Release program
So, who will it be in September?
October?
January?
March?
It’s impossible to say, but this much is for sure: The next baseball player to be named on the supposed lock and key list of 104 is going to bring with him yet another slew of high and mighty judgments from writers, bloggers, and radio hosts.
At this point, which makes you more nauseous about the whole situation, your disappointment in the players involved, or the endless wave of opinion that baseball has (had?) a steroid problem?
Gee, really? And I thought today would be the day I wouldn’t have to towel off after showering because the water wouldn’t be wet.
That’s not to say there wasn’t some level of disappointment among Red Sox fans last week when it was revealed David Ortiz (and Manny Ramirez) was among the infamous list of 104 who had tested positive for performance-enhancing drugs in 2003. Surprised? I guess if you’ve spent the last decade with your head turtled in the sand, the revelation could have brought with it a certain amount of getting caught off guard. For everyone else, the news brought a sense of finality to the lingering question.
Ortiz has yet to speak about the situation, other than a statement made last week that promised us he would discuss things when he found out what the substance was for which he tested positive. We’re still waiting, and that has the situation growing worse by the day.
Think there will be any questions for him in New York this weekend?
The players are obviously most at fault in this whole mess of the past decade-plus, but at this point their involvement pales in comparison to that of the media’s indignation. After all, the same baseball writers who ignored the situation in 1998, and continued their failure of doing the proper work in the coming years, are now the same ones playing catch-up with their criticism of the problem.
Enough.
Baseball fans at this stage have a right to be sick and downright tired of waking up every day to ‘roid rage. Of course, in recent days, a number of columnists (Bob Ryan), Hall of Famers (Hank Aaron), and current players (Vernon Wells, Andy Pettitte) have campaigned to have the entire list revealed so that baseball can just move on.
While that’s one benefit, I propose we just release the list so I don’t ever have to read one more “tsk, tsk” piece. The next name to be revealed will inevitably bring with it a column or two (or 156) where the author feigns disappointment, and scolds said player for abusing his status as a role model for, you know, “the children.”
If we release the list now, it gives every writer in every city the opportunity to be piqued all at the same time, like one big cram session for finals. When the dust clears, no matter your grade, it’s over and you move on, never to have to pay any more attention to (with apologies to Emily Brontë fans) Emily Brontë.
Baseball’s steroid problem has gone from a national story to Bill Murray watching “Jeopardy” in a small Pennsylvania town. Over and over again, the answers to the questions we’re tired of asking are revealed, and over and over again we know how things will turn out. Things will be forgotten for a couple of months until another name is leaked. Cue hysterical reaction and the fans rolling their eyes over the stupidity of it all. Wash. Rinse.
So, let’s see the names so we can get it all over with, the indignation, the denial, and the fallout, which will be little other than the lingering debate over whether or not steroid cheats should make it into the Hall of Fame. At this point, I’m willing to say just let them all in for the heck of it, if only because I’m not sure I can take another 25 years of wondering if Bonds, McGwire, Sosa, etc. are worthy candidates.
We should all be angry at the game of baseball for what’s happened over the past era. But suddenly the exasperation over the ensuing reaction every few months is enough to understand why baseball would want the list protected. But that was then, before the names started leaking. Now, let’s just get this over and done with. Perhaps even make it a game of “Clue,” where the first person to guess all 104 correctly wins season tickets. Maybe even grab a sponsor.
Not to make light of the situation, but it truly has become a joke. Release the list and it all ends in a swirl of one, big landslide of ire, which will be forgotten by the time it takes to finish a weekend series. Don’t, and we will all just all do this again in another couple of months.
I can’t take that. I suspect you can’t either.
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