister and it also crashed to the floor. Unlike the bobblehead the glass broke. For a long time, he just stared at both the bobblehead and his sister’s picture in disbelief. His anger was now spent and he just felt empty. He wasn’t angry at Gagne for cheating he was angry because his sister wasn’t here to talk about it with him. As he bent to pick up her picture his cell rang.
Since it was the cell tone of his sister, he grabbed at it quickly and with anticipation answered it. Once the call had ended his mood had changed. He stared at the bobblehead through tears in his eyes. Slowly he smiled and then gently picked it up and closely inspected it, and noticed some cracks that hadn’t been there before. Much like the real Gagne his bobblehead was cracked but not broken. As he placed it back on his dresser he patted the bobblehead and it bobbled back at him from the old perch. He sat down and pulled out his guitar and started strumming a tune he had written for his sister. Sis was coming home for Christmas, and now she’d get to hear it. The Mitchell report was quickly forgotten as he discarded it from his mind.