In one of my weirder moods, I wrote this for The Platoon Advantage:
This weekend, Frank Thomas said that he was unaware of all the steroid use going on during his career because, and I quote, it was “a secret society. I had no idea. I think I was the one guy that when they were having that conversation they would stop quickly when I walked in the room.”This is how I imagine it went down.
INT. White Sox Clubhouse - MIDNIGHT*
The year is 1997. A group of White Sox players, covered in burgundy velvet robes, their faces obscured, stand in the otherwise empty clubhouse. The only light is the candlight that dances menacingly upon the walls. At the front of the room is the leader, Jorge Fabregas, holding a goat and about to inject steroids into its throat for ritual sacrifice.
FABREGAS: And with this injection, we bathe the world in darkness. Feed, muscles, feed on the Deca Durobolin—
Just then, the room is bathed in blindingly white light as the fluorescents spark on, one by one, and Frank Thomas’ heavy steps and grunts are heard. Thomas rounds the corner and walks to his locker, oblivious to the entire group standing there, silent, not moving. Eventually, as he pulls on a pair of workout pants, he looks up and sees everyone.
FRANK THOMAS: Oh, hey guys. I didn’t see you there. Wait…it’s midnight. What are you all doing here?
Click through for the whole thing. Because there’s more. There’s always more.
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