In the last week, we have learned that Jason Giambi is sorry ... for things he can't or won't specify.
On the other hand, there is Jose Canseco, who is quite willing to describe everything he has done, but not apologize for it.
Welcome just the two latest chapters in the ongoing steroid saga that has dominated the offseason. Allegations, book deals, grand jury testimony, and press conferences are getting just as much (or more) attention than free-agent signings and detailed analysis of the upcoming season.
One has to wonder how Peter Gammons feels discussing the subject.
What would be the test of corruption?
"Becoming really insincere calling myself "not such a bad fellow," thinking I regretted my lost youth when I only envy the delights of losing it. Youth is like having a big plate of candy. Sentimentalists think they want to be in the pure, simple state they were in before they ate the candy. They don't. They just want the fun of eating it all over again. The matron doesn't want to repeat her girlhood; she wants to repeat her honeymoon. I don't want to repeat my innocence. I want the pleasure of losing it again." — F. Scott Fitzgerald
Watching Jason Giambi's press conference, I wondered if this has been his mentality all along. With his grand jury testimony leaked, we all know that he took steroids, and his physical deterioration and injuries are adequate circumstantial evidence in the court of public opinion. Yet, Giambi refused to admit what he did.
One has to wonder if he's sorry at all for his actions. Whether given the chance he would undo his MVP season and give up his power numbers knowing what he knows now.
And the same goes for Sammy Sosa, Mark McGwire, Barry Bonds, Gary Sheffield, Ken Caminiti, and the rest of the players that either admitted taking steroids or whom have come under suspicion through BALCO ties or Conseco's book (although we can be pretty sure that Conseco is not sorry.)
The allure of record-breaking seasons, legions of adoring fans, millions of dollars, and the ability to play the game at such a high (although chemically-enhanced) level might be too much to ignore. Is the chance of getting caught worth the benefits of the drug? Unfortunately, the answer to that question for a lot of ballplayers is probably yes. They have been and are willing to sell their souls to Mephibalcoles for a chance at an edge.
"Here was a new generation, shouting the old cries, learning the old creeds, through the reverie of long days and nights; destined finally to go out into that dirty gray turmoil to follow love and pride; a new generation dedicated more than the last to the fear of poverty and the worship of success; grown up to find all Gods dead, all wars fought, all faiths in man shaken..." — F. Scott Fitzgerald
Can there ever be another 60 home run season without suspicion? No.
Can we look back at the last decade of baseball without a cynical eye? No.
The legacy of the steroid saga is going to be one of distrust, from fans, from the media, and from the children that will find the game in the years to come. And the sad thing is that the alleged pervasiveness of the abuse and the alleged blind eye that Major League Baseball turned toward the culprits forbades discretion or the benefit of the doubt.
FBI investigators now claim that MLB was alerted to possible steroid abuse by players repeatedly in the last 20 years. Jose Canseco claims that steroids were a way of life for some ball players and organizations, coaches, and teammates accepted the fact and did little if nothing to change what was happening.
And now MLB, under pressure from the public and congress, has instituted the equivalent of 15 minutes in the time-out chair.
At a time of such intense public scrutiny, MLB's response was weak at best, and at worst, a dangerous and intentional effort at appearing strong while still enabling players to abuse steroids and launch balls into the stands and bring fans to the ballpark.
While there has always been a suspicion that steroids are used, and Barry Bonds' arms aren't wholly developed by eating green vegetables, the shadow over the sport is comparably darker and denser than it's ever been.
A father taking his son to baseball games in the future will now necessarily include as many explanations of "the cream" and "the clear" as pointers on how to mark a strikeout in a program. Tales of Joe DiMaggio and Marilyn Monroe will turn into stories of Barry Bonds and BALCO.
Sports (as well as movies and music) are the last bastion of mythical heroes for adults. Athletes and celebrities are the grown-up substitutes for Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny. We want to believe in that superhuman ability to be perfect, the ability to rise above the game and dominate in a way that words cannot describe. And increasingly, we are learning that the flaws in the fabric of our heroes go beyond affairs, egos, and riches and right onto the field that was the stage for who they have become.
My reactions to the evolution of the steroid sage are closely mirrored by my reactions to finding out there was no Santa Claus.
Step 1: Gifts start appearing before I can even recognize or understand what they are. The game is something to be discovered and learned.
Step 2: There is an explanation of how things work. Santa Claus climbs down the chimney and delivers the gifts every year.
Step 3: A period of pure enjoyment in the experience. Marveling at what happens with a child-like, blind acceptance of the status quo.
Step 4: A sneaking suspicion, lacking shape or description, that there's a different explanation of how things work. This is a period of suspended disbelief.
Step 5: It happens. Someone tells you the truth.
Step 6: You celebrate the holiday anyway, with a new outlook based on your new information.
It's a senior vice president overlooking questionable accounting practices after the CEO signs over his million-dollar bonus.
It's finding out your aunt's pumpkin pie that she brags about every Thanksgiving is actually bought from the local supermarket.
"First you take a drink, then the drink takes a drink, then the drink takes you." — F. Scott Fitzgerald
It is not out of the question to say that MLB was complicit to the juiced decades that Canseco describes in his new book. Power brings home runs, home runs bring fans to the park, and that translates directly into revenue in the form of millions of dollars.
Their responsibility now is not to dwell on the past or explain their actions, or lack thereof (although that would be nice), but to protect the future of the game.
Even as pitchers and catchers report to spring training, there is a chemist somewhere working on the next designer drug that will be undetectable from the current tests. Beyond imposing penalties on players testing positive, MLB must keep up with new variations of steroids, a process that is sure to be expensive and time-consuming, but nevertheless, one that needs to happen.
The extent to which MLB knew of steroid abuse is still in doubt, but they are going to have to take control of the monster that grew up on their watch. And they are going to need to put a new face on the national pastime (preferably one without chemically-induced forehead muscles).
"Fixed the World's Series?" I repeated. The idea staggered me. I remembered, of course, that the World's Series had been fixed in 1919, but if I had thought of it all I would have thought of it as a thing that merely happened, the end of some inevitable chain. It never occurred to me that one man could start to play with the faith of 50 million people — with the single-mindedness of a burglar blowing a safe." — F. Scott Fitzgerald
It's not merely one person that is now playing with the faith for American baseball fans. It's a Medussa head with Bonds, Giambi, Canseco, Sheffield, Sosa, Caminiti, and McGwire.
There is no question as the the impact of the steroid allegations on the faith of the fans. The story has dominated talk radio, ESPN, CNN, and has been the subject of God knows how many column inches. What is happening has had a deep and exceedingly powerful impact on the national psyche.
Baseball was devastated after the 1919 World Series scandal, but it came back, partly because of Babe Ruth and the powerful attack he unleashed on the record books and bleachers in every city.
Once again, America's faith in the game of baseball was shaken after the strike in 1994. But then Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa came swinging to the rescue in the summer of the home run chase, a time during which they captured the hearts of the fans and brought them back to the ballparks in droves.
What will restore our faith in baseball this time? I doubt it will or should be a stunning display of power. There's a chance that defensive and pitching oriented 1-0 games will do the trick. Perhaps the pantheon of baseball heroes this year will be filled with names like Curt Schilling, Johan Santana, Pedro Martinez, and Randy Johnson.
But then again, like Greg Maddux said, chicks did the long ball.
It might take something like Cal Ripken, Jr.'s streak, the awe-inspiring run at history by the Red Sox, a display of hitting technique by Ichiro, or the beauty of a five-tool player like Carlos Beltran to make things right this time.
By my account, these are all far more powerful than a 500-foot home run and more emblematic of the sport that has captured our imagination for more than a century.
Then again, F. Scott Fitzgerald could have been right when he said, "Baseball is a game played by idiots for morons."
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