April 29, 1970.

That's my birthdate, a day I share with Uma Thurman and Andre Agassi. For a few years, Master P also claimed this date, but it turns out he was born in 1967. Lame, man.

In any case, every few year I've spent a couple seconds comparing the accomplishments of my life compared with my famous birthdate compadres. In my silly mind, I usually come out ahead. For starters, I never married Ethan Hawke or Brooke Shields--in fact, I think I'll always be a couple steps ahead on that basis alone.

So when I read about Agassi's upcoming autobiography and his admission that he did a bit of methamphetamine back in the 90s when his career was in the shitter, I yawned and moved on. After all, this is a guy who married Brooke Shields. Crank? Just not a big deal.

Apparently, I'm way in the minority here. Perhaps the most bizarre statement I've read was Martina Navratilova's comparing Agassi to Roger Clemens. I just don't get it. I think the issue is that he'd flunked a drug test and then lied about it. The ATP believed Agassi and didn't suspend him. Good for him. Clemens? He not only (apparently) lied about using all sorts of drugs, but he blamed his wife. That's right. Rog claimed his wife needed to use human growth hormone so she's look hotter for a Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue photo. Yeccch. Agassi lying to the man? Not even in the same solar system, Martina.

From what I read, the autobiography is a wide-ranging compendium of all the stupid things a guy can do when he's rich, young, attractive and available. Drugs, girls, more drugs, the occasional squirrel--I mean, really, what would you do in that situation?

Okay, I wouldn't do the crank. Over the years I've developed a drug eschatology that divides things into benign and malign categories. Pot is absolutely benign. It's pretty much in the same category as alcohol, except that it's not physically addictive. Cocaine, too, is relatively benign. Its main drawbacks are potential overdose and strong physical addiction. Nonetheless, I've known hundreds (probably thousands) of people who've done a little blow with no ill effects to their health or lives.

LSD is trickier still. Most folks who have gone tripping skipped right back into life without any problems. But a few folks haven't fared so well. My line of thinking with acid is that if you're happy with your life, a trip might be a pleasant way to spend half a day. If you're depressed, don't go near the stuff. The things it awakens in your mind might scare the e.coli out of your colon.

The opiates are right out. Not only are they extraordinarily physically addictive, their highs tend to wipe out a person's existence. I know very few people who have done any time with heroin and come back unscarred.

Crank is also in the malign category, mostly because it tears your brain apart after a while. I'm not a big speed freak (so coke was never on my menu, despite where it sits on my list), so the high doesn't interest me. Nonetheless, I don't see the point in castigating users.

A side note: If you are a reporter or editor, please stop saying Agassi "took" crank. You don't "take" pot, or coke or heroin. You snort, smoke or shoot it. There is a pill form of meth (first manufactured by Abbott Laboratories and now made by Ovation Pharmaceuticals) that is prescribed to people suffering from narcolepsy or extreme obesity. But if you take the pill, you don't get the rush. People who "take" crank "on the street" do not swallow a pill. They shoot, smoke or snort it.

As for Agassi's failing the drug test and then lying about it, I don't really care. I'm extremely ambivalent about the prevalence of drug testing in sports. The line between accepted and non-accepted drugs is often capricious, and since many of the banned substances do have accepted medical uses (like pot and crank and steroids and many opiates), I just don't understand all the whining about it. There health risks involved in using many of these substances, and one would hope that athletes understand the risks before they put anything in their systems. Yes, that's a hopelessly naive statement, but it's still true for me. How about we disinter Babe Ruth's body and find out what he was taking when he was a ballplayer? I imagine the results would shock the public.

So Agassi smoked (I think) a little crank and lived to tell the tale. Given the multitude of sins elaborated in his book, I don't think he's celebrating his past. I think he's trying to paint of picture of what it can be like when you're the toast of the world. And, in the final act, what it can be like when you actually figure out a way to love yourself and actually enjoy your life. I can get behind that sort of book, I think. Good work, birthdate compadre!

Jon Worley is probably a wee bit younger than Andre Agassi, as he was born a little more than an hour before midnight.