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On June 6 -- that's 6-6-06, for Satanists keeping score -- federal agents raided the Scottsdale home of Arizona Diamondbacks reliever Jason Grimsley. This visit was a follow-up to an April 19 drop-in conducted by Internal Revenue Service agent Jeff Novitzky, lead agent in the BALCO case, and 12 members of the IRS Criminal Investigation, the FDA's Office of Criminal Investigation, FBI, and U.S. Postal Inspection Services.

The April visit came immediately after an undercover postal inspector delivered a package of human growth hormone that Grimsley ordered and paid $3200 for. Grimsley was given the choice of going with the nice agents to another location for an interview or else the entire gang would trash the living shit out of his house as Grimsley's wife, three children, and guests looked on.

On second thought, perhaps agents didn't say those exact words, although I'd bet a lot that, "trash the living shit" conveys the exact meaning of the words they did use. In any case, Grimsley chose to go with the nice men and be questioned.

According to a search-warrant affidavit written by Novitzky, "...Grimsley also provided details about his knowledge of other Major League Baseball players receipts and use of athletic performance-enhancing drugs, including several close acquaintances. At the request of agents, Grimsley also made a recorded phone call to his supplier of human growth hormone.... Throughout the course of the approximately next two hours, Grimsley voluntarily provided agents with the following information..."

I'll cut to the chase. Grimsley admitted using human growth hormone, steroids, and amphetamines throughout the course of his major-league career and then ratted out fellow ballplayers who are or had used illegal drugs.

Grimsley has had a hell of a career for a pitcher with a lifetime 4.77 ERA and won/loss of 42-58. He made it to the bigs in 1989 and has played every year since starting with Philadelphia, moving on to Cleveland, L.A. Angels, Yankees, Kansas City, Baltimore, and Arizona. So, when Grimsley ratted out fellow ballplayers, the number of names he gave the feds came from a pool of hundreds. Former teammates include Jose Canseco, Roger Clemens, Sammy Sosa, and Rafael Palmeiro.

Cops, being human, took all this down and wanted more, wanted Grimsley to wear a wire into the clubhouse. Grimsley refused, wishing to remain a partial rat.

What to do? Well, the feds ratted out Grimsley. They raided his house on June 6, trashed the living shit out of it for six hours, and then unsealed their search-warrant affidavit, which made public Grimsley's rat-out and connected his name to such evil legal terms as, "Illegal possession of anabolic steroids and amphetamines, illegal receipt of a misbranded drug, human growth hormone, distribution of anabolic steroids and amphetamines, money laundering..."

Grimsley left the Diamondbacks and his $825,000 salary the next day, "for the good of the team," or, "in order to continue breathing," pick one.

The feds are playing hardball. They must have the names of 50, 100, 150 ballplayers and have proven to every one of them that they may well destroy those who refuse complete cooperation. MLB's locker rooms will never be the same.

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ANGLE ON two posters hung on clubhouse wall. One reads: Scott Free Bail Bonds. Get Out and Get On with Your Life. The other says:

Warren Rodent Attorney at Law. DUIs, steroids, human grown hormones, and sexual predators.

ANGLE ON two San Diego ballplayers, one sitting on a bench tying his shoes, the other standing in front of an open locker buttoning his jersey.

BALLPLAYER ONE: "Why don't you come over after the game? My wife will throw on some steaks, the beer is cold."

BALLPLAYER TWO: "No, thanks. I don't want to know where you live."

An OUTFIELDER walks by, jokes: "Why are you two talking amongst yourselves? Looks like a conspiracy to me."

PLAYER ONE bolts. PLAYER TWO shouts: "We weren't talking, we were reciting the Pledge of Allegiance!"

PADRES MANAGER enters, beckons to PLAYER TWO: "I want to see you in my office."

PLAYER TWO: "If you have anything to say to me, you can say it to me in a public swimming pool, on the deep end, at noon, on a Sunday."

EXT. PETCO PARK, ANGLE ON first base. Two outs, bottom of the seventh, Mets lead Padres 5 to 2. Padres have a runner on first. PADRES RUNNER takes a modest lead, says to the Mets first baseman: "I hear your son hit a home run in the College World Series."

METS FIRST BASEMAN: "What makes you think I have a son?

ANGLE ON home plate. Padres batter takes a ball and two strikes. BATTER mumbles to himself: "Pitcher's got some heat today."

CATCHER: "Make that accusation one more time and I'll report this conversation to federal authorities."

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