It's a dizzying thing, debating the merits of two gifted-yet-flawed ballplayers who have spent the majority of their lives beneath the brightest of public spotlights.

Yet, come day's end, a single adjective sums up the rise and fall of both: Greedy.

Roger Clemens and Barry Bonds are greedy, and not merely in an I-want-a-BMW-with-tinted-windows way. They are individuals who are fed by the word itself; who have lived, thrived and fallen with the peculiar belief that all things available belong to Me. Across the lush diamonds of the major leagues, that particular strain of greed can work wonders. Greed means wanting to throw a 99-mph fastball that leaves spectators speechless; it means stepping up to the plate desirous of hitting a 470-foot homer — not merely a 390-foot shot. It means, for Bonds, wanting everyone to cower in your presence and, for Clemens, having people beg for you to please, oh, please, come back and play another season.

Mostly, it meant refusing to settle.

As I wrote in "Love Me, Hate Me: Barry Bonds and the Making of an Antihero", in the winter following the 1998 season Bonds told Ken Griffey, Jr. that he had reached the decision to use performance-enhancing drugs. The move wasn't made to boost up subpar numbers and slipping skills (In fact, 1998 was a brilliant year for Bonds, who batted .303 with 37 home runs and 122 RBIs). No, it was because, as less-talented men like Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa were taking power to a different level, Bonds appeared to be merely very, very good. And very, very good wasn't enough.

Clemens, meanwhile, allegedly turned to performance enhancers in Toronto, where the Blue Jays spent millions of dollars hoping they had signed a pitcher who wouldn't hover around .500, as the Rocket had in his final four seasons with Boston (a 40-39 mark). At this point in his career, Clemens was a three-time Cy Young Award winner and the greatest right-hander of his generation. Had he retired in 1997 to raise llamas or work as a truck driver or co-star as the quirky neighbor on "Friends", Clemens' legacy was secure — he would go down as one of the all-time greats; a sure-shot Hall of Famer.

Yet like Bonds, Clemens couldn't stomach mere goodness; couldn't stomach the "one of the" disclaimer inevitably placed before "greats." Clemens didn't want to be one of the greats — he wanted to be great, period. He had heard Dan Duquette, the cold, bookish Boston GM, dismiss him as a pitcher in his "twilight," and he seethed — just as Bonds had seethed when Jeff Kent, his loathed teammate, had been named NL MVP in 2000. Who was Dan Duquette? Who was Jeff Kent?

Sadly, as Gordon Gekko famously found in "Wall Street" and thousands of corporate executives are learning now, greed isn't always good. It's a transient way of being; one that feeds an ego but, inevitably, also starves it.

For Roger Clemens and Barry Bonds, two of baseball's greediest men, the goal once was to be recognized as the greatest of all time.

That feels like long ago.

Jeff Pearlman's new book, "The Rocket That Fell to Earth" is now available. Among his previous works is "Love Me, Hate Me: Barry Bonds and the Making of an Antihero".

Toronto Blue Jays News News » Greed defined both Bonds and Clemens
Greed defined both Bonds and Clemens
As the only person in the world crazy enough to devote years of his life to writing biographies of Roger Clemens and Barry Bonds, I am often asked to compare and contrast the two men: How are they similar? How are they different? Who's nicer? Who's the bigger jerk? Who has the greater ego? (The answers, in order: Skill; hair; Clemens; Bonds; tie). Rocket booster?