Baseball's Steroid Problems Exacerbated by Cult of the Individual
New and very detailed steroid allegations regarding baseball record holder and future Hall-of-Famer Barry Bonds have pumped new juice into the debate over whether the integrity of the game has been compromised by performance-enhancing drugs. Pundits again are asking whether certain home run records and milestones should be qualified with asterisks or thrown out altogether. Fans are wondering how they should respond as Bonds approaches baseball's all-time home run record.
Before sports fans and writers disown the "steroid era" (roughly the mid-nineties and the first few years of this decade) entirely, they should evaluate what is really at stake. The steroid debate has focused primarily on the individual statistics of a handful of power hitters—Bonds, Mark McGwire, Sammy Sosa, Rafael Palmeiro, and the like. While these players have put up Hall-of-Fame numbers, their accomplishments have been largely individual statistical triumphs. None of these players, with the exception of McGwire—and his then teammate Jose Canseco—have any World Series rings to their credit. McGwire's Oakland Athletics won the Fall Classic back in 1989, one of the slugger's worst years in terms of home run production—a season when McGwire was only half the size of his late-nineties, record-breaking self. As it were, during McGwire's celebrated, 70-home-run season in 1998, his St. Louis Cardinals were never in the playoff hunt.
I am no baseball expert, but, in this age, the teams that win championships are teams that have solid pitching and know how to manufacture runs with singles, doubles, stolen bases, bunts, sacrifice flys, and hit-and-runs. Since 1995 only one power hitter—Boston's Manny Ramírez (whose name is rarely associated with doping)—has garnered World Series MVP honors.
Frankly,baseball has allowed the steroid scandal to compromise the integrity of the game by focusing so much on individual achievement. The single-season and career home run records are far more hallowed than any team records. Casual fans have likely forgotten that, in 2001, the Seattle Mariners tied the record for most wins in a season, or that the 2001 World Series between the Yankees and Diamondbacks was one of the best in recent memory; these fans are far more likely to remember that 2001 was the year when Bonds broke McGwire's single-season home run record.
Alas, baseball fans and writers like numbers and stats. A player who never plays a game in October but ends his career with 3,000 hits, 400 home runs, and a lifetime average of .300 is more likely to go to Cooperstown than a player who is an instrumental part of three championship teams but retires with 2,000 hits, 250 homers, and a lifetime average of .275. The basketball and football halls of fame, by contrast, seem more likely to reward players who make important contributions to winning teams (and to the game itself), even if their career numbers seem average. (See, for example, Wes Unseld or Lynn Swann.) By elevating individual accomplishments over team accomplishments, Major League Baseball, and especially baseball writers, have left the baseball world vulnerable, as evidence regarding steroid use among star players continues to mount.
Before sports fans and writers disown the "steroid era" (roughly the mid-nineties and the first few years of this decade) entirely, they should evaluate what is really at stake. The steroid debate has focused primarily on the individual statistics of a handful of power hitters—Bonds, Mark McGwire, Sammy Sosa, Rafael Palmeiro, and the like. While these players have put up Hall-of-Fame numbers, their accomplishments have been largely individual statistical triumphs. None of these players, with the exception of McGwire—and his then teammate Jose Canseco—have any World Series rings to their credit. McGwire's Oakland Athletics won the Fall Classic back in 1989, one of the slugger's worst years in terms of home run production—a season when McGwire was only half the size of his late-nineties, record-breaking self. As it were, during McGwire's celebrated, 70-home-run season in 1998, his St. Louis Cardinals were never in the playoff hunt.
I am no baseball expert, but, in this age, the teams that win championships are teams that have solid pitching and know how to manufacture runs with singles, doubles, stolen bases, bunts, sacrifice flys, and hit-and-runs. Since 1995 only one power hitter—Boston's Manny Ramírez (whose name is rarely associated with doping)—has garnered World Series MVP honors.
Frankly,baseball has allowed the steroid scandal to compromise the integrity of the game by focusing so much on individual achievement. The single-season and career home run records are far more hallowed than any team records. Casual fans have likely forgotten that, in 2001, the Seattle Mariners tied the record for most wins in a season, or that the 2001 World Series between the Yankees and Diamondbacks was one of the best in recent memory; these fans are far more likely to remember that 2001 was the year when Bonds broke McGwire's single-season home run record.
Alas, baseball fans and writers like numbers and stats. A player who never plays a game in October but ends his career with 3,000 hits, 400 home runs, and a lifetime average of .300 is more likely to go to Cooperstown than a player who is an instrumental part of three championship teams but retires with 2,000 hits, 250 homers, and a lifetime average of .275. The basketball and football halls of fame, by contrast, seem more likely to reward players who make important contributions to winning teams (and to the game itself), even if their career numbers seem average. (See, for example, Wes Unseld or Lynn Swann.) By elevating individual accomplishments over team accomplishments, Major League Baseball, and especially baseball writers, have left the baseball world vulnerable, as evidence regarding steroid use among star players continues to mount.
posted by Tinley | 12:01 AM
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