Baseball Should Not Be This Sad

My friend Jeff Morris jokingly asked me why I didn't post about Manny Ramirez and the steroids (or more specifically the female fertility drug used after steroids). Since I am a fan of the Dodgers who beat his snake bitten Cubs in the playoffs last year, he thought it only fair.

I would never shrink from such a challenge, but the truth is, I just don't know how I feel about specific instances of steroids in baseball any more. I feel as if the last 15 years of the most wonderful sport on earth has been robbed of its beauty. I remember when the ball started flying out of the park in record numbers in the 90s (Brady Anderson, of all people, hit 50 in 1996). We thought that the baseballs were juiced. Turns out it was the players.

I enjoyed the Mark McGuire record setting season. Unlike many, however, I always felt this nagging thought in the back of my head that it was less than right (we found out in the middle of the chase he used Andro--since banned).

Baseball has always been about numbers. In 1969, my friend Steven Johnson and I spent the entire summer playing darts on the baseball game on the back side of the dart board. We kept box scores and tallied batting averages and ERAs. I know a lot of the big numbers: Babe Ruth, 60 and 714. Hank Aaron 755. Roger Maris 61. Rogers Hornsby .422. Don Drysdale 58 scoreless innings. And, no, I didn't look any of those up.

The numbers put up in the steroids era takes the magic out of the numbers. And that hurts. On a competition level maybe it doesn't matter. Sure, Barry Bonds undoubtedly used steroids to get to 73 HR. But some of the pitchers who got him out were also on steroids. But the numbers aren't as meaningful anymore.

I think what makes baseball the greatest sport, at least to my generation and older, was the magical connection with kids. When I grew up, even the dorkiest of us dreamed of being a big league baseball player; no one dreamed of being a pro basketball or football player. We followed the players and kept track of their stats.

It was magic. Even though the times have changed and kids today probably don't have the same connection, it is still sad to see the joy sucked out of the numbers.

I still love baseball. Living in St. Louis now, I have been privileged to watch a sure future Hall-of-Fame player (Albert Pujols) entire career. I plan to get out to the stadium when the Dodgers come to town in July and watch often of TV. (If Pujols is ever proven to be a steroids user, I will be crushed.)

But there is an element in which it will never be the same. And that's too bad. I could blame a lot of people--players, owners, the commissioner, the people who invent this stuff--but it really doesn't matter. It's just a little sad and that's really all that can be said about it.