Aha! Caught 'em red-handed. They thought they were in the clear, using The Clear. Baseball's bash brothers of the last several seasons have had their bats (and mouths) silenced by steroid testing, and last year, no one hit 50 homers, much less 60 or 70.
The leading sluggers were Jim Thome, Adrian Beltre, Albert Pujols, and Manny Ramirez, not Barry Bonds, Jason Giambi, and Sammy Sosa. Luis Gonzalez (he of the 57 homer campaign) is Long Gone, as is Bret Boone. It's been about David Ortiz, Vlad Guerrero, and Miguel Tejada, not McCovey's Cove and The Hammer's record. Who among us thought the digits of 1997-2003 were legit? How could the single-season home run mark of 60 last 34 years, then the new record of 61 last another 37, then an inflated Cub come along and stroke 60 three years running? Where there's smoke (and cork), there's fire.
No one will reach 60 jacks this year. Players who actually look human, and whose physiques have changed little since they made the bigs, will dominate the statistical leadership. Pujols, A-Rod, Adam Dunn, Tejada — these are the premier clean sluggers in the game. Before 1997, it was Ken Griffey, Jr. (not Arnold Schwarzenegger) who was given the best shot at catching Hank Aaron. When Junior or A-Rod parked 50, we marveled at their skills, rather than questioning their pills.
The dot-gone bubble has finally burst. No more incessant talk show banter about Barry being better than Mays, or the equal of Teddy Ballgame. Before he was a bulkhead, Bonds struggled to drive across as many runs as teammate Jeff Kent. When Manny, A-Rod, and The Big Hurt were plating 130, 140, and even 150 runners in a season, Barry wasn't even bringing home a C-Note. As recently as 1998, he wasn't even a part of the much ballyhooed Maris chase. He isn't alone, either. Others who grabbed headlines are now relegated to the DL. The Emperor was nude all that time.
The Juicers (and Cal Ripken, Jr.'s streak) brought the fans back after the '94 strike, but they couldn't keep themselves healthy. The Maris Family lives, asterisk and all. 62, 66, and 73 were aberrations. Let's see someone do it clean. Numbers don't lie. Eddie Matthews, Frank Howard, Mike Schmidt, Reggie Jackson, and Johnny Bench, in all their glory, never recorded 50 jacks. And they were boppers.
Bud Selig's reign will be remembered as one with a botched All-Star Game, flip-flopping on drug tests, and being 100% wrong about baseball in the Nation's Capital. Work stoppages and the loss of young fans. Interleague overkill. Collusion and contraction. Still, it marks a return to normalcy. The status quo is fair to hard-workers such as Fonzie Soriano, Richie Sexson, Manny, Tejada, and Vlad. It's also fair to those who came before. We will no longer see mere mortals outhomer Harmon Killebrew, and Willie's McCovey and Stargell.
Baseball fans treasure its numbers more than followers of any team sport. 755 means something. So does 500 — Rafi Palmeiro and Junior Griffey are sweet swingers whose shirt sizes haven't changed much since the Clinton Administration. Oh, Derek Lee, Richie Sexson, and Adam Dunn are big boys, but they started out that way. Look, it is what it is. Willie Mays is still Willie Mays. Bret Boone is still Bret Boone — not Aaron Boone (or Paul Bunyan). It's our National Pastime, not the 1976 East German track team.
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