As we get into the heat of summer, all the bright lights of the baseball world will shine on St. Louis next week. Next Tuesday will be a night when older stars show off for the masses, and rising performers will stake their claim to future success. We'll watch the all-star festivities on television (or in person, if you're lucky) and wonder a couple of different things.
How long before these vets are eligible for the Hall of Fame?
Which of these youngsters could become Hall of Fame worthy down the road?
Over the years, these questions seemed innocent enough, but with the mass introduction of performance enhancing drugs to the sport, answers have become much murkier. Through the last 20-25 years, a generation of largely unknown users were dotted amongst our favorite teams, masquerading themselves as our athletics heroes. Consequences took shape at a snail's pace, and that might have put the definition of a baseball "legend" in limbo until we sit through a new generation of thoroughly tested players.
Numerous baseball pundits and bloggers (this site included) have put their opinions out that anyone proven to be positive of cheating the game should never be allowed into Cooperstown. Others think there should be some kind of caveat. Maybe put an asterisk, an explanation, or an entire separate wing onto the Hall to denote this era. I've been on the fence about this topic since the drip of allegations took on waterfall characteristics.
Then Rafael Palmeiro opened his big yap for the first time in a long time last week. Accepting his invitation into the College Baseball Hall of Fame, the former 20-year veteran maintained his stance that the bulk of his playing career was being performed PED-free. Honestly, I thought he was completely off-base with that "drug was tainted/someone set me up/they were out to get me" sentiment. That's beside the point.
I thought the most interesting piece of his conversation with ESPN centered around his reaction to Manny Ramirez's return from a 50-game suspension last week.
"I wouldn't want anyone, I wouldn't want him to feel the way I felt when I was going through it," Palmeiro told ESPN's Pedro Gomez, "and I'm glad that people see it in a different way and they're celebrating his return because he means so much to the Dodgers."
Now, hearing that response, all the cliché verbiage can apply. Once a cheater, always a cheater ... birds of a feather flock together ... takes one to know one ... and the like. But after thinking for a minute or two, something else crept into my head. The fans have embraced this. We always have. Whether unknowingly in the summer of 1998 or as Mannywood gets re-established in Los Angeles next Thursday, fans celebrate their heroes, tainted or not.
A hall of fame is simply described as a "museum dedicated to famous people" or a "pantheon." Its participants are those that excel at their craft. And no matter how hard we may deny that they performed on a level playing field, the exploits of names such as Mark McGwire, Barry Bonds, Sammy Sosa, Roger Clemens, and Rafael Palmeiro lifted them to a superstar status. The same will be the case for Alex Rodriguez and Manny Ramirez when they retire. They didn't just put up the numbers. We celebrated them and those numbers.
Baseball has been a game of evolution through time, and the Hall of Fame is a reflection of that. The inductees that first entered the Hall did so playing in a segregated arena, where minorities were left out of the picture. Closers that are inducted now have save numbers that dwarf previous generations thanks to rule changes. The influence of the designated hitter is said to continually extend many careers. It might have been a factor in Eddie Murray's induction and may be the platform for Edgar Martinez possibly getting through.
The reason for every single person getting into the Hall of Fame is just that ... fame. Most people didn't have the same level of impact on the game as others. Not everyone was as clutch a hitter, or as fine a fielder, or as dominant as they were steady. But everyone grew their stature to larger than life. That same thing can be said for the accused and convicted "steroid studs" of this era.
This is why I believe they should all be let in, every last one of those super freaks. An explanation on their plaques would be fine by me, but they should be put in. You can boo them at their induction ceremony, but they should be put in. You can question their heart, soul, and will all you want, but they should be put in. If there's any blame for them getting to this position, it's because of us.
We were the ones buying tickets to the game, taking their jerseys off the shelves, and voting them to All-Star Games. We could have boycotted the stadiums, left money out of the owners' pockets, and, at least, made a statement. However, to this day, we still follow our teams (myself included), with the hope that players are fair and above the murky steroid-filled waters of their predecessors.
One day in the near future, Frank Thomas and Ken Griffey, Jr. will be up for enshrinement to Cooperstown. There's no doubt about their cleanliness and even less about their upcoming inductions. But is their clean fame more genuine than someone's "dingy" recognition? Albert Pujols is the next person in line to immortality, but, unfortunately, no one is above the suffocating cloud of suspicion. Every star seen in or around this era will be guilty of enhancing, of association, or of complacency.
Even with those clouds hanging over this generation, my generation, it did exist, there were star players, and we put them on pedestals for nearly two decades. Just like it was up to us to lift their feats to extraordinary heights, it's up to us to pass on just what they mean. It's up to the parents to warn their kids about the dangers of PEDs. It's up to the media to pull the "star" moniker from those they feel have tainted the game. It's up to the fans to decide not to celebrate the offenders with best-selling novels, high-priced appearances, or post-career nostalgia trips.
But these guys do belong in Cooperstown. The name on the building includes the words "Hall of Fame," not "Hall of Fairness and Integrity." Maybe that building could be opened during the next century-plus of baseball.
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