A-Rod and the Resurgence of the Steroid Era

I am heartbroken. I’m sitting here, despairing and inconsolable, the tapping of the keys the only sound in my lonely little world. I am heartbroken. And you ought to be too. For you should be mourning, just as I am, the loss of the great love of our lives.

Oh, we had a great relationship, didn’t we? We had the best of times. The best. Sure, we had our difficult moments, like in the Autumn of 1919, when White turned to Black and Joe wouldn’t say it wasn’t so. For the most part, however, it was as happy a marriage as one could ever have hoped for.

Then it all went wrong. The people who could’ve prevented the last decade form happening didn’t, and we not only saw the love of our lives fall apart before us, but we also saw the most cherished and sacred thing we owned taken from us and the relationship was put on life support.

You should, of course, know of what I speak. In 1961, the world watched as Roger Maris went yard again and again. They watched with a sense of jubilant anticipation. Because they knew what it meant. What 60 meant. What 61meant. It was something that linked them to the past, to the era of the Godlike Bambino.

In 1973, the world watched as Hank Aaron closed in on the record. They watched with bated breath, knowing what was going to happen but not ever quite able to believe it. Because they knew what it meant. What 714 meant. What 715 meant. They were no longer just a spectator at a ballgame, they were a witness to the rewriting of history.

In 2007, we watched again, this time as Barry Bonds inched his way through the 700s. But we felt no jubilant anticipation. Yes, we felt a link with the Bambino, but only as a bitter reminder of what the sport used to be like and what it used to stand for. Because we knew what it meant, what 755 meant. What 756 meant. It meant that cheaters do win.

The life support machine was faltering, but wait! We still had hope. There was one man who could save us; save baseball. He was going to be the man who won back the all-time home run record and showed every one that guys who play clean can be better than those who don’t.

Then along came Sports Illustrated and swept the rug out from under our feet. By now, I’m assuming, you’ll have heard the news. If you haven’t, here’s the headline: Alex Rodríguez tested positive for two anabolic steroids during the anonymous sampling in 2003. Now, for the moment, let’s ignore the fact that there are 103 other names on the list, besides A-Rod. Let’s also forget that these tests were done as a survey to see how prevalent substance abuse was in the Major Leagues and that no one was ever meant to find out the names of those on the list. There is a much more worrying thing to consider: The effect this will have on the Hall of Fame.

In this year’s Hall voting, Mark Maguire, who broke Maris’ record in 1998, was on the shortlist of eligible players. And he fell short – way short – of the 75% needed for induction. Even if he was to triple his vote count by this time next year, he’s still be 50 votes shy of the target. And when Bonds is eligible in a few year’s time, I expect the same will happen, and it will likely be the same with Rodríguez. So in twenty years, we may enter the Hall of Fame only to find the names of some of the greatest and most important players of all time missing.

The all-time hits leader, Pete Rose, will not be in the Hall of Fame.

The man who broke Roger Maris’ record will not be in the Hall of Fame.

The man who hit 60 home runs in three separate seasons, Sammy Sosa, will not be in the Hall of Fame.

The man who is third in strikeouts, Roger Clemens, will not be in the Hall of Fame.

The man who has currently hit more home runs than anyone else in history will not be in the Hall of Fame.

The man who will probably break that record and may even reach 800 career homers will not be in the Hall of Fame.

You see, baseball has always had a sort of importance attached to it. Steroid use is rife in the NFL but you never hear people talk of it because that’s part of football’s history. But that the same use of performance enhancing drugs should be so commonplace in baseball? We just can’t accept that.

Which is why we’re faced with such a dilemma over the Hall. Football players known, or at least strongly suspected, to have taken steroids have been admitted to the Pro Football Hall of Fame, but even the slightest suggestion that a baseball player may have done the same and his name is sullied forever.

The way I see it, we have two choices. Either we can allow Bonds, Maguire, Rodríguez, Sosa, Clemens et al. into the Hall or none of them. But we cannot let, say, A-Rod and Sosa in and not Bonds and Maguire.

However, while there may be widespread support for banning them from the Hall, there’s also a problem. Cooperstown is, above all, a museum. A physical display of the history of baseball. When we take our kids and grandkids along, years from now, what are they going to see? Or, perhaps more importantly, what are they not?

If there is no place in the Hall for people like Bonds and A-Rod, why does it even exist? Yes, I concede that it would make a mockery of the likes of Ruth, Robinson, Williams, Young, Mantle and Mays to give people like Bonds the same level of praise as the other 289 inductees. So how about this: either on their plaque or at least somewhere in the Hall, there should be written: “This was the Steroid Era. Make of that what you will.”

If we don’t do something like that, if we either ban the best players of our generation or give the cheaters and clean players the same level of commendation and acclaim, then that special feeling that made baseball seem to tower above all other sports will be lost. And that life support machine might finally be turned off.

Forever.