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LOCAL COMMENT: Don't strike the stats
Whether with corked bats, uppers or spitballs, players have always sought edge
April 5, 2005
BY TOM STANTON
This opening day, you didn't see any Tigers flaunting their muscles the way Rocky Colavito did in his day.
Forty-five years ago, Colavito, playing in his first season with Detroit, made a show of stretching in the on-deck circle at Briggs Stadium. The defending home run champion clutched a bat behind his shoulder blades, forced it back and thrust his chest forward. He looked fierce and powerful, and soon 10,000 Michigan kids were trying to look just like him.
But today, after a spring campaign dampened by a steroid storm, no ballplayer wants to draw attention to his physique. Thick necks, broad torsos and bulging biceps have fallen out of vogue. They make a man seem as suspect as, well, any home run record set since 1997.
The scandal now scorching the major league landscape has been fueled by former star Jose Canseco's mostly nonfiction book, "Juiced." But it didn't start there.
For more than a decade, baseball observers have been grumbling about inflated slugging statistics. A 50-home-run performance used to be a rarity. From 1930 to 1994, players reached that plateau only 14 times; in the last 10 seasons, they've done it 17 times. Clearly, something has changed.
When Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa surpassed Roger Maris' record in 1998, we celebrated the moment -- even while arching our eyebrows. When Barry Bonds trumped McGwire three years later, we wondered whether more than mere talent and good fortune were involved. Could the ballplayers of this generation really be that much better than those of yesteryear?
Leaked steroid test results and grand jury testimony validated our concerns. In response to media demands, baseball officials took modest steps to address the problem and hoped the controversy would dissipate. Then Canseco's revelations struck, inspiring a congressional hearing that saw this era's biggest players swearing to tell the truth before the nation.
Now what?
Some critics want to attach asterisks to the achievements of McGwire, Bonds and lesser idols thought to have benefited from performance-enhancing drugs. Cleanse the sport, they say. As a fan who has been savoring the sport for most of his life, I am saddened to see the game I love soiled and shamed. But we should not assign scarlet stars. If we begin footnoting the honors of those who cheated, where will we stop?
Before steroids, many big leaguers of the 1960s and 1970s illegally took amphetamines to "pep up" their performances. Should their records be reconsidered? How about the forbidden spitballs of wet-master Gaylord Perry? They greased his path to Cooperstown.
And given Denny McLain's history, might there not be a question or two about his 31 victories in 1968, a mark no one has since equaled? Closer to my own heart, what about Norm Cash's 1961 batting title? He swung a corked bat that year. But we wink and chuckle at the thought because we loved Stormin' Norman. He kept us smiling through a dozen-plus summers.
Steroids, of course, present a more serious challenge because of the health issues. We should not diminish the use of drugs, but if we truly want to rid baseball of steroids, we can do it by enacting stiff penalties for players who test positive: a yearlong suspension for the first offense and permanent expulsion for the second.
As Barry Bonds closes in on Babe Ruth's magical 714 home runs and then takes aim at all-time champion Hank Aaron's 755, the calls for action will intensify. I would hate for the record of an honest player such as Aaron to be stolen by a cheat. But I would hate more for baseball officials to formally erase the chase.
Baseball fans argue issues tirelessly. Our grandfathers debated whether Ruth was better than Ty Cobb, and we still haven't settled that one -- or, more recently, whether Aaron and Willie Mays eclipsed both of them.
Rid baseball of steroids, but leave it to us to sort the legitimate triumphs from the tainted exploits -- to weigh the significance of the infractions. We can handle it. Confiscating ill-gotten statistical gains would destroy more than it would resolve.
Under oath in the U.S. House on March 17, McGwire practically took the Fifth. He neither denied nor confirmed that he had used steroids, but he grew teary eyed before pledging, "I will use whatever influence and popularity that I have to discourage young athletes from taking any drug ... not recommended by a doctor."
No, we shouldn't strip McGwire or the others of their numbers. But if any of them is actually sincere about delivering a potent message to our youth, he could start by stripping himself of his "achievements."
That would be a truly bold statement with immense and welcome repercussions.
TOM STANTON lives in New Baltimore and is author of "Hank Aaron and the Home Run That Changed America." Write to him in care of the Free Press Editorial Page, 600 W. Fort St., Detroit, MI 48226.
Whether with corked bats, uppers or spitballs, players have always sought edge
April 5, 2005
BY TOM STANTON
This opening day, you didn't see any Tigers flaunting their muscles the way Rocky Colavito did in his day.
Forty-five years ago, Colavito, playing in his first season with Detroit, made a show of stretching in the on-deck circle at Briggs Stadium. The defending home run champion clutched a bat behind his shoulder blades, forced it back and thrust his chest forward. He looked fierce and powerful, and soon 10,000 Michigan kids were trying to look just like him.
But today, after a spring campaign dampened by a steroid storm, no ballplayer wants to draw attention to his physique. Thick necks, broad torsos and bulging biceps have fallen out of vogue. They make a man seem as suspect as, well, any home run record set since 1997.
The scandal now scorching the major league landscape has been fueled by former star Jose Canseco's mostly nonfiction book, "Juiced." But it didn't start there.
For more than a decade, baseball observers have been grumbling about inflated slugging statistics. A 50-home-run performance used to be a rarity. From 1930 to 1994, players reached that plateau only 14 times; in the last 10 seasons, they've done it 17 times. Clearly, something has changed.
When Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa surpassed Roger Maris' record in 1998, we celebrated the moment -- even while arching our eyebrows. When Barry Bonds trumped McGwire three years later, we wondered whether more than mere talent and good fortune were involved. Could the ballplayers of this generation really be that much better than those of yesteryear?
Leaked steroid test results and grand jury testimony validated our concerns. In response to media demands, baseball officials took modest steps to address the problem and hoped the controversy would dissipate. Then Canseco's revelations struck, inspiring a congressional hearing that saw this era's biggest players swearing to tell the truth before the nation.
Now what?
Some critics want to attach asterisks to the achievements of McGwire, Bonds and lesser idols thought to have benefited from performance-enhancing drugs. Cleanse the sport, they say. As a fan who has been savoring the sport for most of his life, I am saddened to see the game I love soiled and shamed. But we should not assign scarlet stars. If we begin footnoting the honors of those who cheated, where will we stop?
Before steroids, many big leaguers of the 1960s and 1970s illegally took amphetamines to "pep up" their performances. Should their records be reconsidered? How about the forbidden spitballs of wet-master Gaylord Perry? They greased his path to Cooperstown.
And given Denny McLain's history, might there not be a question or two about his 31 victories in 1968, a mark no one has since equaled? Closer to my own heart, what about Norm Cash's 1961 batting title? He swung a corked bat that year. But we wink and chuckle at the thought because we loved Stormin' Norman. He kept us smiling through a dozen-plus summers.
Steroids, of course, present a more serious challenge because of the health issues. We should not diminish the use of drugs, but if we truly want to rid baseball of steroids, we can do it by enacting stiff penalties for players who test positive: a yearlong suspension for the first offense and permanent expulsion for the second.
As Barry Bonds closes in on Babe Ruth's magical 714 home runs and then takes aim at all-time champion Hank Aaron's 755, the calls for action will intensify. I would hate for the record of an honest player such as Aaron to be stolen by a cheat. But I would hate more for baseball officials to formally erase the chase.
Baseball fans argue issues tirelessly. Our grandfathers debated whether Ruth was better than Ty Cobb, and we still haven't settled that one -- or, more recently, whether Aaron and Willie Mays eclipsed both of them.
Rid baseball of steroids, but leave it to us to sort the legitimate triumphs from the tainted exploits -- to weigh the significance of the infractions. We can handle it. Confiscating ill-gotten statistical gains would destroy more than it would resolve.
Under oath in the U.S. House on March 17, McGwire practically took the Fifth. He neither denied nor confirmed that he had used steroids, but he grew teary eyed before pledging, "I will use whatever influence and popularity that I have to discourage young athletes from taking any drug ... not recommended by a doctor."
No, we shouldn't strip McGwire or the others of their numbers. But if any of them is actually sincere about delivering a potent message to our youth, he could start by stripping himself of his "achievements."
That would be a truly bold statement with immense and welcome repercussions.
TOM STANTON lives in New Baltimore and is author of "Hank Aaron and the Home Run That Changed America." Write to him in care of the Free Press Editorial Page, 600 W. Fort St., Detroit, MI 48226.
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