From a hospital bed at Mt. Sinai, Dwayne told the police that two men had forced their way into his apartment and drugged him, probably to increase their odds on a huge bet they’d made on the game. So that’s why his blood tested positive for a nearlethal dose of heroin. Because of the “Break-In.”

Naturally, it became one of the biggest stories in sports – no, make that one of the biggest news stories, period. After Watergate, it was the second most famous break-in in history, I quipped at the time, writing for Esquire.

Of course, the difference was that Watergate had actually happened.

While Dwayne Robinson had his supporters, the prevailing sentiment was that he was lying – that no matter how vehemently he denied it, the ugly truth was that he had overdosed on his own.

The fact that the two thugs – whose descriptions he provided to the police – were never found didn’t exactly bolster his case.

Within a year, Robinson was banned for life from the game of baseball. His wife left him, taking their two young children and eventually winning full custody of them. If you thought about it, and I did, it was the worst bad dream imaginable. Everything he lived for was gone. It had all disappeared. Just like him.

Until now. This very moment. The first interview in a decade.

I reached down and slid my tape recorder out of the brown leather bag on the floor. Placing it in the center of the table, I hit record. My hand was actually shaking a little.

“So how’s this work?” asked Dwayne cautiously as he leaned forward in his white button-down shirt, his enormous elbows settling gently on our table. “Where do you want me to begin?”