Another Accidental Steroid Victim

I feel so sad for Marlon Byrd and his family.

He's yet another unwitting victim of mysterious steroidal substances inserting themselves into the clean-living ballplayer's vitamins. Byrd never knowingly took any illegal substances but is manning up and accepting responsibility, which probably amounts to the end of his career. At 38, he's banned for all of this year and the first two months of next.

Maturity and Accountability on Display
Byrd is particularly admirable because he maturely accepted responsibility a couple of years ago for his positive test for Tomoxifen, which he never knowingly took either but miraculously bored into some supplements he was taking.

So poor Marlon has been twice victimized, lost millions of dollars and the respect of many, and yet, in an unprecedented demonstration of restraint, he has declined to challenge a system that is obviously overzealous and unfair. Perhaps we should start a campaign for a statue of the outfielder outside Progressive Field.

A Chemist and a Writer
On top of that, Marlon is amazingly eloquent for a professional athlete.  Here is, in part, his statement, which you know he wrote himself and comes from his heart:

"I have accepted a one-year suspension by Major League Baseball," Byrd said. "Recently, I was notified that I had tested positive for Ipamorelin, a peptide prohibited by the JDA. In 2012, I tested positive for the medication Tamoxifen, which I was using on the advice of a physician for a medical condition resulting from surgery, and I accepted my suspension without challenge. Since that time, I have paid close attention to the substances that are banned by the Joint Drug Agreement, as I had no intention of taking any banned substances.

"I relied upon a medical professional for assistance and advice with respect to the supplements that I was taking. However, certain supplements I was taking were not on the NSF Certified for Sport list, and therefore, I assumed certain risks in taking them. When I learned that I had tested positive for Ipamorelin, I retained the services of private counsel and an independent chemist to determine the origin of the Ipamorelin test result, because I never knowingly ingested Ipamorelin.

Isn't it heartbreaking? Poor Marlon. At least he has a future career as a college English professor or a professional publicist.

And now for something completely different...
Here's what I don't understand: the guy's career is over. He has nothing to lose. Why can't he actually take responsibility and acknowledge what everyone knows. 

"Yeah, I took steroids. I'm only sorry I got caught. Steroids helped me enjoy a 16-year Major League career and make $38 million. Where else am I gonna sign a contact for $1 million plus incentives -- stocking shelves at the local food mart? You'd do it for a million bucks too. See ya, suckers."

I'd like him so much better if he did. Now I just think he's a fool and a liar. Good riddance, chump.

What's Wrong With HGH?

The recent kerfuffle over Peyton Manning reportedly -- but not convincingly so, at least not yet -- using human growth hormone (HGH) to recover from the serious neck injury that sidelined him for all of 2011 is a trenchant reminder that most folks don't understand why athletes in professional sports are prohibited from using steroids and other drugs.

Contrary to popular opinion, the problem with steroids, HGH and their cousins is not that they are "performance enhancing." There's nothing wrong, or new, with athletes consuming substances to improve their performance. Orange juice, lean meat, ibuprofen and caffeine are all "performance enhancing," and yet no one is suggesting that they be banned, or that athletes who consumed these substances be blackballed.

There's nothing inherently wrong with an injured athlete taking HGH to recover faster. Who could blame him? It's not "cheating" others or gaining an unfair advantage to recover faster from an injury.

The problem with steroids, HGH and their ilk is that they can do serious damage to the human body (and mind) -- up to and including death -- with long-term use. Fearful that young athletes would choose the short-term benefits over the long-term ravages, government banned their use, and many governing bodies in sports followed.

The unfair advantage comes into play when athletes decide nonetheless to take potentially harmful substances that others are dutifully avoiding. It also creates a strong incentive in others to use those "performance enhancers" to keep up. 

This is exactly the story attached to Barry Bonds' descent into steroid use: the best baseball player in the world, he resented the adulation that steroid-enhanced Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa received with their prodigious home run counts in 1998. To reclaim his crown, he launched his own steroid adventure.

The new question, of course, is whether a regimen of steroid use carefully monitored by a physician is indeed harmful to long-term health. We appear now to have a large number of professional athletes who have dabbled in the dark arts without any new Lyle Alzado or Ken Caminiti stories. There may come a time -- we might already be there -- when steroid use should be allowed under a doctor's care.

That would raise new issues involving role models and under-age athletes, issues beyond the point of this discussion. The point is that the use of "performance enhancing drugs," in and of themselves, is neither unusual nor unfair.

Stuffed Turkey of a Hall of Fame Ballot

The Hall of Fame ballot for 2014 has been released, in much the way hounds are released in a wild goose hunt, with 17 legitimate candidates on the list. With only 10 lines on the ballot, voters are going to be doing some triage.


Players on the ballot fall into five categories. The easy two are those who have earned shoo-in status to the Hall and those who merely played with guys who earned shoo-in status. (That's not to say that anyone actually is a shoo-ins; there's no accounting for taste and the ignorance of baseball writers.) We'll call them the "Lou Gehrig" division and the "Chico Ruiz" division. Greg Maddux, Tom Glavine, Mike Mussina, Kurt Schilling, Jeff Bagwell, Mike Piazza, Frank Thomas, Tim Raines and Craig Biggio comprise the former group, about which no further discussion is really necessary. They're Famers.

Names such as Armando Benitez, J.T. Snow, Eric Gagne,  Mike Timlin, Jacque Jones and Richie Sexson populate the list of merely good Major Leaguers. They will have to console themselves with fame, fortune and a boatload of frequent flyer miles.

Next we have the "Pete Rose" division: players whose membership in the Gehrig clan has been revoked because of drug use. Barry Bonds, Roger Clemens, Rafael Palmeiro and Mark McGwire could almost create their own wing in Cooperstown along with Rose and Shoeless Joe Jackson. I would vote for all of these except Palmeiro, who failed a drug test. The rest were so unquestionably spectacular that our suspicions (not to mention a fair bit of evidence) might be overwhelmed the heft of their greatness. It's understandable that voters would exclude all or some of these, though it's not clear what the point of a Hall of Fame without Bonds and Clemens would be.

Then there's the "Sammy Sosa" division, whose members are: Sammy Sosa. Sosa probably took steroids, definitely corked his back and not withstanding all that might be a Hall of Famer. Mix up that witches' brew and there probably won't be much support for his candidacy.

The most taxing decisions concern those players whose numbers don't reflect how we felt about them. This is the "Bobby Grich" division. The advanced stats testify that Alan Trammel was a great-fielding shortstop with a highly respectable .285/.352/.415 slash line, 1200+ runs scored and an MVP season, worth 64 wins against replacement over a 20-year career. Certainly he was a good hitter for a shortstop but most of his career value grades out on the field, about which it's very hard not to be dubious.

Larry Walker hit .313/.400/.525 with 383 home runs and 1311 RBI. He also won Gold Gloves, though the number crunchers can't find any justification for them. On paper, that's a walk-through, but in Coors, there are a lot of questions. In Montreal, Walker was Clark Kent, climbing the corporate ladder slowly but surely with smart reporting and solid management skills. In the thin air of Denver, Walker became Superman, saving the world with his super-strength, flying cape and x-ray vision. In the six years between 1997 and 2002, he posted five amazing seasons, averaging .351/.439/.639. He's credited with 69 wins against replacement, which ordinarily is enough to buy real estate in Cooperstown. It's just that Coors turned Andres Galarraga and Dante Bichette into stars.

By any second-base standards, Jeff Kent was a great hitter. He also wasn't a second baseman. But by first base standards, he was just another guy, posting a .290/.356/.500 line and smacking 377 home runs, including a string of 11 years with 20+ home runs. He knew that his only ticket to the Hall was remaining at the keystone even if his defense was handcuffing his teams. So Kent finished with 57 wins against replacement and a strong argument for inclusion. He makes my ballot with reservations.

On the flip side, Don Mattingly was an awesome hitter until his back began biting into his power. He finished with numbers insufficient for a first baseman to win election, tallying just 41 wins against replacement. Fred McGriff's 493 homers, .377 on base percentage and cool nickname should be enough to vault him to baseball immortality. He smacked 30+ big flies 10 different times. He also DH'd, did nothing on the bases and changed teams six times. The seamheads peg him at 57 wins against replacement, and that might have felt like enough if he'd played most of his career for one or two teams.

So here's my ballot, ignoring the 10-candidate limit, in roughly the order of their greatness:
Barry Bonds
Greg Maddux
Roger Clemens
Mike Piazza
Tim Raines
Frank Thomas
Mike Mussina
Curt Schilling
Tom Glavine
Jeff Bagwell
Craig Biggio
Jeff Kent*
Alan Trammel**
Fred McGriff**
Larry Walker**
Jack Morris***

*probably
**not now but I could be persuaded 
***shut up

Is David Ortiz a Hall of Famer?

With another set of post-season heroics in the rear view mirror, Hall of Fame buzz is beginning to swirl around David Ortiz. At 38, Big Papi delivered his best season since '07, with a .959 OPS in 137 games. Since joining the Red Sox in '03, Big Papi has authored a .292/.390/.572 resume with 373 home runs and an offensive record 48% above league average. That includes 2008-09 when a wrist injury hampered his swing and sapped his power; absent those two seasons he's raking at 55% above average. That Coopestownish.

The major Hall of Fame problem for Ortiz is that his career did not start with Boston in '03. In his first six years with the Twins, he hit just .266 with 58 homers. There was no Big and no Papi until he landed in the Bay state and began mashing behind Manny Ramirez. Ortiz has performed at a Hall of Fame level with the bat over an 11-year period, but that's not long enough and it's not the entirety of his playing career.

There's another barrier to a bronze bust for Ortiz: he's a DH. You will hear and read irrelevant analysis about how a DH doesn't belong in the Hall or about how no DH has ever been elected. Neither is the point. Cooperstown has a long history of enshrinement of one-dimensional players, in case you mistook Harmon Killebrew for  a speed merchant (19 of 37 steals in 22 years) and defensive wizard (19 career wins below replacement with the glove). 

The problem with rostering a player who can only DH is that it has an inherent negative effect on team construction. The various sabermetric measuring systems assess this against a player's defense, but the restrictions such a player imposes on lineup flexibility may accrue to offense instead or as well. Between his lack of range when he donned his mitt and the lack of managerial range created by carrying a non-fielder on the roster, Ortiz has cost his teams 18 wins over his career. That offsets a goodly chunk of his overall value.

There are four widely-used systems designed to predict a player's Hall of Fame case. Three of them say Ortiz has a fair amount of work to do. For example, the average Hall of Fame first baseman leads the league in 27 seasonal categories over the course of his career. Papi has led the AL in home runs once, RBIs twice, walks twice, OBP once and total bases once, well short of that standard. The JAWS Hall of Fame valuation model, which compares a player's value to the average Haller at his position (Ortiz is considered a first baseman since there are no DHs to whom we can compare him) suggests Ortiz is well short in both his peak and his overall career numbers, by distances he cannot bridge even if he performs well into his 40s.

None of this captures the special character that sparked the speculation to begin with. "Clutch" hitting is a vastly exaggerated notion, but Big Papi delivers in key situations so relentlessly there can be no denying that he loves the spotlight and thrives on pressure. Recounting all his game-changing home runs in season-altering games would amount to gilding the lily. His .455/.576/.795 line in three triumphant World Series speaks for itself. In addition, his unquestioned leadership was captured exquisitely when he gathered his bearded brethren around him in the dugout in Game 4 of the just concluded championship. It is tempting to assign cause and effect to that confab and the three consecutive victories that turned a 2-1 deficit into a parade.

How do you measure leadership and clutch hitting? What are their value? Are they enough to overcome a career gap of 24 wins against replacement. The answer, for me, is pretty clear: not even close. Big Papi is a great player and a character who will live forever in baseball history, but he hasn't done enough to earn a bust.

On to the elephant in the room: steroids. The New York Times reported that Ortiz was among 100 players who tested positively for steroids in 2003. Ortiz denied he took steroids and the Players Association claims those relatively unsophisticated tests returned false positives for supplement use. For some cynical followers of the game, that's enough to convict a player even though it amounts to nothing.

Others point to the spike in Ortiz big flies from 2004-2006 (40-47-54) at ages 28-30, followed by a dramatic decline to 35 after 2006, never to return. This argument is specious: that's normal career peaking. Indeed, in the four years preceding his home run spike he hit 10-18-20-31. In the four years following his peak, his home run totals declined to 35-23-28-32. He also played more games during the peak than in any other years. 

In other words, there are several good reasons not to elect David Ortiz to the Hall of Fame -- a short peak and bad defense chief among them. There are a couple of good reasons to consider him further -- palpable leadership and clutch hitting that helped propel his team to three more championships in 10 years than they had won in the previous 86. But denying him a bust because of steroids is pure electoral malpractice, on par with electing Ted Cruz or Jesse Jackson Jr. to Congress.

Words & Phrases We Should Have Seen In Ryan Braun's "Apology"

Lied
Cheated
Lied Repeatedly
Cheated for Years
Liar 
Cheater
Hypocrite
Disgrace
Embarrassed 
Ashamed
Steroids
Don't Deserve 2011 MVP 
Return 2011 MVP Award
Abject Apology
So Sorry
So Very Sorry
Sanctimonious 
Apologize to Dino Laurenzi Jr.

Feeling Sorry for Baseball Writers

You know the Apocalypse is upon us when baseball writers start earning our sympathy. Well, here we go. 

Decade-long card-carrying BBWAA members are now being asked to parse an era of total uncertainty and enshrine their decisions in bronze for posterity. At a time when the tools to evaluate potential Hall of Famers are more finely honed than ever before, the writers are being asked to throw darts.

I speak of "performance enhancing drugs," of course, but only certain kinds -- the kinds that are illegal or against baseball rules for growing heads like watermelons. Baseball writers will judge some of the greatest performers of all time with absolutely no benchmarks against which to measure them. Are Barry Bonds, Roger Clemens, Sammy Sosa, Mark McGwire, Rafael Palmeiro, Alex Rodriguez, Manny Ramirez and Ivan Rodriguez Hall of Famers? All have been linked to steroid use; all have HoF credentials. 

Raise your hand if you are convinced that Barry Bonds used steroids? Wha? You in the back, yeah you, what's your problem? Oh, you're a Giants fan. In denial, I get it. How about you? Miss? What's that, she's deaf? Okay, that explains it. Everyone else, you can lower your hands. We even know when Bonds started -- 1999, by which time he had already put Cooperstown in a headlock. Do you deny him entry, or just make him sweat a few years before admitting him? 

How about Rafael Palmeiro? His numbers argue in favor but his urine argued against -- at least in the last month of his career. Does one tainted sample erase two decades of accomplishments? It's worth noting that Palmeiro never exhibited the physical changes, like muscles the size of Rhode Island, that ignited snickering about McGwire, Bonds and Sosa. How about ARod, who has tested clean for several years and admitted using for a period long after he'd established his bona fides. Wherefore a guy like Sosa, who's a borderline HoFer even before you consider whether he cheated. If you shave, say, 10% off his performance, he probably doesn't have a case.

Speaking of cheating, is it cheating if everyone does it? How about if three-quarters of the players do it? How about half? (For the record, the lunatic Jose Canseco, who has been right about everything involving this topic, estimated that 70% of players were doping.) Wouldn't Roger Clemens have been among the best pitchers in the game even without that extra edge?

And what happens when Randy Johnson, John Smoltz, Craig Biggio, Derek Jeter and Jeff Bagwell come before the voters? Raise your hand if you know for a fact that they weren't also cheaters. (Of course, Jeter, Biggio and Smoltz have passed drug tests. On the other hand, the cracks in those tests are so wide Lindsay Lohan could get through them.) Hello? Hello?

Those poor writers. Besides blind faith, personal bias, rock, paper and scissors, what criteria can they use to determine? I see a few options here:

The Fatalist -- will throw his hands in the air and elect the top performers, no questions asked. (His cousin, The Denier, will get to the same result by denying that there's any proven advantage from using steroids or HgH.)

The Broad Brusher -- will black-ball anyone whose name is associated with steroid use, period.

The Philadelphia Lawyer -- will bar only those who have tested positive.

The Policy Wonk -- will create his own hierarchy of rules and apply them.

The Situational Ethicist -- will weigh the entirety of the player's career against the certainty and apparent extent of guilt.

One thing we all seem to agree on is that the five-year wait and the 15-year window give voters a chance to consider the issue with clearer vision and due consideration. We need some time to reflect before deciding a movie is an all-time great. (Except for that instant classic -- Mary Poppins. No, really.)

However writers vote, there's a legitimate rationale, as long as they acknowledge the level of uncertainty built into every decision. Personally, I'm the situational ethicist. Bonds, Clemens and ARod would get in, after a suitable period in the penalty box, for sustained greatness. I'd vote for Pudge in part because steroids don't appear to enhance defensive ability. Sosa and Palmeiro were both borderline candidates to me, so a nudge backwards drops them off pedestal. The rules on Planet Loopy are: two strikes and you're out. Nix Ramirez.

McGwire can withstand a small steroid penalty, but there does seem to be significant evidence that his home runs were synthetically generated for most of his career. (On the other hand, the reason steroids are illegal is that they are dangerous, and Big Mac suffered a lot of nagging injuries in his career that might have resulted from steroid use. Maybe the added punch and the lost playing time were a wash.)

The bottom line is that we'll never know the whole story. So I'll be cutting everyone a little slack on this, including the game itself.

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My Day At Spitball Stadium

I went to a Major League game at the Ballpark last week. The home nine was taking on the team in dark uniforms for first place in the North. It was quite a tilt.

The opposition's lead-off hitter, facing a 3-1 count, tried to cop a walk by ducking away from a slider on the inside edge. The wily veteran had nothing on the experienced arbiter that day, who called strike two.

He squared on the next delivery and laid a roller along the third base line, which the hot cornerman could only watch roll to a stop. He really exploited the defense. Man on first.

The next batsman smacked a one-hopper to the shortstop who flipped to second. The base runner came barreling in six feet from the bag, cleats exposed. He reached back his hand in a token effort to suggest that second base was his intended destination while he upended the sprawling keystoner, disrupting the relay to first. A hustling team player, he saved the hated opposition an out.

Next up, the dangerous #3 hitter. An inside curve ball bounced beside the plate and skidded into the dugout while the batter insisted to the umpire that he'd been struck. His manager, a cagey baseball man, surreptitiously scuffed the ball against his shoe and raced onto the field with the marked ball aloft. The ump, over-ruled by the evidence, awarded the hitter first base.

First and second, one out. Our hurler was born on a day, but it wasn't yesterday. He worked over the newly-supplied ball meticulously while the next batter took his warm-up swings. Hidden between his ring and middle fingers was a tiny emery board, which he applied to the ball in order to destabilize its path to the plate.

Sure enough, his next three pitches fluttered home in thoroughly frustrating patters, sending the burly cleanup hitter to an early seat back in the dugout. He always has something up his sleeve to keep hitters off-balance! A crucial second out to douse the rally.

The inning ended without incident and our side got its licks.

The first offering from the visiting club's ace made a beeline for our speedy table-setter as he began his swing. He spun out of the way as the ball caromed off him, shaking his aching hand something fierce. He jogged to first while the replays showed the ball had, in fact, ricocheted off his bat. What a great actor! Those are the kinds of intangibles that make him an All Star.

Our number two hitter worked the count to 3-1. A slider fizzed wide of the strike zone, but the catcher had set up wider yet and framed the pitch a few inches lean. "Strike two!" bellowed the flummoxed umpire. It's sublime receiving skills like that that make our backstop one of the best in the game.

With the count full and the runner alight, the lefty-swinger pulled a two hopper to second. The second-baseman scooped the ball and backhanded it towards the bag in one motion, allowing the shortstop to slide his foot across second base, catch the ball six feet into the baseline and rifle a twin-killer to first in the nick of time. It's tough to avoid the double play when Timkers and Evers are out there in middle infield.

Our best man with the stick stepped to the plate and worked the count full before taking a fastball knee high. As the man in blue contemplated whether the pitch had cleared his kneecap, he began trotting to first. That evident confidence convinced the ump to let him go.

That brought up our slugging clean-up hitter. He dug in in the right hand batter's box while the hurler straddled the rubber and looked in for a sign. The runner took his lead as the first baseman awaited a pick-off throw. The outfielders played deep and around to left. The stadium lights twinkled and the...hey, what's that? The first baseman pulled the oldest trick in the book, tagging our runner with the ball hidden in his glove. We were all so deflated as he led his team trotting off the field. End of inning.

It continued in that manner for eight innings. Our crafty closer, who has beguiled the media with winked half-admissions about a Vaseline-aided knuckler -- the wascally wabbit! -- fired BBs past the first two batters and then faced that barrel-chested all-or-nothing pinch hitter who's been dogged by allegations of chemical use. Our fireman bewildered him with a diving slider and an infuriating change-up before leaving a 96-mph two-seamer up in the zone. The masher plastered it into the upper deck in right for the lead.

Cheater! User! The run shouldn't even count! He's bulking up illegally. He should be banned from the Hall of Fame, no matter how many games he's won for this team. It's a blight on the game. It's ruining tradition.

The home uniforms succumbed in the ninth and we dropped to second place. Our manager should protest the game. We can't have cheating in baseball.

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The Man in the Mirror

Do you remember how exciting the '98 season was with Big Mac and Sammy crashing their way through the magical land of Sixtyone? Remember how thrilling it was when McGwire reached out one of his Popeye arms and deposited a pitch just over the opposite field fence and into the record books before embracing the Maris family? Remember how every time he came to bat thousands of camera flashes would sparkle against the summer night?

Remember what cognitive dissonance we all felt when a reporter found androstenedione in Big Mac's locker? Remember how it threatened to spoil the fun? Remember how the rest of the sports media world attacked --  the reporter! -- and how we all breathed a sigh of relief that we had been given permission to ignore the signs that the home run race was artificially sweetened?

We so wanted the history to be made. We wanted to be there for it. We rooted for Mac over Sosa even though Mac was moody and brooding, while Sosa was joyful and effervescent, because the massive redhead was the rightful heir to Ruth and Maris.

Remember?

No, actually, you've forgotten, particularly if you're a voting member of the BBWAA. All week we've heard the wailing, the gnashing of teeth, and of course, what about the children! In the wake of his quasi-admission that he juiced, Mark McGwire has been called everything but a Tonton Macoutes, and seems to have sealed any chance he might have had of winning free admission into the Hall of Fame.

Now I'll give you this: McGwire's mea culpa was overdue, self-serving, semi-graceless and stinking of denial, and the orchestrated Tony LaRussa follow-on was downright mendacious and insulting. McGwire uncorked that old shibboleth about steroids not giving a guy the ability to hit. He flexed that pathetic excuse that he shot up for a decade to recover from injuries. LaRussa insisted he didn't know his slugger juiced, even after McGwire's admission by omission before Congress five years ago. (It's worth noting that LaRussa is a lawyer. He knows what obfuscating sounds like.)

But here's the truth that no one, particularly those 20-year BBWAA members with HOF votes, wants to acknowledge: we're all collaborators. We liked being on the record-breaking train and we didn't want our trip upended by a hormone scandal. More than that, steroid use was widespread, if not rampant, for years, but not a single reporter whom I'm aware of ever documented it. Many of the very best players of the day -- Jose Canseco, Roger Clemens, Andy Pettitte, Mark McGwire, Sammy Sosa, Barry Bonds, Ivan Rodriguez, Miguel Tejada, Jason Giambi and Rafael Palmeiro -- were apparently poking themselves with needles, and not a single reporter knew? Please.

So spare me the righteous indignation. You were in on it. The main difference between you and Mark McGwire is that Mark McGwire has finally taken some responsibility for his role.

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And Then There's Mark McGwire...

He crushed 583 home runs at a .394/.588 clip, the most prodigious home run hitter in Major League history. (A tater every 10.6 at bats.)

He may have also used steroids, as did many of his contemporaries, some of whom we know about and some of whom we don't. Maybe Robbie Alomar and Barry Larkin did.

Without better information, I can't make a judgment about steroid use generally or his in particular. So he's in, with plenty of room to spare.

When you're Babe Ruth's superior in the power game, you're a Hall of Famer.

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...And We All Love Andy Pettite

David Ortiz got a standing ovation last night following a report that he flunked the secret 2003 steroid test. They love them some Big Papi in Beantown, but they hate Manny Ramirez, that traitor who forced a trade to the Dodgers.

Ramirez was caught using steroids this year, but was cheered upon his return from suspension by the fans in L.A. who appreciate how he carried the team to the playoffs last year and the best record in baseball this year. However, they despise that cheating bastard Barry Bonds.

Bonds, of course, led the Giants to relevance and a World Series, and set the home run record in San Francisco, where fans defend him to this day. They won't acknowledge Alex Rodriguez if he manages to beat 762 because he's a lying, adulterous, fraud.

Fans in the Bronx don't much cotton to ARod either, but mainly because he hits into double plays in key situations and has the audacity to be a better player than Derek Jeter. Still, when ARod goes yard to win a game in July, the fans are ready to forgive him...at least for the moment. Don't expect New Yorkers to support Mark McGwire's Hall of Fame candidacy, though. Mr. Andro. Mr. I'm not here to talk about the past.

McGwire has to return to St. Louis if he wants some baseball love. The remember him warmly for making the 1998 so memorable and for embracing the Gateway.

At least everyone can agree that they detest Roger Clemens. It's that kind of consistency of logic that makes the steroid discussion so productive.
b

Baloney Being Baloney

As a former reporter, the part of the Manny Ramirez saga that bothers me most is probably different from the one that bothers you.

I long ago stopped worrying about steroids in baseball. Gaylord Perry cheated his whole career, but I don't recall any0ne ever bemoaning his diminished ethical standard, his abdication of role model responsibility or his unholy tinkering with the record books.

Moreover, we now have a critical mass of Hall of Fame candidates with steroids links: Barry Bonds, Mark McGwire, Sammy Sosa, Alex Rodriguez, Rafael Palmeiro, Roger Clemens, Ivan Rodriguez and now Manny Ramirez. Are we really going to keep them all out? This list includes three of the greatest players of all time.

Contrary to what we've been hearing, Ramirez's suspension is not a black eye for baseball; just the opposite. It shows that baseball drug testing works. In fact, Ramirez didn't test positive for steroids; he got caught trying to hide steroid use. That demonstrates a certain amount of nuance and sophistication in the baseball drug testing.

What bothers me is the disingenuousness and the incredibility of his response. Of course, Manny himself did not respond or in any way face the public for his suspension. His statement was written by his handlers and dispersed to the media without his involvement. Ramirez himself is off to his mansion -- or one of them -- without ever having to answer questions about steroid use. Say what you like about Alex Rodriguez; he at least stood up to the grilling that followed revelations of his steroid use. (The disingenuousness of his answers is also a matter for discussion, but for another time.)

Then there is the utter fatuousness of Manny's claims. It's hard to imagine that Scott Boras and his braintrust of publicists, lawyers and other truth-twisters believed that the statement they released would slow the rush of recrimination. The statement claims that Ramirez was prescribed HCG for an unnamed medical problem. Please.

I'm no chemist, but from what I gather, there is no medical condition for which a world class male athlete would be prescribed HCG. And I'm no psychologist, but I play a human on TV, and were I facing the opprobrium due Manny Ramirez for allegedly committing the cardinal sin of my profession, I would be as specific -- not as vague -- as possible if I had a legitimate defense.

There is something else about his explanation that rankles. It's the newest fauz apology strategy: not taking responsibility by claiming to accept it. The statement asserts that Ramirez must ultimately accept responsibility for his "mistaken" use of this masking agent following a a description of how it was his physician's fault. This is the latest twist on the non-apology apology, in which someone not the least bit contrite regrets that people were hurt. Says mistakes were made. Apologizes to family and friends, but not to the victim. Etc.

I don't really care if Manny Ramirez is using a drug that makes him a better baseball player. I don't really care that Manny Ramirez is full of shit. I am insulted that Manny Ramirez and his entourage cynically expect that I'm stupid enough to believe the steaming pile they have served up for my consumption.

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Pudge, Mr Selig Will See You Now

At the risk of belaboring a subject that's seen more labor than Nadya Suleman, I see the commish has summoned a Mr. Rodriguez, two members of his legal posse and none of his cousins to a private tete-a-tete to hash out some steroid -related issues.

Apparently the baseball brain trust is shocked in a Captain Renault sort of way that one of its stars used drugs in an attempt to improve his performance six years ago. Except for the small detail that league offices have been in possession of Mr. Rodriguez's name all this time, it's easy to understand why it's imperative that they question him now.

No doubt the rug in MLB headquarters will be wearing thin this Spring as the other 103 players, whose names have also been known to the Selig Administration, march to and fro under orders to reveal all.

It's a brilliant PR stunt that serves to obscure the fact that baseball currently has the most comprehensive drug testing program of any of the major sports. And that another exciting season is about to start.

All ARod On Steroids Radio

As I write this, the local sports talk stations have become the All ARod On Steroids stations, the way my favorite music station played all John Lennon songs the day he died. The difference is, Lennon died that day, and he was the only person to die in that particular event.

In ARod's case, assuming there is a case, his positive test took place six years ago and he was among 103 other Major Leaguers to turn up traces of steroids in their blood. We've known all along that 8-10% of players had tested positive. It was the justification for individual drug testing in the first place.

We're acting now as ifwe believed that only scrubs were involved. If only the Adam Hyzdus and Mike Defelices of the game had boned up, we wouldn't be crediting steroids with improved performance.

Even then, the question has to be asked: so what? Steroids weren't against the rules prior to '03. If ARod juiced before '03 and has tested clean since, what's the problem? The system works, right?

That ARod may have tested positive in the preseason of '03 tells us little about what he did in '02 and before. Let's see if we can detect a chemical boost in his performance from his the record. The .298/.396/.600 line are his 2003 stats.

BA     OBP   SLG  OPS+
.358  .414  .631  160
.300  .350  .496  120
.310  .360  .560  136
.285  .357  .586  134
.316  .420  .606  162
.318  .399  .622  160
.300  .392  .623  158
.298  .396  .600  147
.286  .375  .512  131
.321  .421  .610  173
.290  .392  .523  134
.314  .422  .645  177
.302  .392  .573  150

Well, he definitely dipped in '04 to just 31% better than average, so he must have stopped doping then. And that proves that he was benefiting from performance-enhancement in the four seasons of .600+ slugging averages.

Except he proceeded to win the MVP in '05 and '07, recording the highest slugging average of his career in the latter, after baseball began suspending players for positive drug tests. So there's little evidence of anything in his record.

If talk of steroids gives you the vapors, here's a suggestion. Assume anyone who was any good between 1998 and 2005 was hopped up. Every MVP, every All-Star, every 30-HR hitter, every 200-strikeout pitcher. Now the next time a name comes out, you'll hardly notice.

It's instructive to reflect on that period in the world outside baseball and remember that Americans elected and re-elected a President who did blow and got caught drunk driving in years prior. And there's nothing in the record to suggest his performance got any enhancement.

l

Hmmmm...

Major League Baseball has re-tested Barry Bonds' blood sample from the anonymous testing of 2003 and revealed publicly that it had steroids in it...and they're upset about him cheating?

Michael Phelps put the lives of everyone around him in danger when he drove drunk and they want to prosecute him for smoking weed at a party?

Hmmmm.