A sportswriter responds to the big apology from last night...
I'm ashamed. Ashamed for anyone who had to witness that spectacle of an apology last night.
"Apology" is more like it.
When he—someone who i love and who i've trusted—looked into my eyes and said "I'm sorry," I had to hold myself back from retching. There was no sincerity there, no contrition. It was pure selfishness and greed—and just a bit of doing what he thought I wanted (as if that's any better!)
I don't think I'm ever going to be able to look my son in the eyes again. What am I going to do when he heads off to kindergarten next year?
Look, I know that I'm partially to blame for his actions. We were having a dinner party last night and I thought it would be fun to get little Archie to do his Tasmanian Devil impression. It always knocks them dead at the daycare. And everyone loved it. But I probably should have stopped him before he got too wound up and started going berserk. When he picked up that wine glass and started pouring it on top of my not-yet-framed Andy Pettitte signed jersey, he knew he was doing something bad. I even yelled at him from across the room, but he didn't seem to listen.
So I sent him to his room without any dessert. That German chocolate cake had been staring at him all day and he knew it. When he realized he wasn't going to get any, he started crying.
And now I'm supposed to believe this apology is true? From the heart? After his mother, my kindly wife, went up to his room to talk to him? He wants that cake, that's all. He doesn't care about the stain on my jersey. He doesn't care about the expenses I'll have to pay to get it cleaned up. He doesn't care about how I feel having something from one of the nicest guys in sports ruined like that.
He just wants that goddamn cake. I can see it in his eyes.
Even when he looked at me and said "I'm sorry for ruining your jersey, papa. I can pay for it out of my allowance," it was just because he knew that's what I wanted to hear. He was probably even coached to say it!
And to think he chose to make his "apology" before the party was over, while my friends were still there. The public apology—no, the grandstanding—just makes it even more clear: it was all a show to get what he really wanted.
That bloody cake.
Well, not this time, sonny boy. You're not going to make me look a fool again. You're not getting off that easy. Sure, your mom sneaked you up the tiniest slice of cake before bed. That's fine, I don't care. But I'm never going to trust you again. I'm always going to wonder just what angle you're playing when you come talk to me and try to be buddy-buddy. That's the price you pay when you "apologize."
Now to see if I can get that stain off of the Andy Pettitte jersey...