He sees.. Mark McGwire? Roger doesn't quite believe his eyes and rubs them as he takes a closer look. He sees a very large man, about 40 pounds overweight and has lost most of the red hair on top of his rather large head. Roger laughs under his breath as he pictures a mutated clown on … well, steroids. 

"Mark McGwire," Roger asks with a chuckle.

"Who were you expecting, Jackie Robinson," was the reply.

"Well, yes." Roger replies. "I definitely wasn't expecting anyone still alive. "You are still …. alive, aren't you?"

"Yes," Mark said, in a slightly irritable tone. "Roger Maris is in charge of these 'ghostly,' Mark raises his two huge hands and makes the quotation signs with his fingers, visits, and he thought it would be funny to have me visit you."

Goodell tilts his head and gives Big Mac a questioning look.

Mark continues, "Before he sent me off he told me to go make a positive influence of myself. I can still hear that stupid laugh of his."

Goodell couldn't stifle his own laughter.

Mark had enough laughter for the day and took Goodell's hand as they were taken to another place; Busch Stadium, September 8, 1998. Steve Trachsel's offering to McGwire had just barely made it over the left field wall for homerun number 62 breaking Roger Maris' single season homerun record.

"Put an asterisk on that one," Goodell blurted. After a second, he realizes Mark is glaring at him. He didn't feel bad, it was how he felt, and it was the first thing that came to his mind.

"Why are we here," Goodell asks, ignoring Big Mac's steely focus.

Mark shakes his head, "I don't know, this time traveling gadget didn't take me to the right place. I was supposed to have taken you to an inter-league game where the AL Central teams are getting record boosts by playing teams in the weak NL Central.

Mark grabs Goodell's hand again, "Let's try this one."

They are transported to AT&T Park in San Francisco. The day is October 7, 2001. Barry Bonds had just hit his 73rd homerun of the season off of Dennis Springer of the Los Angeles Dodgers.

"Here's to the cream!," yells Goodell, as he holds an imaginary glass and lifts it as if to make a toast.

Mark rolls his eyes and checks the time traveling gadget. "We weren't supposed to come here either. Maris is really starting to piss me off. We were supposed to go to Toronto where Frank Thomas' career is being extended as he stays in the lineup as the DH."

Roger looks at Mark with a quizzical tilt of his head. "Are you suggesting that the AL should get rid of the DH?"

"Well, it takes away..."

Before Mark could finish, Goodell interrupts. "The DH is what makes the American League the American League. It is also what makes the National League the National League. The DH is what ignites debates which only adds to the interest in the league."

"Don't yell at the messenger," Mark replies in a voice that is ready for this whole thing to end. 

"Maris has had his fun," Mark says.

Goodell lifts his head. A string of slobber extends from his mouth to his right forearm, where his head had been resting.

Wiping his mouth, he looks at the clock. It is four in the morning. He feels refreshed and energized. He knows what he needs to do for the NBA and MLB.

Feeling good about his position, he gets ready for bed. As he adds toothpaste to his toothbrush, something dawns on him:

Tim Donaghy and Michael Vick. No Commissioner should have one of these problems to deal with, now I have both. His outlook dimmed as he spit out his first mouthful of toothpaste.