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If I take a handful of painkillers I can do stuff. Not well, but it's amazing what those little pills can do.

And it's a lot easier to take the pills and pretend you have no problem, rather than feel like a wimp and lie on the sofa all day in pain.

The problem is, people don't respect you if you lie on your back day after day, and complain. Americans don't understand true pain at all. And your self esteem takes a huge hit, because you feel useless. So the temptation to overdose on pain pills is huge, because nobody need know you are anesthetized up to your eyeballs. I can walk around like a human being after a few Vicodan.

But I'm not rich, and I get scared to get behind a steering wheel with meds in me, even legal ones. So I sit home in pain, trying to figure out a way to make ends meet.

The problem is, people don't respect you if you lie on your back day after day, and complain. Americans don't understand true pain at all. And your self esteem takes a huge hit, because you feel useless. So the temptation to overdose on pain pills is huge, because nobody need know you are anesthetized up to your eyeballs.

This is exactly right. I stayed in carpentry for six years each year working less and less until I finally couldn't take it. No one understood why I couldn't work. No one understood why I stayed at home and didn't do things with them as usual. It took a long time to work back from that.

I never took drugs because my father was a doctor and I knew what would happen if I went to a doc and went down that route. I knew better than to trust a doctor; many people have faith in them. Everyone of the tens of thousands of people who become addicted to Rx drugs trusted their doctor.

When Rush's doc prescribed Oxycontin for him he told Rush that it wasn't addictive. The pharm co's were telling doctors it wasn't addictive. Turns out it is more addictive than heroin or crack.

That's an interesting take on it. The respect of others.

My own hero was Roberto Clemente. A great baseball player able to throw a runner out at home from deep right field. Golden gloves, golden arm, golden bat, golden heart. His race? Gold! Died in a plane crash flying relief aid to Nicarauquan earthquake victims.

But one reason I've always liked him, a secret reason til now -- your insight gave me to realise what had been there in my own thoughts for a long time -- is because a lot of sportswriters down-talked him. Because he always complained about his joint pain and soreness. They labeled him a complainer.

The sports writers felt there was no way he could be having those pains and aches, given his athletic greatness. So to some degree during his career, during his lfetime, Clemente's legend never got that big. It was blocked for his being labeled a whiner.

The circumstance of his death initiated a closer re-examination of Clemente's record and life. His personal greatness -- a man of gold! -- shown through.