As Barry Bonds’ home run total mounted, a national advertiser briefly did something nearly impossible. It piled enough money in front of Henry Aaron for him to join Bonds in promoting a product.
Aaron signed up even though he never had especially liked Bonds–an arms-length superstar who once was featured on the cover of Sports Illustrated with the headline “I’m Barry Bonds, and you’re not.”
When Bonds received a subpoena to appear before the BALCO grand jury investigating steroid distribution and use, Aaron, baseball’s all-time home run leader, decided he would rather not do the ad shoots. He called one of his highest-placed friends, Commissioner Bud Selig, and asked for help in getting out of the deal.
Selig, according to sources, did exactly that last winter. He made sure Aaron, who hit the last of his 755 career homers playing for Selig’s Milwaukee Brewers in 1976, would not have to pose alongside Bonds, whose home run total was 658, and growing.
It currently stands at 703–only 11 short of the legendary Babe Ruth and 52 behind Aaron.
Something else has increased too. That’s Selig’s uncertainty about how to honor an oversized slugger whose personal trainer is in the middle of the mess surrounding illegal performance-enhancing substances.
Selig did little to acknowledge Bonds’ 700th homer last September. It’s going to be interesting to see how he handles 715 and, especially, a potential 755 and 756.
Burgeoning scandal
A progressive thinker might see this mushrooming story line, one which has tainted baseball MVPs Ken Caminiti and Jason Giambi and track stars Marion Jones, Kelly White and Tim Montgomery, as an inevitable clash of science versus tradition. But for most, the steroids issue is becoming the worst scandal to hit sports since members of the 1919 White Sox conspired to lose the World Series.
It has raised questions about the legitimacy of the accomplishments during baseball’s last decade. Home runs have flown over the fence in record numbers, with Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa shattering Roger Maris’ single-season record of 61 when they hit 70 and 66, respectively, in 1998 and Bonds blasting 73 in 2001.
Bonds is one of the best hitters in baseball history. He combines a short, quick swing with an eye for the strike zone worthy of Joe DiMaggio and Ted Williams.
His .349 batting average the last four seasons, all since he turned 35, is about a lot more than “the clear” and “the cream,” forms of undetectable steroids that he told the grand jury he took thinking they were flaxseed oil and a pain-relieving balm to ease his arthritis. Ditto his Little League-like on-base percentage, which jumped from a career high of .461 in 1996 to .515 in 2001, .582 in 2002 and .609 last season.
But until 2000, he never had hit more than 46 homers in a season. He wasn’t considered one of baseball’s strongest players until recent years, after transforming his physique from that of a punter into a linebacker.
Grand jury testimony revealed Bonds paid Greg Anderson a $20,000 bonus after he broke McGwire’s record. Anderson is Bonds’ friend and trainer who is under indictment in the Bay Area Laboratory Co-Operative case that centers on Victor Conte.
What’s cheating?
What will history make of Bonds and the era of the long ball?
“It isn’t cheating if everyone is doing it,” Conte, the BALCO founder, told ABC in an interview aired Friday. “These are the rules of the game, the way it was being played. You had no choice.”
Because of the players union’s opposition to drug testing, which dates back to the 1980s, and Major League Baseball’s desire to test for cocaine and other recreational drugs, baseball was the Wild West of sports until 2003. The only players who could be tested for steroids were minor-league players, and even then players on the 40-man major-league roster were exempt because of union protection.
Bobby Valentine received his education on steroids while managing the Texas Rangers, a tenure that spanned from 1985 until 1992. His pitching coach, Tom House (who caught Aaron’s 715th home run while standing in the Atlanta Braves’ bullpen in 1974), received a doctorate in psychology and studied the science of performance.
“The worst thing about steroids is they work,” House said more than 10 years ago.
Some teams had players whose bodies and performance prompted suspicion of steroid use. The most notable perhaps was the 1993 Philadelphia Phillies, who went to the World Series with Lenny Dykstra, Darren Daulton, Dave Hollins and Pete Incaviglia.
There also were whispers about muscle-bound players in Oakland, Texas and San Diego. The latter was considered a favorite stop in the National League because an interested player easily could arrange to obtain banned substances from Mexico.
After the labor war that resulted in the postseason being canceled in 1994, players and owners alike turned a blind eye toward the growing usage of steroids. The Associated Press reported McGwire was using androstenedione, a steroid precursor that is banned under the current policy, but it was only a footnote to his 1998 success.
Sosa’s development
Sosa arrived in the big leagues in 1989 as a skinny, fast teenager. He played center field and batted leadoff in his debut for Texas. Nine years later there was no more powerful, macho player.
When Sosa was asked about his conditioning methods, he told reporters he took nothing stronger than “Flintstones vitamins.” Then he flashed his smile and everyone went home happy.
Baseball’s wakeup call came in Caminiti’s interview with Sports Illustrated, which was published in May 2002. In the piece, Caminiti admitted to relying on steroids in 1996, the season in which he was named the National League’s MVP for the San Diego Padres. Caminiti subsequently was jailed for cocaine use and died of an overdose at 41 in October.
“I’ve made a ton of mistakes,” Caminiti told SI. “I don’t think using steroids is one of them.”
That’s because he felt he owed it to himself to get as much out of his ability as he could. Steroids helped him do that.
The success of players like Caminiti who were using steroids made it difficult for lesser players to say no, especially because players were exempt from testing once they secured a spot on a team’s 40-man roster.
Brad Andress, strength and conditioning coach of the Colorado Rockies, says he used to be inundated with questions from young players about steroids.
“Every last one of [the questions was] based on the precept that, `Look, this guy in front of me is doing it, and he makes no bones about it, and he’s excelling,'” Andress said. “`Either I do it, or I have to accept the fact I’ll always be looked past because this guy’s performing.’
“That’s the cold reality. Anytime you allow an illegal edge to occur, you are forcing anyone who has a small amount of competitiveness to consider that same choice.”
On the day SI published excerpts of the Caminiti story, Sosa was at PNC Park in Pittsburgh. Reporters approached him seeking a reaction.
Sosa put both hands in the air like he was trying to stop a speeding car coming in his direction.
“Let’s talk about baseball,” he said.
After another question, Sosa said Caminiti’s charges had no impact on him.
“What do you want me to do?” he asked. “It’s a free country. I’m just here to play baseball. I know I don’t have to worry about that because I’m clean.”
Sosa was not among the players dragged in front of the BALCO grand jury. No formal finger ever has been pointed at him. The closest the scandal has come to him is that infielder Manny Alexander, one of his best friends in baseball, was found to have a vial containing anabolic steroids in the glove compartment of his car when he was playing for Boston.
Yet Newsday reported Friday the Giambi testimony had given the New York Mets “a wakeup call” in terms of trade talks with the Cubs about Sosa.
Like Giambi, Sosa has dropped weight and lost some upper-body and facial bulk since MLB began its testing program in 2003. His production has tailed off and he has been beset by injuries.
Clean players hurt
While Sosa has been one of Chicago’s most electrifying players, and is almost certain to be a first-ballot Hall of Famer, the period in which he thrived raises questions about how he will be remembered. The flip side of Sosa is White Sox slugger Frank Thomas.
Unlike Sosa, Thomas, a former tight end at Auburn, arrived in professional baseball as a big man. His MVP awards in 1992 and 1993 came before baseball’s offensive explosion.
As guys like McGwire, Bonds, Sosa and Giambi emerged as elite hitters, Thomas faded into the pack. He won a batting title in 1997 but turned in subpar performances the next two seasons.
He suffered the insult of having the White Sox invoke a “diminished-skills” clause in his contract after 2002, remaining with them only through a reworked deal.
If Thomas had won the MVP award in 2000, when he carried the White Sox to 95 wins with a vintage performance (.328-43-143), the diminished-skills clause would not have applied in 2001 and 2002.
That means he would have earned about $5 million more in ’03 and could have earned $4 million more in ’04, assuming the clause was not invoked after ’03, when he delivered 42 homers and drove in 105 runs.
Thomas was positioned to win his third MVP award before Giambi caught fire in September. He finished a close second to the Athletics’ first baseman, losing by a margin of 317-285.
Thomas has been among the most vocal players calling for baseball to fix its steroid problem.
“I always thought 40 homers was a milestone year,” Thomas said. “A great year was 50. That was a super year. Now guys are hitting 70.
“Obviously, there are some players out there who have been on that stuff. It’s good the league is now testing. Hopefully, the results won’t be a big embarrassment to baseball.”
Baseball, it turns out, has not been hurt by its testing.
The embarrassment comes from the years it did not police itself.
No one knows that better than Selig. It may be too late for him to protect the legacy of this era, as well as the record of his friend, Henry Aaron.
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Controversy calls achievements into question
The publication of grand jury testimony in the BALCO case has cast a shadow over the career of the game’s biggest star and raised new questions about performance-enhancing drugs in baseball.
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Age: 40
MVP awards (7)
Bonds told the grand jury he began undergoing testing at BALCO in 2000 or 2001.
Barry Bonds’ home runs
2004 2003 2002 2001 2000 1999 1998 1997 1996 1995
45 45 46 73 49 34 37 40 42 33
1994 1993 1992 1991 1990 1989 1988 1987 1986
37 46 34 25 33 19 24 25 16
Chicago Tribune.
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