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Recognize Achievements But
Deny Induction
Into the Baseball Hall of Fame
In San Francisco, Bonds made an impact but he may not see Cooperstown.
Commentary by PubClub Columnist The Bartender
Now that baseball's Steroids Seasons
have been exposed as a fraud, the game should come clean and admit it
made a mistake.
Apologize to the fans. Recognize the fact that players used performance-enhancing
drugs and the sport did nothing to stop them. Make a bold statement
on the issue of the Hall of Fame. And that proper response should be
that while the records themselves cannot be ignored the players should
be, so anyone that is proven to have used steroids or human growth substances
should be denied induction.
Former Senator George Mitchell's report that a large number of high-profile
players were on steroids from the mid-1990s to pretty much the present
is a hard fastball under the chin to baseball. A brushback pitch. So
will the game stand back up in the batter's box and face the public's
heat or retreat cowardly back to the dugout as it has done so many times
before when confronted with this issue?
The report itself means nothing. Its 489 pages names 89 players but
recommends no action be taken. Unless – and this is a beauty –
certain situations threatened the "integrity of the game."
I've got news for the baseball world. The fact of the matter is the
integrity of the game was sacrificed the second a bloated player broke
the first record. Baseball knew this was the case but chose to ignore
it. Bud Selig, the weakest commissioner in any sport at any time, simply
turned his head and let it happen.
Why? PR. Yes, public relations.
The game was suffering. Pete Rose had been banned from the game. It
had gone through three commissioners in eight years. One even died in
office. The owners had their heads buried in the sand so much they were
unable to agree on a replacement, named one of their own as "interim"
commissioner (a conflict of interest if ever there was one), and after
six years still couldn't find anyone so they simply gave it to Selig.
Worst of all they canceled the World Series. The World Series, the
most sacred of American sports championships, of Don Larson's perfect
game, Willie Mays' catch, Reggie Jackson's home runs and Bill Mazeroski's
Shot Heard Round the World. Canceled.
How do you cancel the World Series!? Put your differences aside for
the good of the game and negotiate in the off-season! The 1984 season
iteslf was sitting on the edge of history. Padres outfielder Tony Gwynn
was batting .394 and seeking to become the first player since Ted Williams
to hit .400. Giants third baseman Matt Williams was making a serious
run at Roger Maris' season record of 61 home runs.
And then the owners canceled the World Series.
When a settlement was finally reached, people were understandably not
going to games. America's pastime was in danger of being America's passed-by
time. College and pro football was stealing the show. The game needed
something – anything – to get fans back to the ballpark.
Well, Americans love big things and the biggest thing in baseball is
the home run. Baseball needed the long ball.
Soon, home runs became almost as common as strikeouts. Ordinary players
were suddenly prolific home run hitters. And fans began returning to
the game. In 1998, Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa staged what seemed like
a home run duel for the ages, a battle to not only break Maris' once-sacred
record, but shatter it beyond anyone's comprehension. Fans and media
loved it. Baseball was back!
Oh, there were rumors of a juiced ball. Denied, of course. Yet players
like McGwire suddenly looked like they would rip right out of their
uniforms, Incredible Hulk style. But no one cared. Baseball didn't,
the fans didn't – after all, we love the long ball! – and
those covering the sport had something fun to report about for a change.
Now that we know it was all a fraud, who is to blame? Certainly baseball.
Everyone involved in the game, in fact. Selig and the rest of the front
office. The clubhouse staff. Managers (who surely knew what was happening).
GMs and agents. Team owners.
The players? Yes, but only to a degree. Once baseball let it go unchecked,
they were only looking for the same advantage as other players. Something
similar happens in the everyday workplace. If one employee uses some
suspicious means to gain promotions and favor with management, it's
only natural that other employees left behind the desk would at the
very least look into duplicating the process.
And it was not even against baseball policy.
One group left out of the blame process is the media. But in my opinion,
they are the ones who could have blown the whistle and ended this before
it got out of control.
No proof? Can't do anything about it? I disagree.
The beat writers are at the stadium and in the clubhouse every day.
They hear things, see things. They talk among each other, in particular
to media members from other cities.
Surely they noticed a career singles-and-doubles hitting Rafael Palmero
suddenly becoming Babe Ruth. (And from the moment Jose Canseco arrived
on the scene.) Barry Bonds going from a skinny kid with abundant talent
to a barrel-chested monster hitting prodigious home runs well past the
normal athlete's prime. Roger Clemens firing fastballs defying age and
injury while adding bulk at a time when he should be getting a spare
tire.
"By the time (Eric) Gagne and (Kevin) Brown were at their Dodgers
peak in the 2003 season, it was obvious to me that both players were
probably on steroids," wrote LA Times columnist Bill Plashke,
a sentiment likely shared by other beat writers across the country.
"We would even talk about it while watching their bulging, straining
bodies from the dugout during batting practice. But the players would
admit nothing, so there was nothing I could write."
Not true. He could have asked the players. Management. Baseball executives.
"Do you think any of your players are using steroids? Have you
done anything to investigate?" Stay on it. Think Watergate would
have ever come to light had Woodward and Bernstein given up after the
first denial?
So now what do you do with the players with Hall of Fame credentials
and who own prized records? Do you allow them into the Hall of Fame?
No.
Anyone who cheated did indeed sacrifice the integrity of the game and
should not have the pleasure of an induction ceremony. Living legends
such as Mays, Hank Aaron and Cal Ripken Jr., should stand up and speak
out against it. After all, it tarnishes their accomplishments, as well
as everyone who is enshrined in Cooperstown.
It's impossible to ignore the records. Numbers are numbers and they
do exist, so you can't simply sweep home runs under the tarp. However,
the Hall of Fame could recognize the records without actually
inducting the players. Create a "Steroids Era" section
where the records would be chronicled. Photos, video, stats and other
information would be acceptable. But have no busts and no plaques.
Instead, in a prominent position, text would point out that these
achievements were a result of "performance-enhancing drugs"
that were legal in baseball at the time but did not represent fair play
compared to baseball's history. That's your asterisk.
That way, kids walking through the Hall of Fame would be able to see
that yes, those are Major League Baseball records. But that they were
achieved under unfair circumstances. And that would be fair.
The Bartender reported sports for three Southern newspapers and
covered college football, baseball and basketball; PGA Tour and WTA
events; the NFL (if one could call what the Atlanta Falcons played at
the time professional football); and the CBA as well as a number of
prep sports.
He an be reached at bartender@pubclub.com
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