Mark McGwire Sort of Comes Clean (pardon the pun)
Mark McGwire’s interview with Bob Costas on the MLB network was awkward, staged, and inconsistent; which makes sense now that we know Ari Fleischer was his advisor. McGwire spent eleven full seasons in Oakland. He and Tony LaRussa helped deliver the last World Series title to Oakland, and MacGwire’s only ring twenty years ago. Although McGwire’s infamous 1998 season is galvanized in Cardinal red, he was and is an Oakland Athletic.
McGwire’s pride spoiled up his best intentions. It was fine that he finally admitted his use of “injectables” during his home-run-record season, but every fan of the game already knew that. His insistence that performance-enhancing drugs played no part in his home-run production was disturbing. He attempted to shift the focus to his God-given abilities, and credit his work ethic and honed talents for his unearthly performances.
He claims his confession has nothing to do with the future of his Hall-of-Fame status, but to merely clear his conscience. Right. Then why stain an otherwise well-intended confessional with a defensive and somewhat arrogant tone? His academy-award-winning tears were cheapened by his refusal to admit what everyone in sports has known since Barry Bonds shoe size blew up to size 110. Performance-enhancing drugs enhance your ability to perform-thus the name.
Sports fans across the country are more intelligent than the professionals give credit. Interviews with players who “come out” with the truth to clear the air are dodgy affairs; skirting around the details, readily placing blame, trying to conjure remorse, and solicit forgiveness. Soft focus, lighting, and an odd make-up job won’t hide illegal substance use.
I don’t believe McGwire can’t remember the names of the drugs he’s used over his career. And I don’t believe A-rod doesn’t recall what he’s taken either. A simple analogy comes to mind.
If you own a one-of-a-kind sports car worth ten million dollars wouldn’t you meticulously track anything and everything of what you put in the engine? You’d know exactly what type of motor oil, fuel, and every single part you put in the car. You’d be considered a fool if you couldn’t answer what weight and type of oil you use.
McGwire cited the overwhelming pressure to perform, the effects of a long season, and the chronic injuries a starting power hitter suffers as a cause for his dependency on performance-enhancing drugs. This doesn’t sit well either. Aren’t star players highly compensated for such pressures? Aren’t they inured to the ugly side of the game by the time they reach the big-time? Don’t they have the best physical trainers and doctors in the business dotting over them every day?
The truth is that professional athletes are human. They are competitive. They want a leg up, they want the payday that comes with records, titles, and the hall of fame. Who can blame them? There’s no taking away what he did at the plate. There’s no denying he was truly a gifted hitter with a beautiful swing, incredible baseball knowledge, and dedication and respect for the game.
During his rookie year in 1987 he knocked out 49 home runs. Before his first season dabbling with “injectables” in 1989 - 1990 he hit 117 homeruns in four seasons. In 1992, the season prior to his confessed habitual use, he recorded 42 dingers. Those numbers are serious achievements for a young hitter.
When you examine his production during his admitted tainted years, we see freakish numbers. From 1996 through 1999 he belted 52, 58, 70, and 65 homers respectively. And I, admittedly, ate up the record-breaking season. So did everyone else, including Bud Selig.
The home run record race of 1998 practically saved the game from a decade of ruin. It was the single event that resuscitated an otherwise dead sport after the strike of 1994. Selig watched on with glee.
There’s no doubt that many athletes rely on various types of steroids, growth hormones, and other tailored drugs to rehab through injury, or sustain their bodies over a long season. I believe him when he claims to have done just that. What I don’t believe is that he could have hit 70 home runs without the enhancements. Sixty-two. Maybe. What I don’t believe is that Tony LaRussa, and everyone else in the Athletic and Cardinal organizations didn’t see what was going on with his body. If I, a laymen in the world of professional sports, can recognize an unnatural transformation in a players body, then a savvy pro can surely see it.
McGwire’s recent confession continues to taint the game, its fans, players, and young athlete’s across the nation. We can’t take away what he did, or what an exceptionally gifted hitter he was, nor should we. He still had to go out there and hit 70 home runs.
More than ever I think the game should open up serious talks about placing asterisks on the records of those players who’ve come clean and fully admitted their wrongdoing. Those who have not come out should not be indicted on rumor alone.
The records still stand. McGwire’s, Sosa’s, and Bond’s numbers are what they are, it’s not like they didn’t happen. But they did happen under special circumstances. They reduced the playing field so that it is not even with the records of Ruth, Aaron, DiMaggio, and Mays. The circumstances of the steroid era, and the players who surreptitiously got an edge on everyone else, should be duly noted for posterity, and for the preservation of the game and its connection with the past. This will not be the last controversial era in the history of Major League Baseball.
Postscript: This was a week ago today. Since then most of baseball has come out and criticized McGwire over the tone of his confession. He repeatedly expressed regret that he played in “that era.” Boohoo.
He still got paid in that “era.” Other players who didn’t dip into the steroid well played in the “era.” Some succeeded. Some didn’t.
I can’t wait until we are truly free from the ghosts and stains that “that era” left the game with.
