Who cares about steroids in baseball? You should

 

Dennis Taylor On Baseball

 

 

In my dream, I'm in a classroom, ready to take an exam that will affect the rest of my life. I gaze around the room and notice that I might be the only student in the class who isn't prepared to cheat. Everybody else seems to have an answer sheet.

 

Since the test will be graded on a curve, I realize I don't have much of a chance. I can't compete with the curve-busters unless I cheat, too.

 

Thank goodness it was only a dream. If I were a steroid-free baseball player, trying to keep my job in the major leagues, the problem would be very real.

 

That's why most baseball players should be delighted -- not upset -- that Major League Baseball is under siege from the media, baseball purists, federal prosecutors and the U.S. Congress over the mushrooming steroid scandal.

 

What a great game it would be if fans could be certain that cheating wasn't rampant. What a great game it would be for players -- from high school on up -- if they knew they didn't have to fill their bodies with performance-enhancing drugs to compete with the guy at the next locker.

 

A startling number of talk show callers are defending the 'roiders and vilifying Jose Canseco, who names names in his book. That's no surprise. We live in a strange culture where, for some reason, a rat is lower on the food chain than a skunk.

 

People dismiss Canseco as a liar for claiming he was an eyewitness to Mark McGwire's steroid use -- yet they believe Barry Bonds when he claims his life-long friend and personal trainer, Greg Anderson, hoodwinked him into using steroids. Bonds says he was told by Anderson that a cream-like substance was a balm for arthritis, and a clear substance was flaxseed oil. Meanwhile, Jason Giambi says the same man gave him the same substances, readily identifying them as steroids. Golly, that sounds logical, doesn't it?

 

But if we believe Bonds, and dismiss Canseco, then we can blissfully ignore the possibility that baseball's most-revered record -- Hank Aaron's 755 home runs -- will be obliterated someday soon by a person who cheated.

 

Bonds told the media, "I don't know what cheating is." If that absurdity is true, somebody in a position of great authority should clearly define it for him -- and everybody else in baseball -- so there are no more misunderstandings.

 

Talk-show callers are screeching, "Who cares? We love to watch home runs -- end of story." Such membrane-shallow thinking ignores the fact that Major League Baseball's greatness is its history. The game's long-term appeal is in Joe DiMaggio's 56-game hitting streak, Denny McLain's 31-win season, Ted Williams' .406 batting average, Aaron's homers and the pursuit of those benchmarks. If Roger Maris' 61-homer season was bettered by a bionic man, the significance of that record has been lost forever.

 

Apologists for steroid users accurately argue that other performance-enhancing drugs -- amphetamines -- have been in baseball clubhouses for decades. That ugly truth reinforces Major League Baseball's traditional willingness to look the other way. The game has never effectively policed itself, and its newest policy on steroids -- still outrageously lenient -- is the latest example.

 

So, who cares? I do. I don't want my grandsons to feel the need to use steroids, at any level, to compete with their peers.

 

Who cares? Big-league players should. If the game can be cleaned up, they won't have to put their health at risk anymore.

 

Who cares? You should. Integrity matters. Without it, a great game loses every bit of relevance.

Who cares about steroids in baseball? You should

 

Dennis Taylor On Baseball

 

 

In my dream, I'm in a classroom, ready to take an exam that will affect the rest of my life. I gaze around the room and notice that I might be the only student in the class who isn't prepared to cheat. Everybody else seems to have an answer sheet.

 

Since the test will be graded on a curve, I realize I don't have much of a chance. I can't compete with the curve-busters unless I cheat, too.

 

Thank goodness it was only a dream. If I were a steroid-free baseball player, trying to keep my job in the major leagues, the problem would be very real.

 

That's why most baseball players should be delighted -- not upset -- that Major League Baseball is under siege from the media, baseball purists, federal prosecutors and the U.S. Congress over the mushrooming steroid scandal.

 

What a great game it would be if fans could be certain that cheating wasn't rampant. What a great game it would be for players -- from high school on up -- if they knew they didn't have to fill their bodies with performance-enhancing drugs to compete with the guy at the next locker.

 

A startling number of talk show callers are defending the 'roiders and vilifying Jose Canseco, who names names in his book. That's no surprise. We live in a strange culture where, for some reason, a rat is lower on the food chain than a skunk.

 

People dismiss Canseco as a liar for claiming he was an eyewitness to Mark McGwire's steroid use -- yet they believe Barry Bonds when he claims his life-long friend and personal trainer, Greg Anderson, hoodwinked him into using steroids. Bonds says he was told by Anderson that a cream-like substance was a balm for arthritis, and a clear substance was flaxseed oil. Meanwhile, Jason Giambi says the same man gave him the same substances, readily identifying them as steroids. Golly, that sounds logical, doesn't it?

 

But if we believe Bonds, and dismiss Canseco, then we can blissfully ignore the possibility that baseball's most-revered record -- Hank Aaron's 755 home runs -- will be obliterated someday soon by a person who cheated.

 

Bonds told the media, "I don't know what cheating is." If that absurdity is true, somebody in a position of great authority should clearly define it for him -- and everybody else in baseball -- so there are no more misunderstandings.

 

Talk-show callers are screeching, "Who cares? We love to watch home runs -- end of story." Such membrane-shallow thinking ignores the fact that Major League Baseball's greatness is its history. The game's long-term appeal is in Joe DiMaggio's 56-game hitting streak, Denny McLain's 31-win season, Ted Williams' .406 batting average, Aaron's homers and the pursuit of those benchmarks. If Roger Maris' 61-homer season was bettered by a bionic man, the significance of that record has been lost forever.

 

Apologists for steroid users accurately argue that other performance-enhancing drugs -- amphetamines -- have been in baseball clubhouses for decades. That ugly truth reinforces Major League Baseball's traditional willingness to look the other way. The game has never effectively policed itself, and its newest policy on steroids -- still outrageously lenient -- is the latest example.

 

So, who cares? I do. I don't want my grandsons to feel the need to use steroids, at any level, to compete with their peers.

 

Who cares? Big-league players should. If the game can be cleaned up, they won't have to put their health at risk anymore.

 

Who cares? You should. Integrity matters. Without it, a great game loses every bit of relevance.

708309[/snapback]

Well Said

Could you please provide a link or credit the original article?

Could you please provide a link or credit the original article?

708583[/snapback]

I found the link.

 

http://www.montereyherald.com/mld/monterey...ts/11119601.htm

 

Anyways, that was a good article.

Yet no one cares about the juiced ball.

 

 

Slightly off-topic, but do you think there'd be more attention on the recent steroids revelations if ballplayers and fans had more in common financially and socially like before the free agency era? Just seems fans and journalists of the present era have a distaste for professional athletes, and athletes now live secretive lives which can lead to believe the worst of them.