No one was prepared for the fire storm of controversy that engulfed the nation’s sports pages once word leaked that Penthouse was considering [Margo’s] story for publication.

Margo Gets Even More Revealing

In December 1988, I submitted my interview with Margo Adams to Penthouse, excited and happy that we were finally able to tell her entire story. Although we expected that the article would generate extraordinary interest, no one was prepared for the fire storm of controversy that engulfed the nation’s sports pages once word leaked that Penthouse was considering the story for publication.

When I first began researching Margo’s story, I was overwhelmed by the elements that took it way beyond the tale of one man and woman and their personal travails. The players, for example, who were directly or indirectly involved in their four-year romance would have made any big-league owner proud to carry them on his roster. Because of the ramifications of some of the aspects of what Margo alleged, it was important that I speak to as many of the individuals involved as possible — managers, players, trainers — as well as the groupies, strippers, and girlfriends who surrounded them.

These conversations, I must admit, were riveting. Although most would talk only off the record, I was able to reach, finally, better than 90 percent of those involved. And even though I may have made a few friends during the whole process, you could bet the farm that most would rather feed me to Freddy Krueger than leave me tickets at will-call.

As I began to research the article, I received calls from ballplayers everywhere, each using a variation of the same introduction: “Am I mentioned in the piece?” Most tried to negotiate with me: “I’ll confirm parts of the story or I’ll give you something better, if you can find a way to leave me out of this!” One player was shocked when he received my call: “Margo knew about that?” he exclaimed. The majority of his teammates, I discovered, knew all about Wade Boggs’s relationship with Margo, although very few approved of either the liaison or the girl.

Finally, I talked with Boggs’s agent, Alan Nero — a conversation that led to a conversation with Boggs himself. At times during our discussion, I couldn’t believe what he was confirming for me. He had often denied many of Margo’s allegations to anyone in the media who was willing to listen. But, I realized as I reviewed my notes, this was a man who had announced to the world through screaming headlines: “I Was a Sex Addict!” What else, I thought to myself, should I expect from him now?

As I continued my research into Margo’s story, dozens of phone calls began coming into the Penthouse offices and my home. Many of them were routine press inquiries. But many others were made in the clear attempt to kill the story. Penthouse editors received the kinds of typical calls from lawyers and agents that a magazine or newspaper receives when it’s working on a story of this nature, but some of the calls I got were more suggestive or roundabout in nature. I began, for instance, to get propositioned to work on a string of biographical sports books, including one on Boggs himself. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that this has been the subject of a Watergate-style cover-up when over 100 members of the media swarmed all over a Pizza Hut charity baseball game in a futile attempt to grab a piece of the story.

After listening to hours of Margo’s remembrances, as well as hearing what Boggs told her about his teammates, the Red Sox organization, and the entire game of baseball, for that matter — to say nothing of what his teammates have said about him — I have no doubt, along with most other observers, that Boggs will probably be traded. As one of these teammates told me anonymously, “After all is said and done, there is no way Wade Boggs can continue to be a member of the Boston Red Sox. The damage caused can never be repaired. What Boggs did is no different than what many others in baseball do every day, but he lost control of his situation.”

Margo told most of her personal experiences in her interview in last month’s Penthouse. To accompany this month’s exclusive portfolio of photographs taken by top Penthouse photographers; I asked her to comment on several aspects of the world of baseball, as well as address her ongoing litigation with Boggs and the controversy over her Penthouse interview. Much of the story remains untold, and many of the players remain unnamed — but I believe that if the team owners and the commissioner of baseball read Margo Adams’s story, and investigate further for themselves and finally learn all the sordid details of what really goes on behind the scenes in America’s favorite sport, they would be ashamed to be part of the game.


I’ve waited more than enough time and given Wade ample opportunity to make right what he promised me all along. He started playing games about having to fly to Florida, making this lawsuit as expensive as possible — I had no choice. My back was up against the wall. I needed the financial backing that Penthouse could give me, along with the emotional support. Wade actually photographed a centerfold for another magazine once. For him it was very stimulating and exciting. He never felt there was anything wrong with it, and frankly I don’t, either. I had many offers, including book offers. I agonized over telling the story. What was hard was telling the truth, even as painful as it was, about other players. But they were Wade’s friends, and he never chose to protect them. And I, too, was tired of protecting them. Mr. Guccione was interested not only in my photos, he was genuinely interested in the story. And that’s the reason I chose Penthouse — because the story was just as important, if not more important, than the photos.

If Wade had done what was right, this would have been all over.


Girls and sex. Who’s doing who, and who can catch who, and who’s got something over who. Their attitude about prostitutes is that “I’m not going to pay for it. Why should I have to pay for it when women are out there begging to have sex with me?” Once one of the players had a hooker in Canada, but he didn’t know it at first and the other guys did. Afterwards they told him that he didn’t have to pay her.

As far as the players worrying about catching diseases, I remember once in Seattle I had asked Wade where the guys were. He told me that five of the guys had hired two hookers. I said, “You’re kidding me. Do you know that I just read that 22 percent of the hookers in this area carry the AIDS virus? Are they using condoms?” Wade looked at me with a smile and said, “Ooh, they could be in trouble.”


They knew that the best bar in baseball — where to get laid — is in Oakland. It’s an absolute guarantee to get laid there. Wade called it the Star Wars bar, because it looks like a scene out of the movie where all these odd people are lined up at the bar. The women aren’t very pretty and it’s a very low-class type of cocktail bar. It’s always packed after the game. The reason Wade said it was the best bar was because all the women knew that the players had nowhere else to go in Oakland.

The strip joints in Cleveland and Canada are also favorite places for them to go and get laid. The girls who work there almost never go home with the customers, but they do with the ballplayers. The girls get real excited when they show up and then go home with them. During the strip acts, the guys will sit up front and watch, but they never tip them.

Oakland may have the best bar, but it’s not the best city to get laid in. The best place is in Florida, during spring training. That’s where you see the heavy groupies. Wade would tell me that if I was really good he would take me out to a groupie bar, and I would end up getting upset. In the beginning it’s funny, and then it doesn’t get to be very funny.

The girls hang around and are always pushing you out of the way. A couple will come over and say “Hi, Wade,” and I would ask him how he knew them. He would tell me that they’ve been with many players on the team.

The groupies I saw in spring training were really sharp-looking girls. The majority of the girls that you see around the country during the season are kind of embarrassing. At the stadiums they would be sitting in the wives’ section where the players had tickets for them, screaming real loud, “Go get ’em, just like you did last night.” I would always feel bad when a player’s wife would be sitting nearby. Some of the things they would hear were pretty crude and raunchy. If I would have to rate the groupies on a 1-to-10 scale, they’re about a 3.

I remember an incident in Seattle when Wes Gardner first started to date his girlfriend, who is now his wife. She and her girlfriend went to the ball game and were screaming real loud for Gardner and another player, acting like groupies would act. The wives were all turning around, giving them dirty looks and making snide comments about them.

Wade used to tell me that if we got married, I would not be able to go on the road anymore and go out with the guys. You are not allowed to bring your wife into certain bars. Once she’s sat in the wives’ section, she can no longer go out to any of the places the guys go to.

Nothing is wilder than the last week in spring training, when the wives head back to Boston. You wouldn’t believe what a frenzied free-for-all it is. It’s like you let the bees out of the hive to search for honey. I mean, everybody is getting laid continuously. That’s when the groupies really make their moves. You won’t see them around during the day, but at night they are everywhere.


Although Wade cheated on me several times during our relationship, I only did so once. I was to go on a trip to Milwaukee, and at the last minute Wade called me and said Debbie [his wife] was going, that I would have to stay home. I was mad and jealous. I had a good friend, Steve Garvey, who had asked me to go to Texas with him that same weekend. I accepted Steve’s offer only to make Wade jealous, and it worked. I told Wade about my date with Steve and he hit the roof. He was upset. He wanted me to cancel my trip with Steve and go to Milwaukee with him. Steve was single at the time, and I felt better about going out with a single man. I had a possible future with a single man. Steve Garvey is a wonderful man — smart, very sexy, a great lover. As far as a lover, he’s much better than Wade.

As far as any of the players’ wives fooling around, Wade went into detail telling me the story about a teammate and his wife when he played for Boston. We were on a trip to Kansas City when he told me that she was having an affair with some guy in Martha’s Vineyard. That was the reason he was so glad to be traded to the American League West, because he felt that once he got her away from there she would clean up her act. Wade also told me that another teammate was always screwing around with one of the players’ wives.


During our relationship I had met some friends of Wade’s who worked for the F.B.I. At the end of our relationship, Wade and I had discussed how we were going to make up for the wages I had lost during my four years of travels, and the last conversation we had was about paying me $100,000, which is what I figured I lost during our last year together. I think Wade panicked and called on his friends at the F.B.I. I had never threatened Wade. When the F.B. I. arrived at my home, I thought it was a joke and they were actors. It was after they showed proper identification that I realized they were genuine, bringing me to tears. I called my attorney and he handled it from then on. After I called my attorney, the F.B.I. agents politely excused themselves from my living room, declaring this a civil matter.

Before that I remember in Seattle when Wade introduced me to his friends in the F.B.I. They told me stories about how they could have arrested Oil Can Boyd. They knew that he had been seen with a known drug dealer, but they had not done anything because of the bad publicity. Definitely there is favoritism by the police, especially when you have a player like Oil Can, who tends to go off on tangents. These guys got cop friends all over the country. They get chances that nobody — I mean nobody — would get. They go out of their way to make friends with the police.


A few years back when they were in New York playing the Yankees, Wade and a former teammate ran around the streets of New York. At about four or five that morning, Wade and his friend could see across the street and into the apartment of a woman who was doing early-morning exercises in the nude. They loved it so much that they ran out and found an open-all-night store to purchase a pair of binoculars. They sat and watched her for some time. Wade said it was a real turn-on.

Wade and the Red Sox think the Mets are the lowest of the low. They think that they are disgusting. They think that the Mets are all smart-asses and that Gary Carter is the all-time worst who ever lived. When Dwight Gooden got caught with drugs, Wade said, “I don’t want some fucking cokehead throwing a ball 90 miles an hour at me.”


Wade called me when it happened in Toronto. I believe it was early June. The guys had been out drinking at a place they go to in Toronto. He was out with Ernie Whitt of the Toronto Blue Jays — he had some camaraderie with him. Wade had a new pair of boots on. He loves cowboy boots, and Ernie admired them. Wade told me he was so drunk that when he reached up to take his boots off, to have Ernie try them on, he fell into the arm of the couch at the bar. He was so drunk at the time, it didn’t hurt. But afterwards it became an injury that kept him from playing. He had to come up with a cover story — he couldn’t very well say he was at a bar and that he was too drunk and fell over a couch. So that’s when he came up with the cover story, claiming he tripped taking off his boots in his hotel room. — Boggs subsequently denied to David Shumacher that “he was so drunk at the time.”


One of the ways I found out he was fooling around were other girls calling his room. The first year they called a lot and then it tapered off, and then it started again last year. One of the things that I always got mad at Wade for is that he didn’t put a hold on his calls.

On his birthday in 1987, we were lying in bed — the phone rang 21 different times. And that’s not 21 rings, that’s 21 different times. Many times, I think it was just for his ego — I thought, who in the world — ? There were hardly any messages, so they were obviously girls who didn’t want to leave their name and number — just in case his wife was with him — but wanted to try and get through to talk to him. I’d say, “Who are these women calling you?” And his excuse was always, “Oh, that’s a girl that sees another player and she’s just calling me because she can talk to me and find out if his wife is with him or not.”

There were a lot of cities where he’d leave tickets for women. I sat behind a woman once in Anaheim who, when Wade came up to bat, was looking at him through binoculars. She was about 45 years old and looked like a motorcycle rider. She said to her friends, “See that cute mustache? It really tickles when he goes down on you.” I was mortified. I told him, “My God, what would you have done if that had been Debbie sitting there? You have to be more careful.”


On one occasion in Oakland, a few friends of Marty Barrett’s made a few comments about me. When I told Wade, he was furious. He tried to reach Barrett’s room, but Marty wasn’t allowing calls to come through, and Wade got angrier that he couldn’t get through. He finally called the front desk and said, “This is Wade Boggs. I demand that you put me through to Barrett’s room.” When Marty finally answered, Wade said, “How dare you mess with my life. I will see you tomorrow and you’ll pay for this.” Wade was pissed.

The next day Wade told me he pushed Barrett up against a locker, saying, “If any of those guys ever screw up what I have, I’ll show them all. I’ll retire from baseball. I have enough money. I’ll fuckin’ take off and fish the rest of my life. Fuck ’em all.”


Wade enjoyed shaving me. It was mutually enjoyable. I don’t know who suggested it, but we really got into it. He got a barber’s razor as a gift and would hoist me up on the countertop. He is really a perfectionist.


The majority of the mail is answered by the clubhouse boys and the batboys. Most of those cards and items sent to players, requesting to be autographed, either just get tossed away or signed by the batboys. The clubhouse boys are paid by the individual players to sign most of the items. I remember when Wade came to my office once, there was a ball on an employee’s desk and Wade said, “Let me see if I can tell if this is one I signed or the batboy signed.” We were out in Oakland one night after a game, and a fan approached our table and asked Wade for an autograph. The batboy sitting next to Wade looked at everyone at the table and said, “Do you want me to sign it?” Wade was pissed and grabbed the bat-boy and told him, “Never do that again in public.” Wade told me that 90 percent of the items sent to the park are signed by the batboys, not by the players. There are a few exceptions — for example, Bruce Hurst signed all his stuff.

The only time a collector can be sure he’s getting the real thing is at a card show. Players are paid great amounts of money in cash to sign at these shows.

At the beginning of our relationship, Wade was getting $1,200 for a card show. At the end of our relationship he was getting $12,000. After one show in particular, he came to the room with $12,000 in cash. We went out and spent $10,000 of it on a gift for my birthday — a gold Rolex. As for card shows, Wade would be commissioned to sign a certain amount of items. If Wade was not interested in sitting and signing all the items at the show, then the promoter would send the items to the room the night before so that we could have them pre-signed. My job was to count each and every item Wade signed. He was always pissed at the promoters because they would sneak in a hundred or more items than the contract specified. Wade asked me at times to sign his name on items, but I refused.

The players have a term for the money. They call it “rathole” money. It is easy side money — money they keep to themselves. Most wives are not even aware of it. Some players use the money for their girlfriends, others use it for clothes. Several players were into dressing sharp, and they hung out at malls and picked up salesclerks. It was money unaccounted for, and they could do what they pleased with it. Wade would use his for my airline tickets. They don’t even have to pay their agents a commission, because many of the promoters call the players direct to set up a card-show signing. One Saturday last summer, I saw NBC’s pre-game baseball show and heard how the I.R.S. was looking into large cash payments made to players in exchange for their autographs.


If a man like Wade cheats once, he’ll always cheat.

One Final Message from Penthouse: You can consider Margo’s even more revealing pictorial in the PenthouseGold Members’ Section.

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