Showing posts with label steroids. Show all posts
Showing posts with label steroids. Show all posts

Wednesday, January 26, 2022

Strike Three for Barry Bonds


 





 

Switching briefly to another sport, two NFL quarterbacks that I'm pretty sure will be in their own league's Hall of Fame retired after their final games this season. Both of them made it to the playoffs in their final season but not quite to another Super Bowl. One of them had such a remarkable career that I wouldn't be surprised if they made his image into a league logo someday. I wrote a blog post about the other guy once. Both of them, the latter in particular, stood in the way of my Jets winning a championship (in the seasons that they were actually halfway decent) time and time again. No hard feelings though. Bon Voyage Ben and Tom!






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Tuesday, August 14, 2012

IMAGINE

Several years back I used to write a monthly sports column for Suite101.com. For a good while after I moved on to other things my collection of articles remained archived there. Eventually the archive was eliminated. Quite a few of my articles were picked up by other outlets so can still be found online, but many of them vanished for good. The majority of these pieces were time sensitive, pertinent to a particular event. But a number of them are relatively timeless because the world of sports, much like the world at large, often operates in a cyclical manner. Yesterday’s news revisits today’s front pages and then fades away only to return again…and again…and again. When I wrote about the relationship between steroids and high profile athletes I did not bother to name names. Sports fans will recognize who I’m referencing in most if not all of the cases. But the names are basically interchangeable, as are the sets of circumstances. The primary difference between them is that some were caught red handed and with others there is a sliver of room for doubt. Ben Johnson, Barry Bonds, Roger Clemens, Marion Jones, Lance Armstrong, Manny Pacquiao, Alex Rodriguez. There have been many others. There will be many others. Tests to catch them will grow increasingly sophisticated. New concoctions will be created to temporarily stay one step ahead of officials. Some athletes will be caught and proven guilty. Some will be caught and acquitted due to lack of sufficient proof. Some will never be officially accused, merely speculated about. Some we’ll remain clueless about. Round and round it goes. And so I’m reprinting IMAGINE here at A Line A Day because even though I wrote it way back in the day, I may as well have written it ten minutes ago…or ten years down the line.






Imagine if you are a fanatic about professional wrestling. You watch with baited breath as your heroes do battle against their arch enemies. The combatants are bigger than life. There is something quite theatrical about their outlandish personalities, costumes, and storylines. The bad guys are so obviously bad, the good guys somehow overcome tremendous adversity and stacked odds to prevail time and time again. Yet nothing about this strikes you as suspicious, much less preposterous. Perhaps you are still too young and naive to be jaded. That will come later. Imagine if you are a true believer in the muscle bound men who defy gravity and logic, only to be told one day that it's staged, a scripted carnival act choreographed for your entertainment. Imagine how you would feel when this deception was brought to light. Imagine the sense of betrayal, the end of your innocence.

If that scenario doesn't disturb you, then try any of the following on for size, because unlike professional wrestling, there has never been any question that these sports are supposed to be for real.


Imagine if you found out that your favorite boxers were on the take, their bouts rigged from the outset by gangsters who control the sport you love. Imagine discovering that your favorite shoeless ballplayer and his teammates were bribed to throw the World Series for fast cash. Imagine if the player you most admired due to his grit and hustle was a gambling addict who bet on his own team's games when he became a manager.

If you can imagine all of that without your heart breaking, then perhaps we should move beyond history and on to current events. Imagine if players in the sport you love are growing bigger, faster, stronger, and better by the day. Imagine if they easily demolish records that had seemed set in stone and capable of withstanding the test of time. Imagine idolizing these men who take to the field of play with their bats and gloves and perform one amazing feat after another. Imagine if you believe you are living in a time when several of the greatest men ever to play the game are simultaneously demonstrating their out-of-this-world abilities, surpassing the milestones of the game's legends. Imagine how exciting this would be. Imagine how riveted and uplifted you would be. Imagine how lucky you would consider yourself to be. Imagine the wonderment that would fill your soul at the crack of the bat and soaring of the ball into the blue yonder.

Imagine now if those many blasts over the right, left, and centerfield fences turn out to have been artificially produced.

Imagine if the world's fastest couple was merely the world's most doped up couple, running not so much on adrenalin as on pharmaceuticals. Imagine if the accusations turn out to be true, that you've been deceived, that the pursuit of excellence you admired was chemically assisted. Imagine if those world records and Olympic medals are tainted.

Imagine if it all turned out to be a mirage, nothing but smoke and mirrors. Imagine if you invested your hopes, lived vicariously through the exploits of these men and women, were crushed by their losses and exhilarated by their victories, only to learn that it is nothing but a drug induced fabrication. Imagine if you come to realize that you have not been witnessing the glorious acts of extraordinary athletes, but rather, the remarkable results of steroid use. Imagine if your role models are proven to be cheaters and liars. Imagine if you no longer feel you can trust your eyes. Imagine if you decide to stop admiring and aspiring to be like these athletes, because they have proven themselves to be little more than con artists. How would you feel?

Imagine.


Points of views other than my own fence straddling one: This article is cynical about intents of the media rather than athletes regarding steroid accusations.

This writer thinks it likely that Usain Bolt (but not Michael Phelps) was the doping star of 2012 Summer Olympics.












Question of the day: Should Pro sports leagues just give up and allow PEDs?

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Thursday, October 11, 2007

Over the hill gang OR Mature like fine wine?
























Two years after knee pain forced him to walk away from the NBA, Allan Houston at age 36 is trying to make it back with the New York Knicks, a team he led to an improbable berth in the 1999 NBA finals. If ever a team was in need of a Christian influence and a consistent jump shot, it would be the Knickerbockers. And if he ends up needing to play with a cane, he should still be no worse than the third weakest defensive player in orange and blue on the court at any given time.

Vinny Testaverde won the Heisman Trophy the same year his new Carolina teammate Dwayne Jarret was born. He was the No. 1 overall pick eight years before the Panthers entered the NFL and has thrown more passes (several of them as a 2-time member of my beloved and beleaguered New York Jets) than have been thrown in Carolina's history. He's also nearly four years older than his offensive coordinator. Yet the soon-to-be 44-year-old Testaverde — the man nicknamed "Dad" by his new teammates — will not only be in uniform but could very well start this Sunday for the banged-up Panthers at Arizona, going up against a Cardinals team that he turned down an opportunity to play for because of its farther distance from his family in New York City. Starting at quarterback for Arizona will the 36-year old Kurt Warner who is currently playing at close to the Pro Bowl caliber of his younger days, a surprise to everyone but himself.

Another athlete who would not be surprising himself this weekend if he emerges victorious is Evander Holyfield. At age 44 he is attempting to win his fifth heavyweight crown and envisions himself unifying all of the major championship belts before finally retiring from boxing (and committing himself fully to dancing with fellow stars?) for good.

I wish all of them luck and hope they are exhibiting better sense in pushing their bodies to the limit than the latest poster child for illegal steroid use (No, I’m not referring to Barry Bonds. No, not Floyd Landis either) - the lovely but sadly immoral Marion Jones.
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Wednesday, August 8, 2007

He's not one away any more


The big one has been hit. Barry Bonds and San Francisco fans seemed to enjoy the momentous occassion just fine. The commissioner Bud Selig was absent, but the great Willie Mays was there and even Hammerin' Hank Aaron participated in commemorating the historic event (though not in person). Until and/or unless it can be proven otherwise, Barry Bonds is the legitimate home run king of Major League Baseball for however long his reign lasts.
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Tuesday, August 7, 2007

One Swing Away - Do you even care?






How strange it must feel to be Barry Bonds, a man who is on the verge of immortality yet scorned at every twist, turn and epic homerun along the way. He is in such a unique position that it may be beyond comparison. Has any other professional athlete ever been so reviled while in the process of rewriting the record books? None jump to mind. Race pioneers such as Jackie Robinson and Hank Aaron may come closest, particularly Aaron who was the recipient of death threats as he closed in on the homerun record held by the beloved Babe Ruth. However, the hatred aimed at him was mindless, based strictly on his race rather than his actions. Surely he felt the scorn aimed at him, but he was entitled to dismiss it as the viewpoint of the unenlightened. On the other hand, those who take issue with Barry Bonds have considerably stronger legs to stand on when they shout him down for being a liar and a cheat. Once he owns the Major League Baseball home run record, they will also declare him to be a thief, in possession of what he did not legitimately earn. Hard proof of his steroid use may not be in hand, but circumstantial evidence is in such abundance that it’s impossible to ignore. Outside of his home stadium, the most positive feeling to be found amongst sports fans about Bonds’ assault on baseball’s most cherished achievement is massive ambivalence and lukewarm apathy. Aaron and Robinson may have been looked upon angrily in baseball fields across the land, particularly those below the Mason Dixon line, but they had plenty of people (not just fans of their particular teams) pulling for them as well. They were genuine heroes, practically mythological. As for Bonds’ exploits on the field of play, many words are being used to describe them: suspect, fraudulent, reprehensible, shameful, staggering, impressive, unforgettable, irrelevant. The term heroic is rarely among them.

Barry Bonds most likely did nothing worse than what many of his peers did. Steroids do not enhance one’s hand-eye coordination or increase the ability to differentiate between a 90 mph pitch that will be an inch out of the strike zone and one that is ripe for the picking. Bonds was a tremendous player back when his body type allowed him to easily fit through door frames. Before he ran roughshod over the single season “vitamin” fueled homerun record that Mark McGwire was barely done receiving congratulations for, way back when he could pee in a cup on any given day without an ounce of concern, Barry was a specimen of excellence at his chosen profession. He is not responsible for the strike that drove many away from his sport and kept them away even after both sides of the table came to reluctant agreement. The surpassing in popularity of professional football and basketball over that of our national pastime cannot be placed on Bary Bond’s improbably wide shoulders. It was not his decision to spur the rejuvenation of baseball by causing more runs to be scored (especially via the long ball) by shrinking the strike zone and juicing the ball. When it comes to dishonesty, it should be noted that he also did not invent sign stealing, spitting on or scratching a ball with sandpaper, or any other form of cheating that has been employed practically from day one by countless players in cleats and caps. At worst, he gave himself an unnatural advantage that many of those around him were also enjoying the benefits of. Barry Bonds simply got a better return on his investment than most because he was a better player than most to begin with.

Nevertheless, he races (not so fluidly as in the past, but still effectively) to the top of the heap playing the role of villain rather than godlike figure that fathers implore their sons to be just like. No doubt had Bonds been more personable throughout his career, the press would have chosen to cover his story in a more flattering light. Since sports scribes and sportscasters are largely responsible for shaping the perception of fans, it is entirely possible that if he was a more charming interview, the world would be preparing to sing his praises and pronounce him the undisputed greatest of all time. Instead Barry stubbornly plays on through his aches and pains and minimal chance of postseason play, mostly cheered at home, verbally abused elsewhere, preparing to break a record that has belonged in the classiest of hands for the past three decades. Hank Aaron knows a thing or two about excelling in hostile terrain. Jackie Robinson did too. You could even throw John Rocker in there if you wanted to, though for very different reasons. Like Rocker, Ty Cobb was considered to be quite a jerk, though only the latter was an all time great. Another all time great, Pete Rose, did not bring heat and wrath upon himself until well after his playing days. But when it comes to demonstrating that one is the best at what he does while simultaneously considered by so many to be the very worst of what sports is about, there is no other perspective quite like that of Barry Bonds. To walk a mile in his shoes would be an interesting stroll indeed.


My fantasy scenario for Bonds' record breaking homer has him lofting a fly ball that initially appears to be a sure out before being caught by a fortuitous gust of wind. The nearest outfielder adjusts to the ball's altered flight pattern by making a hasty backtrack towards the fence. Even with Mother Nature lending a hand, the arc of the ball shows the hit to be of less than historical proportion. In trying to gauge how close he is to the wall however, the outfielder finds himself off balance as the ball makes its descent, throwing the timing of his attempted catch a fraction off. This causes the ball to pop out of his glove and over the fence for a blatantly "assisted" home run.

- Roy Pickering (author of Feeding the Squirrels)


http://www.synergebooks.com/ebook_feedingthesquirrels.html
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