PEDs, Again

Performance Enhancing Drugs. Perhaps the most complicated issue that has ever invaded the game of baseball. Six days after the Mitchell Report was released, the matter has only gotten more complicated. Let's start with the statistics. Baseball is, after all, more about the numbers than any other game. Numbers are history. They define the legends, the very goods, the adequates and the Chico Esquelas (I saw a picture of Garret Morris this week, in honor of his turning 70 this year!). Now that we know that the pitchers were gluteus maximus-deep in the steroid pool as well as the hitters, are we to have more respect for the home run totals? Should we just disqualify those numbers beyond age 37 or 38 (standard decline time for over 125 years of baseball) that saw individuals getting better into their mid-40s? Should every user be Joe Jacksoned or Pete Rosed? But even those banned for life still have their numbers in the record books...and the numbers are what's cooked with PEDs.
Mentioning Pete, I don't want to hear from him about this. If Pete had any integrity, he would have owned up to betting on the Reds in 1989, owned up to an addiction, asked for baseball's help in getting through treatment. If he had done those things, he might still be banned, unable to work in baseball, but I'd bet (pun intended) that his placque would hang in Cooperstown today. Americans love nothing more than the fall of the high and mighty, followed by the phoenix-like rise of the fallen. I'm so skeptical of Pete at this point that it wouldn't surprise me if we someday found out that he really didn't bet on baseball, and only admitted doing it to get another book contract (My Prison Without Bars, $24.95 at a bookstore near you! Surely remaindered for $.99 by now.) For all of that, he is right, however. PEDs skew the on-field result. They mess with the game in a way that he never did. And yes, no known steroid user can possibly be inducted at Cooperstown ahead of Pete Rose.
Another issue: we still don't know the extent of the matter. Apparently all the teams have Kirk Radomskis, and most of the players have one or more Brian McNamees. And with the movement of Free Agency Era players, names and phone numbers of eager, willing assistants have obviously been passed from millionaire and would-be millionaire to the next 250 of the same. There can be no possible accurate accounting of how many of who did what when it comes to PEDs. This may be the reason that Senator Mitchell advocated the amnesty that he recommended. Since you can't name them all, how can you selectively punish some? Bud? Are you listening? Anyone? Anyone?
As for individuals, how bad does Andy Pettitte's confession make Roger Clemens look? In fact, the more people who own up to McNamee's role in their behavior, the more the Rocket looks like he has a faulty fuse. But I don't want to let Pettitte off the hook just yet. Baseball players are pretty smart as professional athletes go, and it is clear that the new crop of identified users has studied up on the idiocy of the original crew. Only Clemens seems to be reenacting Raphael Palmeiro's finger-wagging, "I never did it" routine. No one has suffered Mark McGwire's amnesia or Sammy Sosa' misplacing of his English. Instead, Pettitte, Brian Roberts and Fernando Vina (trying to hold onto his ESPN gig) have each acknowledged, and framed, their usage. Pettitte and Vina tell stories of using to get well, to be able to get back from injury to help their teams, and allowing bad judgement to aid their recoveries. Brilliant! How much better would Big Mac be remembered if he had said that as his foot-woes became worse in his late 30s, he felt he owed it to the good fans of St. Louis to try to play every day as people drove in from all over the Mid-West, spending their hard-earned money to see him hit. And it was wrong, and he wished he hadn't done it. I'll tell you what would have happened: Cal Ripken and Tony Gwynn would have had a big, redheaded third at last July's induction ceremonies. The agents and publicists have these guys much more prepared to respond to the embarassment and fear of being exposed in 2007.
Then there is Bonds. Again, Barry isn't under federal indictment because he used steroids or HGH. He is facing trial and jail time because when he was asked by the feds about his behavior, he lied to them. As with Marion Jones, learn the lesson: tell the cops what you did. None of the current crop of baseball players is going to be stupid enough to lie to the authorities like Bonds did. Even Clemens will tell the truth if some special prosecutor puts him on the stand under oath. After all, Jason Giambi may have gotten booed in Yankee Stadium and everywhere else after his grand jury testimony, but the Giambino will never see the inside of Leavenworth over steroids.
At the same time, Bonds' performance has regained some amount of credibility. If only hitters had been using, and the poor pitchers were all under assault by these swelled-headed, hulking, testicularly-shrunken louts, then nothing's been a fair fight since about 1990. But if the pitchers were shooting up with something resembling the same amounts and frequencies, then the hitters weren't so far ahead of them. As the old saw holds, you can't compare the numbers of different eras; never more true than today.
The numbers also raise the issue of awards. Curt Schilling wrote today on 38pitches.com that Clemens should forfeit the 4 post-1997 Cy Youngs if he was a user. Here's the best example I know of. (At this moment, a disclaimer is needed: Albert Pujols has not been publicly accused. That's all that can be said.) In 2001, Pujols finished fourth in NL MVP voting. He finished behind Bonds, Sosa and Luis Gonzalez, three men widely associated with PEDs. Albert was second to Bonds in 2002 and 2003. He was third in 2004 to Bonds and Adrian Beltre, another widely suspected player. Albert won the MVP in 2005. Now, there's an argument to be made about who would have gotten the votes if these guys hadn't been in the running, but it certainly is a possibility that Albert Pujols would have won the National League MVP award in each of his first five seasons if the illegal substances had not been in play. What would such an incredible accomplishment have meant to a guy who is not known (today) to be dirty? How do you undo the injury he has suffered? The Olympics have a history of awarding medals to the highest finisher who didn't cheat. Should baseball do the same? It makes a good deal of sense.
No matter how ready I am to see this settled and done, we are a long, long way from that point. And it sure looks to me like this will remain the biggest story in baseball for another year or two, minimum.