After spending years in a shamed self-exile, McGwire's confession came as he sniveled through an interview with Bob Costas for the MLB Network.

While saying he wished he'd never done drugs and wished he'd never played baseball during the steroids era Dead Balls Era™, McGwire also blamed baseball's lack of steroids testing for his decade-long (he says) drug-taking. He said he didn't take a lot of 'roids, and they didn't help his hitting. The forbidden fruit of the day just kept him healthy, McGwire said.

He looked sad and lost. I liked McGwire better when he said under oath that he didn't want to talk about steroids.

Baseball fans in DC sure benefited from his drug taking. During batting practice at RFK Stadium in 1999, before a Cardinals/Expos exhibition game, McGwire hit two balls to the roof. Nobody there, present company included, had ever seen anything like it, because nothing like it had ever taken place. Within a matter of seconds, McGwire had reduced every tape measure shot ever hit there — even the ones Frank Howard hit which are commemorated with painted seats in the upper deck — seem like Texas Leaguers.

I'd never witnessed any athletic feat of any sort quite like McGwire's.

But, as McGwire pointed out yesterday, the drugs didn't put those balls on the roof. Other than, you know, keeping McGwire healthy enough to do it.

I remember watching McGwire after his feats of inhuman strength. He went back behind the batting cage and canoodled with his batting practice guest that day, Goldberg, the pro wrestling champion and a guy who always looked like a fellow synthetic testosterone connoisseur. Wrestlers don't have to cry or apologize for shooting things into their bodies. In any case, McGwire dwarfed Goldberg.

(AFTER THE JUMP: What's this mean for Mike Lupica? Even Thomas Boswell got caught up in the Dead Balls Era™? Another forced Google hit for Dead Balls Era™? Whatever happened to A.J. English? Not Alex English?)

The McGwire interview just continues the pain for Mike Lupica. He's the author of "Summer of '98," a book about the McGwire/Sosa home run duel and how that season enhanced Lupica's relationship with his three sons. From the Publishers Weekly blurb on Lupica's work:

In his columns, Lupica often deals with strikes, the atrocious behavior of some overpaid athletes and all the tawdriness of sports business and hype. But, in this book, he gives himself completely over to the beauty of baseball as both a game and as an agent of bonding between fathers and children.

Amazon has 37 copies available "from $0.01."

Washington Post columnist Tom Boswell, who blasted Jose Canseco for suspected steroid use as far back as the late-1980s, threw away his suspicions and picked up pom poms a decade later.

Here's a bit of his story that ran on Sept. 14, 1998:

Yesterday, baseball produced a moment that, for me, may have been more enjoyable than McGwire's 62nd homer: Sosa hit his 61st and 62nd. Hit them in a crucial game in the wild-card race won, 11-10, by the Cubs in the 10th inning. He hit them at Wrigley Field as the wonderful ivy-addled loonies went nuts. Both balls were crushed at least 480 feet.

Yesterday, Sosa matched McGwire in every way. When Sosa came to the plate with one out, nobody on base and the Cubs trailing by two runs in the ninth, my 11-year-old son Russell was literally jumping up and down in front of the TV.

Big winner yesterday: Barry Bonds. Let the feds try to put him in jail now, with everybody else already outed. He's in, well, the clear. (How slow are the wheels of justice moving in the U.S. vs. Bonds, anyway?)

The court of public opinion, if no other judicial body, has already convicted McGwire's rival Sammy Sosa, Alex Rodriguez, Roger Clemens, Manny Ramirez, and Rafael Palmeiro of using drugs. Since baseball locker rooms are real small and baseball contracts are real big, common sense tells us now that everybody used the so-called performance enhancing drugs.

Now we just have to wait for Cal Ripken to come out and confess to being a P.E.D.-ophile. Just say you took 'em and let us close the book on (here it comes!) the Dead Balls Era™.

***

Where are they now? Well, here's former Bullet AJ English.

A small story on the wires about a Delaware high school basketball game caught my eye.

At the Appoquinimink boys basketball game against Howard on Tuesday evening, junior A.J. English III, who was on the bench in street clothes while serving a suspension, left the court and went into the locker room along with his brother A’Jen, a sophomore starting guard, at the conclusion of the first quarter and neither player returned.

They're sons of AJ English, who the Washington Bullets got with a second round pick in 1990 draft. English had a quiet two year career in the pros — and is remembered in NBA circles only as the guy who was always confused with the far more successful Alex English.

I, for one, still confuse the two. Which is the only reason I read the story. But the part about brothers standing up for each other as the English boys did got me intrigued, and through some Googling it seems AJ III is a hot prospect for Appoquinimink who got in a spot of trouble with the beautifully named basketball Coach, Spencer Dunkley, and that got his former Bullet dad, who goes by A.J. Jr. in these matters, into a tussle with the coach in the local media.

First, after a loss, Appoquinimink coach told the local paper, the Middletown Transcript: “Can't play with them. Can't win with them. Won't play with them. Don't need them. Please put that in the newspaper. Thanks, that's all I have to say."

So the high school beat reporter went to the former Bullet. And got this:

A.J. English Jr. had this to say about Appoquinimink High coach Spencer Dunkley’s quotes after a 62-61 loss to Middletown:

“That doesn’t deserve a response,” A.J. Jr. said. “My maturity level allows me to take the high road on that. Any coach knows you keep that kind of stuff in the lockerroom and out of the newspaper. How can any kid trust him after that?

“He showed his inexperience by making those statements.”

Appo's leading scorer A.J. English III was on the bench as time wound down and his team was down a point.English Jr. said A.J. III was suspended until Monday, Dec. 21 and is uncertain if he'll return.

I do get giggles out of the lengths some parents go to for alliterative kids names, tho. "A'Jen" seems a stretch. Guess "Alex" wasn't on the board.

***

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Did anybody tell Abe Pollin?

***

Lebron's come and gone. But we only have to wait a week for the next celeb sports doc extravaganza: Luis Tiant will be at the E Street Cinema downtown on June 22 for red-carpet screening of "The Lost Son of Havana," a film about the ex-Indian- Twin-Red Sock-Yankee-Pirate-Angel's trip back to the Cuban capital, which is his Akron.

After the screening the movie's producers will throw a bash across the street from the theater at the ESPN Zone. But don't expect much. In the invitation the party's organizers just sent out, they're promising that: "Light refreshments will be served in accordance with House Ethics rules."

House ethics used to lead to the wildest parties in town. Jack Abramoff mussed up everything.

***

Sign of the times or the Times? Despite a big write-up in Sunday's Washington Times, the Hoop Dreams Scholarship fund had to cancel its next big fundraising event for lack of interest.

Hoop Dreams has been a powerhouse on the DC charity and social scene for more than a decade. The organization was started in 1996 by former H.D. Woodson teacher and sleepless superhero Susie Kay, who began holding an annual outdoor basketball tournament to help her students get money for college.

Her cause took off, and before long, Kay, backed by Ted Leonsis, Ari Fleischer and scads of local pro athletes and federal lawmakers (including John McCain and Barack Obama), was divvying out grants to kids from schools all over the city. (Leonsis threw more than checks at the group, serving for years as a mentor to Kay's kids.)

The organization now claims to have funded continuing education for more than 1,000 DC students.

The plan was to celebrate that milestone on June 25, with a soiree at the Historical Society of Washington, DC, called "1,000 Strong."

But this morning Hoop Dreams sent out a brief, terse announcement that the event was canceled "due to lack of ticket sales."

"For the few people who purchased tickets online you will receive a full refund," read the cancellation notice.

Hoop Dreams' cause remains righteous. This party might be canceled, but the party can't be over for this bunch.

Other hoops-related charities are claiming big doings around here: The group Nothing But Nets, also known for raising funds through basketball tournaments, is holding a series of local events this week with the Mystics, DC United, the Bayhawks and Michelle Obama and Jack Evans, and says it will use the proceeds to send 10,000 malaria nets to various refugee camps in Africa.

***

Good golly, did David Letterman look like a coward and a buffoon last night, caving in and bumbling through a fake apology for his lazy line about Sarah Palin's daughter getting "knocked up" by Alex Rodriguez.

Yeah, talk about an athlete impregnating a Palin daughter really isn't fit for a late-night monologue. It's ok to use that material in a campaign press release, however.

Guess it's all been said. But let's take another look at Palin with her daughters at the Flyers game during the campaign, one of many appearances at sporting events where she's used her kids as human shields.

What network fool told Letterman to crater?

***

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Almost. There's still one holdup: Cal Ripken hasn't been nailed yet.

Every other boy of summer that any kid of the 1990s and beyond ever looked up to has already been ruined during the federal government's bizarre 'roid raids.

Cal's the last man standing.

Ripken always said he cared deeply about the game of baseball. If you meant it, Cal, please come forward now and confess.

Make something up if you have to. Just say you watched your pal Brady Anderson grow overnight from a base-stealing, punch-and-judy hitter into a mini-McGwire, and when Anderson nailed 50 homers in 1996, you started putting things in your body.

Who wouldn't believe that? You don't even have to say what it was you took, Cal. Nobody does anymore!

Then we can all move on.

Until we exhume Babe Ruth's body. That dude HAD to be juiced.

In the sales pitch on his personal Web site, Canseco points out that "Only two players have been able to accomplish this since, Alex Rodriguez and Barry Bonds."

Quite a club. Canseco, Rodriguez and Bonds will someday be viewed as the Murderers Row of the Dead Balls Era™. (Get used to it!)

Perhaps these items have been on sale for some time, or Canseco's not a student of the game: Ex-Nat Alfonso Soriano pledged the 40/40 frat in 2006.

BTW: The asking price for Canseco's detritus is $9,995.00.