I am here to set the record straight like Mark McGwire. And my confessions will be just as timely. Last year I failed to inform Red Sox trainers that I had injured myself before the WBC, and had played hurt for much of the year. I also lied about my training regiment, when I said "twenty minute sprints" I meant "4 hours of playing Rock Band on my XBOX" and when I said "200 crunches a day" I should have said "all night anime marathon with buttered popcorn and 7-11 Grape slurpees". Before I get myself in more trouble I want to come clean on a few other things:
* In the three years I have played in Boston I have latched on to Jonathan Papelbon to learn English. At this point the only words I have picked up are: Skoal, Dropkick Murphys, Colt .45's, hemi engines, and big tittied broads.
* Two months ago I went to a karaoke bar near Bentley College. After my fantastic rendition of Herrs Berrs by AC/DC I sake bombed with the frat boys that were drinking at the bar. They kept saying to my wife Rockets "me love you long time" and "me so horny". Oki (who was with me at the time) told me I should have used my martial arts training to kick their ass, but honestly the only time I've tried it was after watching a Bruce Lee movie. The frat boys kicked my ass and after they were done they took my wife home with them and left me in a dumpster.
*Mr. Epstein has naked pictures of me, Scott Boras, transexual prostitutes and a donkey. That's the only reason Mr. Boras took that deal
* I actually really hate baseball. The reason I throw 130 pitches by the third inning of game is because I've been in a hurry to catch up on the first 8 seasons of American Idol on the clubhouse DVR.
* I have to come clean and admit, that I have tried both steroids and HgH. But instead of pitching better, the drugs just allowed me to long toss for 4 hours before a game.