OK folks, the day is finally coming! This Saturday night we finally get the long anticipated match-up of Roger Clemens pitching against the Mets at Shea Stadium! And you all know what that means don't you? Yep, Roger's going to have to come to bat! Now no one knows for sure what's going to happen the first time The Rocket Man steps up to the plate. But one thing I do know for sure is that Mike Piazza is going to be catching and wouldn't you want to be a fly in the batter's box to hear the chatter that ensues as Clemens tries to hit with Piazza jawing at him from the catcher's box? Call me clairvoyant, but I imagine the conversation might just go a little something like this:

Roger steps up to the plate…

Piazza: Hey Rog, what's happening? Long time no talk! I almost didn't recognize you with all that armor on! What's the matter? Are you afraid of getting hit or something? Nice big old piece of plastic you've got there on your elbow. Did you borrow it from Barry Bonds?

Clemens: What? Are you still playing? I heard you were dead!

Piazza: Do I look dead? Sure I'm still playing! In fact, last night I was playing with your wife!

Clemens: But I thought you were gay?

Piazza: No that rumor wasn't about me. That was Mr. Met they were talking about. Think about it. Famous New York baseball superstar, dates supermodels. Who else could it be? Besides, anyone who goes around with the nickname "Ball Head" has got to be just a little suspicious, no?

Clemens: You know, I always wondered about him…

Piazza: By the way, you might want to pay attention while you're up here. I hear that Estes got a nice envelope full of dead presidents from Mr. Bonds to hit you in the head. It's not about revenge, it's all about the Benjamins, you know?

Clemens: Well if that's the case then I sure hope for Estes' economic well being the he has more accuracy with a baseball than I had with that broken bat, er, I mean that baseball that you hit back to the mound at me!

Piazza (as pitch comes in): No batter, no batter, no batter. Swing! Batter, batter!

Clemens (awaiting next pitch and staring down Estes): You're not getting that cheese by me, Meat!

Piazza (thinking to himself): Who's he calling Meat? I'm the one driving the Porsche!

Clemens: Throw that weak ass sh*t again! All right, he's gonna throw the deuce now, he's got to waste one, stay back and wipe that silly grin off his face!

Piazza (as strike two whizzes by): Hey Roger, did you know you can get all your long distance calls for under a dollar with 10-10-220?

Clemens: Bring me the gas kid, bring me the gas!

Piazza (as strike three hits his glove): Steeee-rike threeeee, you're outta here fat boy!

Clemens (confronting Piazza before walking back to the dugout): Well Mike, since I probably won't be seeing you this close again for quite awhile, I think we ought to put our differences aside and get to know each other a little better. Let me tell you a little something about myself.

Piazza: OK. I'm game. Go ahead Roger.

Clemens: I believe in the Church of Baseball. I've tried all the major religions, and most of the minor ones. I've worshipped Buddha, Allah, Brahma, Vishnu, Siva, trees, mushrooms, and Isadora Duncan. I know things. For instance, there are 108 beads in a Catholic rosary and there are 108 stitches in a baseball. When I heard that, I gave Jesus a chance. But it just didn't work out between us. The Lord laid too much guilt on me. I prefer metaphysics to theology. How about you Mike?

Piazza: You see, there's no guilt in baseball, and it's never boring... which makes it like sex. There's never been a ballplayer slept with me who didn't have the best year of his career. Making love is like hitting a baseball: you just gotta relax and concentrate. Besides, I'd never sleep with a player hitting under .250... not unless he had a lot of RBIs and was a great glove man up the middle. You see, there's a certain amount of life wisdom I give these boys. I can expand their minds. Sometimes when I've got a ballplayer alone, I'll just read Emily Dickinson or Walt Whitman to him, and the guys are so sweet, they always stay and listen. 'Course, a guy'll listen to anything if he thinks it's foreplay. I make them feel confident, and they make me feel safe, and pretty. 'Course, what I give them lasts a lifetime; what they give me lasts 162 games. Sometimes it seems like a bad trade. But bad trades are part of baseball -- now who can forget Frank Robinson for Milt Pappas, for God's sake?

Clemens: It's a long season and you gotta trust. I've tried 'em all, I really have, and the only church that truly feeds the soul, day in, day out, is the Church of Baseball. Well that and the Church of Steroids, but do me a favor and don't tell Chad Curtis I'm talking like this about churches!

Piazza (nodding his head and extending a hand to Clemens): I hear you on the whole Church of the Steroids, man! And here's to hoping the equipment man left a little something in the offering plate! Well, I guess that about does it, doesn't it? Bygones are bygones. Shake?

Clemens (shakes Piazza's hand and heads back to the dugout): Yeah sure. Hey, I'm really glad we had this talk! We should do lunch sometime…

Umpire: Next batter!

Just like you all dreamed it would happen, no? Or at least something close to that… My apologies to Annie Savoy, Crash Davis. Nuke LaLoosh and the rest of the cast of Bull Durham for the uncredited quotes. You guys realize how hard it is to put a footnote on a web page? And thanks as well to Intentional Walt Cherniak for challenging me to write the dialog in the first place!

Well as you can guess we're running quite long this week, gotta end things here. Next week I promise we'll talk about War Emblem, Mike Tyson, John Gotti, Jose Canseco and the joys of interleague play… 'til next week…