The Daily Procrastinator

It's a beautiful day for a new era in baseball.

Fans, rejoice!  Donald Fehr, head of the MLBPA, is resigning.  As the head of the union, Fehr has done his best to drag the sport through the mud with his campaigning against tougher drug policies in the sport.  And we all know how well that worked out, right A-Rod and Manny?

Now, if we can just get Bud Selig to join him, maybe there will be some hope for saving the sport for future generations.

It’s been a big week for Major League Baseball.  First we heard that A-Rod has “allegedly” been using steroids since he was a teenager, and now Manny Ramirez gets a 50-game suspension for testing positive for human chorionic gonadotropin, or HCG, which can be used to boost testosterone levels (he swears he wasn’t cheating, but it’s only real legitimate use is in boys with delayed puberty; at 36 he’s well past his awkward teen years).

A beautiful day to get juiced at the ballpark.

If you listen to the sports buzz, you’d think that this was all a startling revelation.  You’d think that the journalism that brought us the A-Rod story was risk-taking and cutting edge.  You’d think that Major League Baseball was taking a hard line against doping.

You’ll forgive me if all that I can manage is sarcastic “woohoo.” 

This is all coming two decades too late.  Impossible, you say?  My grandmother, a rabid baseball fan who knew just about everyone who passed through Veterans Stadium, was talking steroids with baseball scouts in the early 1990s.  It’s now 2009.  Are we supposed to be surprised by all of this?

I grew up with baseball.  I love baseball for what it meant to my family, my childhood, my history.  But the game that stands before me today is a shadow of its past, a sport that’s been ruined by winks and nods and silently accepted cheating (yes, MLB commissioner Bud Selig and Don Fehr, head of the MLBPA, I’m looking at both of you with my customary sneer of disgust and chronic desire to kick you both in the teeth).

I’m thrilled to death with Manny’s suspension, if for no other reason than my sincere hope that the salary withholdings significantly cut into the income of his agent, Scott Boras, known for negotiating mega-deals for his clients (like A-Rod’s ridiculous $252 million/10 year deal).  Coincidence that he also represents A-Rod?  I think not.  Let’s hope that his drug-fueled gravy train is about to derail.

For some additional reading on the subject, here are some scathing words from the Boston Herald.  

Just fooling around here a bit: I’m neither ambitious enough nor knowledgeable enough about the game itself to parody the entirety of Eliot’s poem.

For John Updike, a baseball poet.

APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding
Snowdrop out in Arizona, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Pennant thoughts with spring training.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with free agency rumors.
Percival surprised us, shunning Steinbrenner
For a fever of Rays; we stopped at the stadium,
And went on to Friday’s, into the Biergarten,
And drank our brews, and talked for an hour:
“How can you be a Yankees fan? You’re from Boston!”
And when we were children, watching our heroes,
My brothers, we went out to the park,
With our father. He said, Michael,
Michael, hold the ball light. Like an egg.
In the ballpark, there you feel free.
I read SI, much of the night, and watch ESPN in the winter.

What are these fans who whistle, what people show

Support for this ‘roidy rubbish? Son of man,

You cannot say, or guess, for you know only

A heap of broken idols. Steroid-fueled feats,

Bonds deserves no pinch runner, Clemens no relief,

And the spot light glares on all. Only

There is shadow within this diamond

(Come in under the shadow of this diamond),

And I will show you something different from either

Your chemical fed athlete hiding behind the MLBPA,

Or your money-led mercenary driven by dollars, not team;

I will show you joy in a child’s game.

Frisch weht der Wind

Der aubenfeld

Mein fanger,

Was hast zeichen?

“Ripken gave us hyacinths first ten years ago;”

“We called him the Iron Man.”

–Yet when he retired, late in ‘01, from the O’s,

His arms weary, though his soul not spent, we could not

Speak, and our eyes wept. He was neither

Mercenary nor cheat, and we knew something,

Looking into that heart of might, the silence.

Oed’ und leer das Verband.

Where have you gone, Cal Ripken, Jr.? A nation turns its lonely eyes to you. Baseball needs its heroes. America needs baseball.

The sixth tool.

I don’t give a rat’s ass about baseball.  All apologies to Tallgirl, but to me watching a baseball game is comparable to watching paint dry.  Although there is something to be said for going to a ballpark, drinking some beer, and eating really bad food.

Regardless, my non-fan status has allowed me to enjoy seeing baseball rocked by these steroid revelations, particularly after Mark McGwire’s theft of the Roger Maris’ single season home-run record, followed shortly by Barry Bonds’ usurping of same, not to mention Bonds’ despoilment of Hank Aaron’s career home-run record.  And then, Roger Clemens (who I always kind of suspected of being a scumbag) is uncovered as a cheat and will likely face perjury charges in the near future.

And then the coup de grace:  Alex Rodriguez, baseball’s golden boy, is forced to admit that he used steroids.  But let’s take a look at his admission.  According to A-Rod (or A-Roid, or A-Fraud, etc.), he only used steroids during the 2001 – 03 seasons when he was with the Texas Rangers.   As he explained it:

“When I arrived in Texas in 2001, I felt an enormous amount of pressure. I felt like I had all the weight of the world on top of me and I needed to perform, and perform at a high level every day.”

I’m calling bullsh*t on this entire defense.  If this type of explanation passes muster, then I should be permitted to use a Ritalin/cocaine combo so that I have the focus and energy to meet my billable hours requirements during my day job.   Further, it is mighty convenient that he limits his use of steroids to his time in Texas (although it seems that using steroids was a job requirement for the Rangers players).

But personal feelings aside, let’s see if his professed “admission” should put baseball fans’ concerns at rest by taking a look at his time on his consecutive teams (as set out in a sidebar item in the February 15, 2009 edition of the Fort Worth Star-Telegram):

Seattle:  No steroid use here.  He was just a natural back then, when in 1998 he became only the third player to go 40-40.  Oh, who were the first two?  Jose Canseco and Barry Bonds.

Texas: Yes, A-Rod used steroids.  But it was just to help him in a very pitcher-friendly home ballpark and so he could handle the high-stakes, pressure cooker that is Arlington, Texas.  <sarcasm mode off>

New York: No, no steroids now.  Those 48- and 54-home-run seasons were just Yankee magic.  By the way, in the 85-year history of Yankee Stadium only one other righty had a 40-homer season:  Joe DiMaggio (and only ONCE).

Alex Rodriguez’s “admission” is a sham.  But from what I can tell, baseball fans are just eating this up and willing to let it all go.   Never mind that all of these records being broken come at the expense of others who preceded these frauds.

I’m just glad I’m not a baseball fan.

I grew up with baseball. It’s been a part of my life and my family since my first visit to Veterans Stadium in the 70s. Like any lifelong relationship, baseball and I have had our ups and downs. We were no longer on speaking terms after the 1994 strike, and only gradually, over time, did I return to a position of sentimental appreciation, even though I no longer follow the season and stats closely.

The recent news from Sports Illustrated that Alex Rodriguez tested positive for the use of performance-enhancing drugs in the 2003 season of “confidential” testing is not surprising. Major League Baseball, led by Bud Selig, and the players’ union, led by Donald Fehr, have worked together to craft the weakest drug policy in all of professional sports. The two groups appear to have a longstanding agreement that the league would look the other way as long as the big hitters kept delivering longballs to keep the fans in the stands. But much to their surprise, the plan backfired.

Barry Bonds pursuit of Hank Aaron’s home run record was met with shrugs instead of fanfare. Congressional inquiries, tell-all books and trainer accusations left the public sentiment ranging from something between lukewarm indifference at best, and outrage at worst. An entire generation of the sport has been tainted. In the post-1994 period, it seems that more players were juiced than clean. While we long suspected as much, seeing the list of confirmed names is disappointing.

So what now for A-Rod? He’s locked in to a long-term contract with the Yankees, so his future isn’t in jeopardy. What’s at risk is his reputation. His response to the revelations will forever influence public opinion and the legacy that he leaves behind when his time on the field has passed. Will he address the charges head-on like Andy Pettite, confessing, apologizing and moving on, or will he go down in history defiant, forever tarnished by the stigma of the lie, like Roger Clemens or Barry Bonds?

I have no doubt that A-Rod has been spending the past several days entrenched with agents, lawyers and players’ union reps, trying to craft statements that address the charges. After all the lies, I have a suggestion for him: give honesty a shot. Nothing will ever change what has been done, but history may be more likely to judge him kindly if he stands up and takes responsibility like a man rather than evading the truth like a weasel.

Maybe if he talks to the fans openly, honestly and apologetically, he’ll manage to maintain a legacy that reaches beyond his teammate-inspired nickname of A-Fraud.