guy—”
Mark munched his chicken and rice and let the
kid go on about how strong the guy out in Philly supposedly was.
Everyone seemed to know someone who was bigger and stronger than
Boone and Mark, but Mark knew he and his friend were too of the
biggest and strongest mugs walking God’s green earth. Usually the
other someone lived out on a farm somewhere and lifted engine
blocks and trained like Rocky getting ready to face Drago in Rocky IV , or so the stories always seemed to go.
“Yo, seriously, you know where we can get
some of that, cuz?” The other kid looked up from his pecs and
interrupted his friend’s story.
“You knuckleheads got names?” Mark asked
them.
“Joey.”
“Mossimo.”
“Mossimo? Shit. What’d you just get off the
boat?”
The kid looked like he didn’t know how to
take the comment. What was he going to do? Get mad at the three
hundred fifty-plus pounder hulking on the bench? Mark spoke up and
let the kid save face. “I’m just fuckin’ with you. Plus I’m a
priest, so whattya gonna’ do? Kick my ass? You’ll definitely go to
hell for that.”
“You’re a priest, no shit?”
“Yeah, you’re that guy over in St. Ann’s,
right fadda? My aunt’s parish. My aunt says you were some kinda
football player or somethin’.”
“Yeah, somethin’ like that,” said the
priest.
“You seen a lot of juice in the locker room
playin’ ball, fadda?”
“The gear is everywhere, guys. But listen to
me, Joey and Mossimo. Why are you guys even thinkin’ of messin’
around with that shit?”
“Yo, look at your cuz there, bro.” One of
them said but Mark had honestly forgotten which one was Mossimo and
which one was Joey. “Look at yourself man. You gonna tell me
prayers alone responsible for that?”
Mark scoffed good naturedly. “Yeah, well let
me school you on something here, okay? Listen up. Steroids don’t
make guys like me or my friend there what we are? Get it? You know
how many guys in this gym use, right?”
“A lot,” ventured one of the two.
“ A lot .” Mark agreed. “And
you’d never be able to tell based on how they look or how much they
lift. You follow baseball?”
The young men said yeah and sure .
“Well look, you following this shit with Sosa
and McGwire?”
“Yeah, who isn’t?”
“You think they’re on ‘roids?”
“Nah, no way—”
“Why you ask, man—I mean, father, you think he is?”
“Sure I think he is,” Mark finished up his
last fork of chicken and rice. “I ain’t a gambling man, but if I
was…look, steroids get developed in what? The 1950s? The genies’
out of the bottle ever since then guys. And it ain’t going
back.”
“So whattya’ sayin’? You think some players
in the major leagues are using?”
“No, I think some players in the majors aren’t using. But that’s not the point. The point is these
guys are better baseball players than me and you in their sleep.
Nothing they take makes them hit the ball the way they do.
Nothing.”
“I don’t know man…”
“Yeah, if they’re all juiced why aren’t they
all jacked up?”
“Because, kid, it’s like I was saying before.
Not everyone who uses gets all Schwarzenegger, right? If it was as
simple as that then you or me could take whatever Mr. Olympia is
taking and we’d look like him, or we could take whatever McGwire
takes and we’d be hitting fifty-something home runs. But it ain’t
like that.”
“So you’re saying…?”
“My friend there? He’s been big and nasty
since I’ve known him. He looks at weights and he grows. Got
it?”
“And you?”
“Same way for me. I was always a husky kid.
Wasn’t until college that I burned some of the fat off and saw
there was some muscle there.”
“How long you been a priest?”
“Five years now.”
“Hey, fadda, I ask you a question?”
“Go ahead.”
“Don’t you ever…you know, about women I
mean?”
“Do I miss fuckin’ them, is that what you’re
askin’ me?”
“Yeah.”
Mark munched his chicken and rice and let the
kid go on about how strong the guy out in Philly supposedly was.
Everyone seemed to know someone who was bigger and stronger than
Boone and Mark, but Mark knew he and his friend were too of the
biggest and strongest mugs walking God’s green earth. Usually the
other someone lived out on a farm somewhere and lifted engine
blocks and trained like Rocky getting ready to face Drago in Rocky IV , or so the stories always seemed to go.
“Yo, seriously, you know where we can get
some of that, cuz?” The other kid looked up from his pecs and
interrupted his friend’s story.
“You knuckleheads got names?” Mark asked
them.
“Joey.”
“Mossimo.”
“Mossimo? Shit. What’d you just get off the
boat?”
The kid looked like he didn’t know how to
take the comment. What was he going to do? Get mad at the three
hundred fifty-plus pounder hulking on the bench? Mark spoke up and
let the kid save face. “I’m just fuckin’ with you. Plus I’m a
priest, so whattya gonna’ do? Kick my ass? You’ll definitely go to
hell for that.”
“You’re a priest, no shit?”
“Yeah, you’re that guy over in St. Ann’s,
right fadda? My aunt’s parish. My aunt says you were some kinda
football player or somethin’.”
“Yeah, somethin’ like that,” said the
priest.
“You seen a lot of juice in the locker room
playin’ ball, fadda?”
“The gear is everywhere, guys. But listen to
me, Joey and Mossimo. Why are you guys even thinkin’ of messin’
around with that shit?”
“Yo, look at your cuz there, bro.” One of
them said but Mark had honestly forgotten which one was Mossimo and
which one was Joey. “Look at yourself man. You gonna tell me
prayers alone responsible for that?”
Mark scoffed good naturedly. “Yeah, well let
me school you on something here, okay? Listen up. Steroids don’t
make guys like me or my friend there what we are? Get it? You know
how many guys in this gym use, right?”
“A lot,” ventured one of the two.
“ A lot .” Mark agreed. “And
you’d never be able to tell based on how they look or how much they
lift. You follow baseball?”
The young men said yeah and sure .
“Well look, you following this shit with Sosa
and McGwire?”
“Yeah, who isn’t?”
“You think they’re on ‘roids?”
“Nah, no way—”
“Why you ask, man—I mean, father, you think he is?”
“Sure I think he is,” Mark finished up his
last fork of chicken and rice. “I ain’t a gambling man, but if I
was…look, steroids get developed in what? The 1950s? The genies’
out of the bottle ever since then guys. And it ain’t going
back.”
“So whattya’ sayin’? You think some players
in the major leagues are using?”
“No, I think some players in the majors aren’t using. But that’s not the point. The point is these
guys are better baseball players than me and you in their sleep.
Nothing they take makes them hit the ball the way they do.
Nothing.”
“I don’t know man…”
“Yeah, if they’re all juiced why aren’t they
all jacked up?”
“Because, kid, it’s like I was saying before.
Not everyone who uses gets all Schwarzenegger, right? If it was as
simple as that then you or me could take whatever Mr. Olympia is
taking and we’d look like him, or we could take whatever McGwire
takes and we’d be hitting fifty-something home runs. But it ain’t
like that.”
“So you’re saying…?”
“My friend there? He’s been big and nasty
since I’ve known him. He looks at weights and he grows. Got
it?”
“And you?”
“Same way for me. I was always a husky kid.
Wasn’t until college that I burned some of the fat off and saw
there was some muscle there.”
“How long you been a priest?”
“Five years now.”
“Hey, fadda, I ask you a question?”
“Go ahead.”
“Don’t you ever…you know, about women I
mean?”
“Do I miss fuckin’ them, is that what you’re
askin’ me?”
“Yeah.”
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