Comments Elsewhere: the Morality Police

I frequently comment on other blogs, and usually somewhere around the 3rd or 4th paragraph I wonder why I don't just make the tome a post over here as well. So I'm finally making my verbosity work double duty.

Over at Hardball Talk, Craig Calcaterra responded to some nonsensical chatter that the BBWAA makes for a suitable morality police squad. The discussion is interesting—not so much the argument over the factual reliability of history books in the United States public education system, but more the part about the issue at hand. Here's my response in the discussion of a post that accurately describes the case made by many writers over the infamous Character Clause, but one that ignores the rules applied to the rest of a player's credentials:

“That means that voters are asked not merely to decide if there is something “negative” in a player’s record, but whether he deserves to be enshrined BASED on his integrity, character, and sportsmanship. This invites a qualitative assessment, and suggests that players significantly deficient in these areas ought not to be admitted regardless of their other accomplishments.”

Except you (and voters who make this argument) fail to mention what the standard is for enshrinement in those areas. The Bible? The Constitution? Emily Post’s Etiquette, 17th Edition? Some voters are defiant that any cheating is grounds for dismissal. Others are at a loss to define it for themselves, begging the Hall to clarify or give some statement as to how to determine how to weigh integrity and sportsmanship.

It baffles me. Just use the same methods employed in baseball statistics: compare the player’s record with the record of his peers and that of other HOF members. Are McGwire and Bonds lower forms of life than the untold throngs of their contemporaries who cheated in the exact same way and competed against them? Does a steroid user have less integrity and weaker character than the amphetamine users, ball doctors, and racists who are currently enshrined? Because that’s the precedent. That’s the slope that thus far has proved anything but slippery.

If perfection is the standard, clear out the Hall. If being a really, really good person who never played a dishonest inning is the standard, There should still be dozens of ejections. But that’s not the standard. It’s not close to the standard. Anyone with an open and slightly functioning brain should be able to recognize the obvious standard: gambling is the only unpardonable sin baseball has ever formally recognized. Cheating successfully has long been greeted with open arms. The voters are changing that policy, and THAT is the slippery slope.

Obviously there's a big difference between ethical and moral standards in general and the standards historically applied when considering a player's Hall of Fame candidacy. I'm not arguing there was nothing wrong with PED use, I'm just saying it's foolish to pretend that PED users established a new low or that HOF members represent baseball's moral elite. No one truly thinks that even a little bit, except when they consider their HOF ballots.

I Propose A Moratorium On PED Discussion Until Everyone Reads This

Bill James makes it plain why the purist hubbub over PEDs is revisionist myopia and why the federal investigation is just plain stupid.

Here's a sample:

First of all, I have absolutely no doubt that, had steroids and other performance-enhancing drugs existed during Babe Ruth's career, Babe Ruth would not only have used them, he would have used more of them than Barry Bonds. I don't understand how anyone can be confused about this. The central theme of Babe Ruth's life, which is the fulcrum of virtually every anecdote and every event of his career, is that Babe Ruth firmly believed that the rules did not apply to Babe Ruth.

It only gets better from there.

Almost forgot, h/t to mb21 @ ACB

Remembering Sosa When It Meant Nothing (ACB)

I had the privilege of posting over at Another Cubs Blog last night, adding to a series they had done last summer in honor (yes, honor) of Sammy Sosa. One of these days I'll get the hang of this blogging on multiple sites, but my rampant disorganization and random motivation have ganged up on me lately—so I'm just now getting around to linking to that post. Here it is, in all its slow-developing glory.

I'm working on a few other posts, so those should be coming up in the next few minutes hours eons days, so stay tuned.

Random Cubs Facts, Opinions, Fabrications, and Outright Diversions

Firing Jim Hendry is a bad idea.

Jay Leno is not as unfunny as people give him discredit for. He's also not as funny as Conan.

1998 was the best year of my adult life. The home run race was a part (nowhere near all) of that. I wouldn't change a thing.

If the Cubs win the World Series this year by cheating, I will celebrate until I collapse in an unethical heap of exasperation.

If the Cubs win the World Series this year through methods of interrogative torture that cross lines even Jack Bauer wouldn't step over, I would have second thoughts.

I do not endorse cheating, torture, illegal steroid use, or the designated hitter.

Wrigley Field is unique and one of my favorite places in the world. So is the house I grew up in, but I'm glad my parents remodeled.

If Wrigley had a JumboTron that could replay controversial calls, they'd have to stop the game every other inning to rid the playing field of angrily discarded beer cups.

Everyone's at least a little racist.

Ryan Theriot isn't getting any better.

Put an @ before someone's user name to make sure they read your tweet. Use @@ to attack them with a giant 4-legged robot.

Going two-sies in the Wrigley troughs is a breach of etiquette.

The best Cubs-related movie of all time is Die Hard.

Dick Stockton will be the play-by-play guy for every Cubs 1st-round playoff game from now until the end of time.

I looked up the word curse in the dictionary, and I don't see a single definition that doesn't apply to the Cubs.

I love the Cubs, I hate the Cardinals, but to each his or her own.

Former players are entitled to their opinions about steroids, but I expect them to be no more objective than they were when they argued with umpires.

Parking at Wrigley has the exact same cost-to-pain ratio as getting a root canal.

Just once I'd like to catch a foul ball at Wrigley Field.

Alfonso Soriano will be great again.

Carlos Zambrano is the best Cubs pitcher, and he's worth every penny.

The Cubs will win it all in my lifetime.

I am not to be trusted.

Pujols Impressions

When I saw the situation, I knew and everybody in the world knew what was going to happen. Bases loaded. Two outs. Albert Pujols at the plate in the 10th. Cardinals leading 8-7. 0-2 count. . . . Against the Mets.

The grand slam came as a shock to absolutely no one. It wasn't the game winner, but it was assurance to Cub fans everywhere that A) the Cubs would have to share 1st place with the Cardinals for one more day and B) Albert Pujols is ridiculous.

Now some people claim there's no way Albert Pujols is on steroids. To me, that's the cry of hope drowning out the voice of reason. But it doesn't matter. Pujols is playing on a level playing field against other men who all want to win, to succeed, to put up gaudy numbers, and to be the best. And right now, those other men look like boys. In their eyes, Albert Pujols is in another league of manhood.

In the eyes of my son, however, Albert Pujols is just a funny name. At the Cubs game last week in which Randy Wells seemed to be coating his pitches with fly-ball repellent, I was trying to teach my almost-six-year-old son one of the finer points of the game. Koyie Hill was up with two outs, and even on their way to a 12-0 win, the Cubs would really like to see him reach base so that Randy Wells could bat this inning and turn the lineup over for the next. Randy Wells, I said, isn't the best hitter in the world.

"So who is the best hitter in the world?" my son asked.

Here I faced the first of several moral dilemmas: Do I tell my son the truth, or do I let my disdain for all things Cardinal cloud my answer? Reluctantly, I blurted out the truth: "Well, I hate to say it, but he plays for the Cardinals. It's Albert Pujols."

Instantly, my son burst into irrepressible belly laughter. Between loud giggles and desperate gasps for air, he managed to repeat with inquisitive hilarity, "Poo holes? Poo holes?!!?"

And then came the next moral dilemma: Do I laugh with him at Albert's unfortunate given name, or do I tell him to A) not make fun of people for their names and B) avoid the scatological humor (a lesson at which I'm a horrible example)? I did my best. After all, my wife was watching.

"Son," I said, trying to suppress my own giggle-snorts, "I know it's a funny sounding name, but it's not nice to make fun of people's names like that. Be nice, and use nice words."

He laughed. A lot. He's a restless little boy, and that joke kept him in his seat for three innings. (When he needs to make someone laugh, he'll ask, "Hey, do you know who plays for the St. Louis Cardinals?" I can't stop him.) But he did soon ask me if . . . that guy, was really the best hitter in the world.

Next dilemma: Do I tell him about steroids? Do I take advantage of my son's impressionable mind by filling him with more anti-Cardinal prejudice? Or do I gloss over what I believe to be reasonable suspicions to protect that part of his innocence left untouched by Pujols jokes? I tried to be honest:

"Yeah, he's the best. Some people think he cheats, but it's pretty hard to prove either way."

"How could he cheat?"

"Taking special medicine. Kind of like if Harry Potter took Felix Felicis before a Quidditch match."

"Oh." Then he paused and reflected for a moment, thoughtfully, deeply. "Poo holes! Bwah!"

That Pujols grand slam brought back this story, because I realized so much of baseball is our perspective. What are we watching? What do we hope to see? What do we fear? Our expectations and biases and viewpoints can drastically alter what we see and how we experience the game.

There are still two full months of baseball left, but Cub fans are scoreboard watching as if 101 years hang on every game. It's probably not the best approach. It's exacerbated by the virtual tie with our nemesis.

Even the rivalry brings out some of the worst in us: the urge to demean and deride the other team and their fans (guilty); the temptation to stick pins into our Matt Holliday voodoo dolls (I'm waiting); the tendency to equate the Cubs with good and the Cardinals with evil. Even the steroids issue often hinges on the damage a new revelation would inflict: I'd get some satisfaction seeing a using Cardinal outed, but I would instinctively defend any Cub who got named.

I guess it just helps to remember that these are people. Not gods, not devils. It's best not to worship them or hate them. Sit back, enjoy the game for what it is, and turn your attention and passion to things that truly matter.

Like teaching your kid to stop shouting, "Poo Holes!!!" in mixed company.

Keep (the rest of) the List Sealed

David Ortiz, Manny Ramirez, Alex Rodriguez, and Sammy Sosa are on The List. We're still missing a lot of names. Should we just reveal the rest?

Imagine for a moment that your bank had its entire database of customer information raided: Social Security numbers, account numbers, passwords, past transactions. Good news: they only stole a limited segment of customers, only those with credit ratings below 600. Bad news: your credit has taken a pretty big hit in the last year, and you're pretty sure you're on the list.

Good news: the government managed to seize the list before the bad guys could do anything with the info. Bad news: the government turns out to be even worse than the bad guys, and they start leaking names from the illegally obtained confidential data. Worse news: your bank is big, and as it turns out, the list includes a couple of big name people with big-time credit problems.

Maybe the worst news of all: every financial pundit in America is blaming the people on this list for the bad economy, and they're demanding the entire list be revealed, just so they can clear the air and move on with their lives (as if that would be easier if they only knew the names of all the Citibank customers with bad credit).

I'm guessing if your name was on that list, you would want it kept a secret. And you'd have every right. We happen to live in a country that professes to value the rights of people. While "innocent until proven guilty" matters very little in the court of public opinion, it still is supposed to carry considerable weight when it comes to the law. If your financial records (or your drug-test records) are legally protected, they should stay legally protected. Prior illegal breeches by government officials, lawyers, and journalists shouldn't change that.

Alright, let's hear it. That's a totally different example because ______. Let me guess how one might fill in that blank.

People with bad credit didn't do anything wrong. The evil, cheating steroid users did.

Uh, technically, no. While illegal steroids are, well, illegal and were therefore banned under MLB's pre-2002 "memo from the commissioner" drug policy, not all performance enhancing drugs (PEDs) are illegal.

As heavyweight hitman, Bronson Arroyo makes somewhat clear, androstenedione (andro) wasn't banned in baseball until 2004 and was sometimes tainted with steroids. This January, two over-the-counter dietary supplements were found to be laced with steroids. Players on the list need not have broken any MLB rules or any laws. They could have landed on the list by taking legal, over-the-counter products.

And don't forget: you don't have to be taking steroids to register a positive test. Just ask the Vikings' Williamses about that one. They tested positive for a steroid-masking agent not listed on the label of the weight-loss supplement StarCaps. If the MLB test in 2003 didn't include masking agents, innocent guys like the Williamses wouldn't have tested positive. Of course, if the MLB didn't test for masking agents, mega-guilty steroid users could easily mask their steroid use, making the 2003 list far from comprehensive.

The limited reliability of the 2003 list (not to mention the anonymous sources behind the slow trickle of big names from it) assures me that it is not The List. It's a list. The biggest (and most widely accepted) lie in all of sports is that the 2003 list contains the names of every active player in 2003 who had ever used steroids. Barry Bonds was not on The List, but the government retested his sample and found steroids (paragraph 4 in link)—hey, what do you know!?! The list was proven inaccurate and incomplete before a single name was leaked!

To release this list in its entirety (and fallibility) would compound the injustice done against the privacy of those names already leaked. Say what you want about steroid users, but submitting to a drug test is a pretty significant concession of trust. They are being penalized more for their trust than for their violation of any rules. It is the scum who betrayed that trust—those who failed to destroy the samples and the records; those who embarrassed the legal profession by leaking private information; those who report that information but not the identity of their dirty, spineless informants—who are being rewarded. No one deserves to learn the rest of the names. A lot of people deserve to be punished for their actions surrounding those names.

But remember this: the list tells us nothing about the sport of baseball. Knowing the whole list would give the public a patently false sense of security about the steroid era. Because it's not the whole list. So many users profess to using for a brief window of time. There are probably hundreds of users for whom the 2003 test was outside their window of experimentation. There may have been dozens of regular users who stopped using during 2003 in the vain hopes that the number of positive tests would fall below the threshold necessary to implement a permanent drug-testing policy.

Mark McGwire was out of baseball at the time. Barry Bonds didn't even make the list. Jose Canseco would probably be a more reliable source about steroid use than this list or anyone who has seen it. I don't want to see this list any more than I want to talk to Jose Canseco. The list was supposed to be destroyed as soon as it was created—good luck doing that now, but whoever attempts to reveal any more of it should be ashamed.

UPDATE: ANOTHER OPINION

There are a couple of interesting new posts over at Midwest Sports Fans. One is an open letter to the cheating liars who used steroids, in which Jerod suggests it would be beneficial for all past PED users to come clean. I'm not sure why any of them would. The only ones who seem to have anything to fear are the ones who tested positive in 2003. He also claims that a few guys have done the right thing and been honest about what they did. A) I doubt anyone has been completely honest about what they've taken, and, again, B) I don't know why they would. According to just about every steroid confession ever (save Jose Canseco) no one has ever used PEDs for more than a couple of days.

Yeah, the honesty flows like sweet wine.

The second post is a collection of speculations from other bloggers about which Hall of Famer may have used steroids or other PEDs. This one is more about the business of blogging, speculating, and reporting (and then chastising, condemning, and denying).

I think the whole thing has become a farce. So much talk about ethics, morality, and integrity, so little talk about baseball. Yet this has become the stuff that determines the Hall of Fame now and the subject of blogs and sports talk radio (including this site read by several).

Isn't it game time yet?

Day-Off Reflections: Sammy

It's been over 10 years since Sammy Sosa first entered the 60-homer stratosphere, and nobody really celebrates that anymore. It hasn't been a full 8 years since he last hit 60 home runs in a season. It has been nearly 5 years since his early exit from the final game of the 2004 season, and for some reason that's the image of Sosa that seems to linger in Cubbie memory. And the release of the Mitchell Report was just a year and a half ago, but most people have apparently forgotten that Sosa's name wasn't on it.

There has never been any hard evidence linking Sammy Sosa to steroids. The obvious one—the simple fact that he hit a ton of home runs and they went a really long way—is a fair enough point, but that's hardly damning testimony. The usual argument I hear is, "Look at the pictures. Compare Sammy the twig from his early years with Sammy the hulking hero circa Y2K, and the difference is stunning."

Here's the problem, anonymous hypothetical accuser: the photos don't incriminate Sammy.

The above link (and the following link) is a Chicago Tribune photo gallery of Sammy Sosa over the course of his career. I expected it to show me a wiry Sosa no bulkier than the average Jheri Curl. And I expected the '98 photos to be bursting with musclebound, acne-ridden Sosa power. And, of course, I expected the photos from his final years with the Orioles and Rangers to show a completely deflated version of the fallen slugger.

What I saw instead was an early photo of the same glowing, goofy smiling head supported by a neck that was just as thick in the late '80s as it was in the mid '00s. He was definitely skinner as a kid, but not as much as I imagined. And he was ripped in '98, but not huge (the SI Cover of Sosa and McGwire, photo 11 in the gallery shows just how much smaller Sosa was than McGwire in height and bulk). To be frank, his legs looked like tree trunks pretty much his whole career. And in his last few years in baseball, Sammy didn't look skinny . . . he just looked like a dude in his late 30s who had kind of let himself go a little.

I've heard other people talk about Sammy's injury history, which I don't understand at all. From 1997 to 2002, Sammy played in at least 150 games every season, including two years ('97 and '99) in which he played 162 games. Sammy was a horse who made every effort to play every day for most of his career.

Here's what I'll remember about Sosa:

• Sammy played hard and performed at a high level from the instant he stepped out of the dugout and raced into right field.
• He seemed to be able to hit home runs at the most dramatic moments (if not the most important ones from a baseball standpoint): his flag-waving homer in the first game after the 9/11 attacks; later that season, he homered the day after Arne Harris died; in his first game back in Chicago after leaving the Cubs, he doubled and homered against the Sox; again with the Rangers, he hit his 600th career homer against the Cubs).
• Every at-bat was important to Sosa. For him, the show was always on.
• He couldn't cork a bat to save his life; seriously, that thing was a mess. If that's how he cheated, his idea of taking steroids would likely involve poking his biceps with a sewing needle dipped in berry juice.
• He became too big for his own good . . . but what do you expect when a guy gets worshipped for six years straight?

I guess I just feel like Sammy got the shaft. If he gets excluded from the Hall of Fame because of his association with the Steroid Era, I just want to know . . . where's the association?

A-Roid

At this point, no revelation in the Major League Baseball steroid scandal can come as a shock to anyone at all familiar with it. In fact, the parade of new names being linked to performance enhancing substances in sports has drawn on to the point of tedium.

So Sports Illustrated's breaking news about Alex Rodriguez testing positive for anabolic steroids and testosterone in 2003 (and this is breaking news . . . really?) has failed to unearth the foundations of my own personal grasp on reality. The guy used to be a bean pole, albeit a very talented one. Then he turned into a very talented hulking specimen of a man. Judging by the photos and the stats, it's not at all difficult to believe A-Rod was on the juice. And Jose Canseco warned us it was so; we'd be fools to ignore his word.

Perhaps the biggest news of all in the report is the simple fact that the 2003 drug tests were supposed to be anonymous. That was the agreement between the players' union and MLB--nobody gets named. It was a drug test test, supposedly. MLB wanted to gauge how many players were raging with 'roids, and if it was more than 5% of guys on the major league level, both sides would agree to mandatory testing across the board.

But when federal investigators searched the lab containing the records, they were able to name names--this never should have happened. In a true anonymous test, there should be absolutely no record of whose sample is whose. Both MLB and the union should have insisted on providing their own clinicians to monitor the analysis to ensure accuracy and anonymity. They should have stipulated that the results of the tests be destroyed after a judgment was made on their results.

They should have, if they wanted to get away with their organized criminal fleecing of the sports world, been a little bit more organized in their crime.

Alas and alack, just like any crime movie worth its bloody betrayal scenes, the players, their trainers, and the owners and commissioner of Major League Baseball never really trusted each other enough to collude effectively on the steroid issue. They tried, though. 

As SI's story points out, Union chief Gene Orza allegedly tipped off A-Rod about upcoming steroid testing, just in time for him to get clean when it was his turn to step up to the cup during the 2004 for-real-this-time tests. And who tipped off the head of the players' union? Only MLB people knew about it, so . . .

And the idea of anonymous testing in 2003, that was a brilliant bit of PR chicanery. "Hey, we're working together to get a program in place . . . one that gives everybody one last chance to use substances that have been banned since 1991! Yay for us!"

Because let's face it: the steroids era worked out for everybody for about 15 years. More homers. More fans. More money. Same primo level of zero accountability, as long as we stick together. They almost got away with making the public believe testing was serious while allowing it to continue (as long as you were a Messiah-level hero who, with a little chemical assistance, had the talent to rescue baseball from the anabolic mire, of course).

But they didn't stay together. MLB had the testing done . . . nymously. Several people armed with either a conscience or a monetary motivation have leaked all kind of information: about Bonds' grand jury testimony, about the NY Mets clubhouse, about A-Rod's name being on this list of 104 players who tested positive in '03, and about everyone Jose Canseco ever shared a stall with . . . the leakage goes on and on. Many people were smart enough to document their roles in the conspiracy that likely included everyone from the commissioner of baseball to the beat writers covering the Royals. There is a paper trail, a syringe trail, a urine-filled vial trail, that tells a story much more detailed than the Mitchell report. 

This is a Clint Eastwood film where no one is clean, but not everyone will bear the consequences. So why does this Cubs blogger care about it? Because it's only a matter of time before some Cubbie names show up on someone's records somewhere . . . probably starting with that list of 104 positive tests from 2003. The players' names will continue to generate the buzz, distracting our attention from the really wicked ones who continue to get away with their sins.

The writers are the cowards . . . they're about 10 years too late with this story that has been bulging for the taking, untouched for far too long. The government . . . idiots. They have allowed baseball and the sporting world in general a colossal free pass that has just pulverized the trust of fandom in general. And the owners . . . oh, the owners are the evil geniuses (comparatively) and Bud Selig is the mastermind. To hear him say it, MLB came down swiftly on the steroid issue the moment they first sniffed the clear on Barry Bonds' breath. But I'd be shocked if he wasn't pulling the strings of the entire operation a la Vince McMahon, the WWE CEO who practically forced his superstars to juice up--and got away with it, free, clear, and rich.

The only members of that group who could possibly redeem themselves are the writers. If they could somehow expose Bud Selig for who he is . . . if they could stop bowing down to his throne long enough to investigate his and the owners' roles in allowing and even encouraging substance abuse . . . then I would forgive them. Then the Hall of Fame credentials they bestow on former players might have some meaning. Then, and only then, would I begin to trust a single word written or spoken by a Baseball Writer of America.

Maybe then, when baseball's terrorists are brought to justice, I could begin to trust this game for the first time since I was a boy.