Four hundred and nine pages.
Eighty-six players.
One fatal injection into the heart of a national pastime’s history.
Baseball will survive the steroid-bloated Mitchell report, which was released today with countless stories of cheating by players, compliance by owners and protection by the union.
Baseball will survive, but Roger Clemens will not.
If Barry Bonds is going to be shunned from Cooperstown and our hearts, then so must Clemens, a Hall of Fame arm who will now forever be remembered for his butt.
“McNamee injected Clemens in the buttocks four to six times with testosterone,” reads the report.
Baseball will survive, but Andy Pettitte will not.
Makes me miss guys like Gary Carter. They broke the mold with him. One of the best catchers ever, great hitter, solid Christian, nicest guy you’d ever meet, clean, and spends his post-baseball career doing charity golf tourneys. That’s the kind of player for kids to look up to. We need more of them.
My wife and I have followed this event in the midst of grading exams and reflecting on the behavior of students in our courses. She remarked that we live in a culture of cheating, and unfortunately there are too many people in high places, including the sports world, who set very bad examples for our youth. Getting ahead by cheating other players through drug use has stained the sport that is our favorite. The integrity of baseball has been badly damaged, and it will take hard work by all in the profession to restore it.
Long ago, professional sports crossed the threshold from athletics to entertainment. This handwringing plea to clean up sports is just trying to put lipstick on a pig. I could care less what multi-millionaire entertainers put in their bodies to give the masses a better show.
I think the jury is still out on what the public will back of this. I am not convinced a lot of sports fans really care. We live in a culture of ethical apathy: as long as you aren’t hurting other people and you don’t get caught, who cares?
OK, yeah, baseball will survive. The sad fact is that bseball has a long history with drugs. At one time, it was tobacco–early baseball cards were put out by the tobacco companies and players hawked their favorite cigarettes, cigars, etc. Then of course,there has been the booze factor. Yes, in recent years the MLB has tried to “cut back and be more diligent”, but every major league ball club still provides its players with a locker room spread that has copious if not umlimited amounts of beer. And let’s not forget the Busch, Uhlein (Miller Beer), Pabst, and Coors families’ involvement with the sport. Steroids? We’ve been “enhancing player performance” artificially and now we will stop…until the next great drug.
The real tragedy of babseball is that it is a wonderful game that gets corrupted early-on when Mommy, Daddy, and Coach stop letting Billy and Bobby and Tommy play and enjoy the game. Suddenly, it’s only about winning. Coach and all the coaches are amazed at the kid who is big for his age, has an incredible arm, and can already hit the ball a country mile at the age of 7 or 8. Now he’s a star and he will be pushed to develop further, to pursue “his” (I mean Mommy’s, Daddy’s, and Coach’s) dream of the mjors. Since mOmmy, Daddy, and especially Coach know that there’sa greater chance for him to get hit by lightning, win the lottery, or find the cure for cancer than make ti to “the Show”, he will be encouraged to work on his “conditioning” with weights, clinics, viatmins,a nd all sorts of other substances to help him play better. Protein shakes, vitaimins and minerals, or steroids: who cares as long as it gets the job done. Love of the game? Come on, we’re talking millions but only for a 5- 7 year run. What Coach won’t tell Johnny and Jimmy and Bobby, much less Mommy and Daddy, is that professional caliber athletes are not made,nor trained; they’re born. And if Mommy, Daddy, and Coach would just let the kids play, and learn the game, and love the game, maybe we would not have the latest rogues gallery of Bonds, Clemmons, et al, whose names do not belong engraved on any trophy but, at best, tatooed on a horse’s behind!
I wrote my further thoughts on this matter on my blog since they were too long for a comment here.