Baseball's steroid issue is bound to provide a significant amount of unintentional humor over the next few months, with accusations and denials and mock horror stretching from coast to coast.

Still, it will take something drastic to outdo the denial Bret Boone issued Wednesday when asked about steroids in the big leagues. Boone's words have a chance to become for the steroid issue what Lou Whitaker climbing out of the limo in his white suit was to the '94 baseball strike.

Boone said, "If I took steroids, I could dunk. Never mind baseball, I could play in the NBA."

What, exactly, does that mean? It's either A) a graduate-level non sequitur or, B) a sign that this issue goes far beyond baseball and is far bigger than anybody could have predicted.

Jose Canseco says 85 percent and Ken Caminiti either did or didn't say 50 percent, but look at what Boone is saying: Not only is everyone in the NBA on steroids, but everyone who can dunk is on steroids.

Sadly, every story of Darnell Hillman grabbing a nickel off the top of a backboard is forever tainted. Thanks, Bret.

Perception rules, and that's why the ebola-like outbreak of steroid mania should be a huge concern to Bud and The Boys in Major League Baseball. The game, obviously, runs on a current of history and speculation, with every hotshot called up from Pawtucket drawing inevitable comparisons to Yaz or Pedro.

	Hammerin' Hank might have hit 900 if he were on the juice.

The numbers of the game, for better or worse, have acquired hallowed status: 755, 714, 660. So imagine, for a second, Hank Aaron on the juice. How many more would he have hit if every third ball caught on the warning track would have scraped its way over the fence? And what would the record book look like if Willie Mays could have called upon a pharmacological boost to offset the ridiculous depth of left field at pre-1970 Candlestick?

Without casting aspersions on anyone, we could probably all agree that Aaron and Mays probably would have gone into the '70s playing tag with each other at somewhere around 900 homers.

And that's where you'll find the damage -- in the dues-paying bleachers, where all those syringe-induced fly balls come to rest. Fans want to believe in the notion of the indomitable power of the human spirit and all that other stuff that often isn't true. They want to believe that someone can set a goal and go out and reach it.

When it comes to sports, much of the ticket-buying public suspends its disbelief. They often refrain from the skepticism they hold for politicians and the media and the general state of humanity. Fans believe what they want to believe, to escape or forget or keep a tie to childhood.

With baseball, suspending that disbelief has gotten harder every year, and the steroid cloud only adds to it. If Ken Caminiti feels like a cheat, that means there are a lot of people out there who feel cheated.

Maybe even guys like Mays and Aaron.

This Week's List

Oh, okay, how did you know I was just waiting for you to ask?: The most sophomoric offshoot of the steroid issue is the run on sports columnists declaring that every big-muscled power hitter (Bonds, Sosa, etc.) should call a press conference, pee in a cup and have it tested right then and there.

One thing you've got to love about this time of year: Phil Jackson's mind games, in which he takes every situation (down 2-1, tied 2-2, down 3-2) and tries to pin it on the Kings by saying, "Well, now they've proved this, but that's nothing compared to what they're facing now."

It sounds like he didn't need another obstacle in his life right now, but for what it's worth: Caminiti is being too hard on himself for talking about his steroid use.

Once again it's time for journalism's most remarkable waste of time and effort: Mock drafts.

In Sacramento, nightclubs are reporting an alarming rise in the number of unprovoked tailbone injuries as patrons partake in the latest dance craze: The Vlade Flop.

Contraction question: Just how comically bad would baseball look if it crossed out the Devil Rays this soon after granting the franchise?

So, this is what it feels like to be displaced and marginalized: I've got a sneaking suspicion those new Reebok shoe commercials aren't targeting me and my demographic.

Of course, why buy off the rack when you can sport the best in cutting-edge fashion: Clothes with character, sold exclusively at www.ScarmanUSA.com.

Just for the heck of it: Ron Renick.

Here's an annoying little sidebar destined to get far more attention than it deserves: Red Auerbach, questioning Phil Jackson's worth.

Thirty-two nations, one goal: A goal.

Curt Schilling, on a pace for: 31-3.

At least she's not painting her face, but it's not the Finals yet, either: There's no excuse for the goofballs in Boston, but Joumana Kidd might want to wear regular clothes, instead of her husband's jersey.

And finally, remember back in '96, when that kid spelled Cockaigne and then went full-on Gastineau in front of God and everyone?: Good to see the spelling bee finalists refrain from the trash-talk and physical intimidation that has marred the event in recent years.

Tim Keown is a senior writer for ESPN The Magazine. E-mail him at tim.keown@espnmag.com.