Columns

Cheated like many, hit like no one

By JOHN ROMANO
Published November 30, 2006

The straw polls tell me I'm a fool.

Those shouting loudest seem to suggest I might be gullible and naive. Or, even worse, that I lack integrity or common sense.

And, perhaps, they have a point.

You see, I have come down on the unpopular side of a contentious issue. I have chosen to cast a vote for Mark McGwire for the Hall of Fame.

It has taken weeks to reach this decision, and I'm still not comfortable with it. But I have decided, essentially, that I'd rather be permissive than pious.

Who knows, maybe by tomorrow I'll change my mind. And feel free to tell me why I should. The ballot does not have to be returned until the end of December, and I will be happy to read any alternative views.

Until then, I suppose I will continue wrestling with questions that, instead of producing answers, lead only to more difficult questions.

The basic issue, of course, is whether McGwire should be penalized as a suspected steroid user. And I say suspected only because I'm not supposed to say damn.

Few of us have doubts about whether McGwire dabbled in performance-enhancing drugs. There is not enough evidence to convict, but there is ample room to condemn. And based on those suspicions, the majority of Hall of Fame voters seem inclined to dismiss McGwire's candidacy.

It's a legitimate argument. No one wants to reward an athlete for taking shortcuts. Perhaps more to the point, no one wants to be played for a fool.

And, regrettably, most of us were. We bought into the fable of McGwire-as-mythic-hero. His biceps were huge, and his heart was wide. He hit all the right notes with the family of Roger Maris on his way to 70 home runs in 1998, and he handed over a $1-million check to his foundation for abused children.

None of those points has changed today, but our perception of McGwire certainly has. The rumors of steroid use have grown larger by the year, and culminated when McGwire essentially pleaded the fifth before a Congressional subcommittee in the spring of 2005.

So, yes, it seems reasonable to conclude that McGwire has something to hide, and that something was probably administered via syringe.

If you choose to base the entire Hall of Fame argument on that premise, it makes sense to exclude McGwire. Though he did not technically break the rules - steroids were not a banned substance in baseball until two years ago - he appears to have violated the spirit of fair play.

But here's my problem:

Where do you draw the line?

If you keep McGwire out of the Hall of Fame because you're 98 percent certain he used steroids, what do you do if you're 75 percent certain about Roger Clemens? Or anyone else, for that matter?

If we were not suspicious enough a few years ago, we are overly suspicious today. And, frankly, I believe hundreds of players were probably using performance-enhancing drugs from 1995-2005.

But why stop there? Long before steroids became an issue, generations of major-league players were abusing amphetamines. And though greenies did not have the same impact as steroids, they were performance-enhancers nonetheless.

And what of the pitcher who scuffs balls? Or the hitter who uses a corked bat? Or the manager who steals signs? Aren't they all various forms of cheating?

McGwire was a skinny, presumably drug-free, 23-year-old when he hit 49 home runs as a rookie in 1987. I'd bet steroids helped him maintain his strength in 1998, but I'm not smart enough to know how many more home runs he hit because of drugs. The only thing I know for sure is no one else knows either.

That's why I finally came to this conclusion:

The best way to measure a player's performance is to compare it to the era in which he played.

For instance, Cy Young won 511 games while Whitey Ford won 236. Yet both are in the Hall of Fame. Why? Because in Young's day, pitchers threw several times a week. In Ford's time, it was common to throw every fourth or fifth day.

The 1960s were dominated by pitchers because the mound was higher. The 1970s and '80s became jackrabbit baseball because of artificial turf.

And the 1990s, we now know, were baseball's steroid era.

Brady Anderson went from 16 homers in 1995 to 50 the next season. Richard Hidalgo went from 15 to 44. Players such as Tony Batista, Rafael Palmeiro and Bret Boone went from gap hitters to power hitters almost overnight. And several players saw their careers fall off abruptly with the introduction of drug testing.

We will never know for sure who was on steroids and who was clean, but what is indisputable is baseball went through a power explosion in the mid '90s.

From 1984-93, baseball had roughly .83 home runs per game. In only one season did it exceed more than one home run a game. The next 10 seasons, the average leapt nearly 25 percent and never dipped below one homer per game.

What's my point?

Steroids were in vogue in the 1990s, and Major League Baseball officials chose to ignore the signs. It may not have been right, but it is a reality.

So the only way I know how to judge McGwire is by his performance in comparison to his era and his peers. And McGwire's power was something to behold. It was more fun to watch McGwire in batting practice than to see most every other player with the game on the line. He was a rock star at a time when baseball was desperately seeking an audience.

I was at Busch Stadium the week McGwire caught and passed Maris, and I can still close my eyes and recall the scene. The ovations. The Maris family. McGwire nearly missing first base, and hoisting his son high in the air near home plate.

Maybe some of his muscles were artificially gained. Maybe some of his home runs were the byproduct of something synthetic.

But when I recall the moment, it seems real enough.

John Romano can be reached at (727) 893-8811.

[Last modified November 30, 2006, 02:07:24]