It hasn't been a great winter for sports in general. The great NFL moneymaking machine rolls on, of course, relentlessly devouring all sports that dare threaten its column inches and television time. Devotees of the NHL — those hardy few that remain — have seen their sport all but destroyed by the idiotic actions of a narcissistic, preening commissioner and a clumsy, oafish union leader. Even those of us who don't even pretend to understand hockey can see how sad it is that such a proud and tradition-rich sport can suddenly be thrown into complete disarray.
Basketball hasn't had such a good winter either. An embarrassing players versus fans battle in Detroit highlighted the on and off field thuggery of NBA players. The fans seemed to wake up to the pure selfishness of the average NBA star and the sheer pointlessness of the NBA regular season and television ratings plummeted. David Stern has a challenge to put the gloss back on the NBA and will rely almost exclusively on LeBron James to achieve it.
Baseball's problem with steroids is by no means a new issue. It took the BALCO investigation and Jose Canseco's book to burst a boil that has been lurking under the skin for years. In fact, it is such an old issue that, personally, I wonder whether the average fan cares that much. Let's face facts, we've all known, thought we've known or at least suspected that baseball players use or have used performance enhancing substances.
Think back to the balmy days of the summer of '98. Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa slugging it out for the home run record — two huge muscle-bound behemoths that captured the imagination of the nation and relaunched baseball after the rancor from the '94 labor dispute. There were rumblings back then that both were using "supplements" — a euphemism for anything from creatine to injecting anabolic steroids.
Crowds flocked to baseball stadiums all over the country that summer of '98. The Yankees were steamrollering their way to a World Series, but it was Big Mac and Slammin' Sammy that gave the season impetus. The fans aren't idiots — they could see these guys were bursting out of their skins and can do the math. Did they care? They kept coming, so possibly not — maybe it's only a few writers and purists that do care?
If Sosa and McGwire were indeed juiced in some manner back in '98, what about Ken Griffey, Jr.? No one — to my knowledge — has pointed the finger of suspicion at him, yet he belted 56 homers that summer and enjoyed a career year. And Luis Gonzalez, him of the slight figure and normal-sized head, blasted 57 in 2001, way above anything he has achieved before or after. Out-of-career-pattern achievement doesn't necessarily mean steroid use.
In many ways, how the fans judge a player in relation to steroids depends on their likeability. Bonds is, without doubt, one of sports more obnoxious characters. It's easy to dismiss Bonds as a steroid using cheat because we don't like him — I know I don't. It's hard to find a baseball fan outside of the Bay Area or Bonds' immediate family who wants to see him break Hank Aaron's home run record. His name on baseballs list of records leaves a nasty taste in the mouth.
In many ways, Barry Bonds isn't really the poster child of the steroid era. Bonds could play the game with or without being juiced. He had a career when he was skinny and his head didn't resemble the Goodyear Blimp. But Steroid Boy is Jason Giambi is a walking-talking advert for the "supplemental lifestyle."
Giambi came into the bigs as a decent singles/doubles hitter who played third base. In his last season in the minors at Edmonton in 1995, Giambi hit .342 with only 4 of his 65 hits getting past second base. By 1999, Giambi had added 35 pounds to his listed weight and was playing first base — badly. He also slugged 33 homers.
Without steroids, it's not even a given that Giambi would have stuck around in the majors, let alone sign a $120 million deal with the Yankees. Giambi's career is down the toilet and his health is at risk for the rest of his life, but he's made his money. Only he can say if he's happy with the trade off.
So who's to blame for this steroid mess and how does the sport repair the damage?
Firstly, the players have to accept the primary burden of responsibility. Nobody forced grown men to take tablets they didn't wish to swallow, or sticks a needle in a reluctant body. The players wanted the money — and this is all about money — that comes with achievement on the field. The players' union knew what was happening and ignored it — foolishly thinking their members interests was based purely on the thickness of their wallets.
The owners don't walk away from this with a clean slate, either. They suspected who was using and didn't care as long as ticket sales increased in direct correlation to the number of dingers leaving the yard.
At least the sport has taken the first step towards controlling the use of steroids. I say controlling deliberately because no sport can eliminate drugs completely. If an athlete is determined to use them and thinks the benefits outweigh the risk involved, then that athlete will take a chance regardless of the punishment or consequence.
Some have claimed the punishment for being caught is too light. Ten days for a first offence seems a weak sentence, but I think Harold Reynolds has it right on "Baseball Tonight" — the naming and shaming may be enough to deter all but the hardcore. If it's not and there's a flood of failed tests, then, by all means, jack up the punishment to something really severe.
Playing the games will relegate the steroid issue to a lower profile. Now that the season is underway, the actual drama of the season will take precedent, as it should. Baseball is still a damn good game and is sullied only by a minority of its competitors.
There are a few ways baseball can take the focus away from steroids and freak shows like Giambi and Bonds. First off, it would be nice if Bud Selig and friends would recognize there is more to a baseball game than home runs. A lot of fans, myself included, prefer a good pitching duel to a slugfest. Is there going to be a more exciting sight this season than Randy Johnson and Curt Schilling battling it out — say tied at 0-0 in the eighth? Isn't that more of a spectacle than a five-hour 17-12 or whatever game where both starters are back in the dugout before most of the crowd have taken their seats?
There are plenty of great pitchers out there that Selig and Co. can hang their advertising hat on. It would be nice, given that players seem to have shrunk over the past two years, that pitching started to get an edge over hitting, even allowing for the high number of postage-stamp sized ballparks. Raising the mound back to its original height would be on my wish list, but realistically it won't happen.
What might happen — and should — is contraction. I'd like to see four teams nuked, but two is a start and both of them should be in Florida. The Devil Rays are a total embarrassment and will never draw more than a handful of snowbirds no matter where they play. They should be top of anybody's annihilation list, closely followed by fellow Floridians the Marlins.
Is a reason other than Jeffrey Loria necessary? If it is, then I give you low crowds, a dismal stadium, no atmosphere, and constant rain delays. The city of Miami doesn't care about baseball even when its team is the World Series champion.
The union will fight contraction, as they should. The solution is to buy them off with the offer to expand the rosters of the remaining teams by two spots. The union is on the back foot with the steroids issue and might not have the stomach for a fight. Sadly, even if the union acquiesced, some owners are so shortsighted that they'd balk at the meager payroll increase.
Other than contraction in Florida and a Yankees championship, the one thing I'm hoping to see this summer is the players actually playing strong, fundamental baseball. Is moving a runner along a lost art nowadays? How about bringing a runner home, whether it's via a sac fly, base hit, or even a weak groundout? Forget the personal statistics and do what's necessary for your team. I've exhausted my range of expletives aimed at the TV from seeing strikeout after strikeout with one man out and a man in scoring position.
Striking out used to be seen as total failure. Now it's an occupational hazard and reason to share a joke with teammates on the return to the dugout. Personally, I'd like to see it viewed in the same way as steroid use, only with a different penalty. For every 10strikeouts, you get a day off without pay. After 100 strikeouts, you're traded to Tampa Bay.
Enjoy the season and remember to read the label on your nutritional drink.
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