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I am desperately trying to impart upon my two sons my love for baseball.
This endeavor has gone beyond mere coaching on how to play the game and understand its rules.
I thought our recent pilgrimage to Cooperstown may have inspired them at least as much as it amused my wife, as she witnessed the level of euphoria a game and its treasures can affect the three men she thought she knew.
But when Baseball, as an institution, can, on the one hand, deny a true great (and my childhood hero) like Ron Santo its greatest honor, while at the same time extend its other hand to the disgraced Pete Rose, I must stop and ask myself, what exactly am I teaching my sons?
Santo belongs in Cooperstown.
Shame on the game.
