Wait, better question: If a player who’s career batting average is .240, has only hit 5 career homeruns, and driven in 77 RBI’s in his 4-year career proof that possibly steroids don’t “work”?

Take the story of Captain America. He was a less than average man when it came to speed, strength, and agility. However, he outperformed every one else when it came to drive and wit. I know, it sounds like David Eckstein. When they gave Captain America the “drugs” to make him superhuman, his strength and agility finally matched his inner determination to be better. He could do anything, fight anything, and recover from injury quicker than anyone in history. I know, it sounds like Barry Bonds. The “drugs” took Steve Rogers from being nobody to being Captain America. Solid proof that steroids work…in a comic book.

In real life we have little proof that steroids, on their own, make that much of a difference.

The most famous steroid users of all time were Sammy Sosa, Mark McGwire and Barry Bonds. Roger Clemens is on the list technically, but there has yet to be any solid evidence he actually used them. I mean he probably did, and that’s coming from a Clemens fan. Anyway, as I’ve mentioned before Clemens and Bonds were already good, if not Hall of Fame caliber players before they started juicing. If steroids did anything for those two it prolonged their careers and turned them into legends on par with Babe Ruth and Cy Young. The juice took already great players, and made them almost immortal. They were like Tokka and Rahzar from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles 2: The Secret of the Ooze. Already incredibly dangerous animals, but when given TGRI’s green ooze, they instantly became enormous mutated monsters capable of almost anything. But again, did steroids really help them? If not for the crazy homerun race of 1998, Bonds may have never taken steroids, bulked up to a superhuman, and went on a tear never even thought of before. And, if he hadn’t, he would still have been remembered as one of the most athletic and productive outfielders in the games history. If not for the Red Sox forcing Clemens into Baseball obscurity in Toronto, pushing him to prove he’s still worthy of adoration, he may have never taken steroids. And, if he hadn’t, he would have still been remembered as one of the most dominating pitchers in the games history. So, in this case we have proof that steroids help make already incredible players superhuman. But, that’s not really proof that steroids “work”. It’s like if a really smart kid takes speed to stay up and study, chances are the kid would have still aced the test without the drugs.

When it comes to McGwire, there’s no proof that he ever took them at all, unless steroids help you hit homeruns immediately. He set the rookie record for homeruns with 49. He never hit less than 20 homeruns in any season where played at least 50 games. Sure, he seemed to figure out how to hit for average after a few years, but those numbers stacked against each other look more like a player maturing at the plate than juicing his brains out. Furthermore, McGwire was always big. Since day one he looked like a bodybuilder. If were too understand that McGwire was a steroid user, and that steroids make your bat and your muscle recovery quicker resulting in more base hits and power, then McGwire must have started juicing in high school. Which is possible.

Sammy Sosa is actually the most interesting case of them all. Click on his highlighted name and look at his career. It’s weird, isn’t it? With the exception of 1998 when he hit 26 more homeruns than he ever had in any single season, his numbers are fairly consistent. If anything his numbers resemble a highly touted prospect maturing and becoming the player everyone hoped he would be. His power numbers progressed little by little every year, as did his batting average and RBI totals. When you look at pictures of Sosa over time, he didn’t get bigger all of a sudden, he gradually grew and bulked up. Which again would beg the question: Did he start taking steroids before he joined the major league ranks? Completely possible, but then we still don’t have proof that steroids “work”, because Sosa gradually got bigger and better.

McGwire and Sosa were not the caliber of player Bonds was, but once they became starters they were always pretty good. So, it looks like we could have a case of steroids making already above average players into great players. In fact, one of the most glaringly overlooked stats in all of this steroid talk, is the time frame in which these monstrous seasons were happening. Modern day expansion, and modern day ballparks (which saw many teams bringing their fences in) all began around the same time – 1993. Just four seasons later in 1998 the league expanded again, which just happens to be the year McGwire and Sosa went apeshit. In fact, during that timeframe Bonds, Rafael Palmiero, Ken Caminiti, and Mo Vaughn all went apeshit. Hell, even Jose Canseco, who hadn’t hit more than 31 homeruns since 1994 (or more than 40 since 1991) hit 46 dingers in 1998. So, what’s more realistic: That all these guys pulled banner numbers during the exact same time that Baseball was expanding and building smaller parks, or they all started juicing in 1993? However, herein lies the rub – they could both be accurate, because we don’t know if steroids truly “work”, because we don’t know what steroids actually “do”.

What is happening to my body?! Oh, nothing. (Mark J. Rebilas-USA TODAY Sports)

Now normally I wouldn’t have even looked into this, or thought about it, or even put it up for debate. Because, in all honesty these guys totally took steroids; most of them have been linked to them or caught with them or look like athletic Frankenstein’s. But, when I heard that Everth Cabrera was linked to steroid use, and has all but admitted to it, it made me stop and think. I remember a few years ago when Jason Grimsley got busted for steroids, and I remember back then thinking that was weird. Grimsley was a terrible pitcher. His career ERA is 4.77 and he struck out almost as many batters he walked. Yet, he was caught red-handed with steroids. In fact if you look at the Mitchell Report, you’ll see a collection of names that suggest steroids don’t help at all. Over 75% of the names on that list are forgotten, underachieving players, who you would have probably never even drafted in an AL only fantasy auction league. Steroids certainly didn’t help Everth Cabrera in any way we could see, or Jason Grimsley, or Gary Bennett, or Larry Bigbie. Are guys taking steroids after seeing above average players become good players in hopes that it will make them at the very least average players? It seems like the majority of the time this doesn’t work. So, do steroids “work” like we think they do?

I’m not a scientist, and have done very little research into the medical side effects of steroid use. From an outside perspective it would definitely appear like they do help to some degree, but to what end? After looking at people’s numbers, when they did what they did, and when they stopped doing it, things don’t really add up. Either the steroid era happened in a much shorter time frame during which Baseball was going through massive changes, or it takes steroids awhile to “set in” once you start using them. It might be both, and it probably is. We’ve seen already good players use steroids to make them great players who then took advantage of the Major Leagues when their talent pool was spread thin from 1993-2001. It was a perfect storm that made every person overreact for the rest of time. Now, when we see guys like Prince Fielder hitting the ball into the upper deck we immediately question its validity. But, when I see guys like Everth Cabrera get caught, and then look at his numbers; I question the validity of the juice.

We’re definitely not making any Captain America’s, but we’re not really trying to stop it are we?

For more Padres stuff and other things you might not care about follow me on Twitter @dallas_mc

ANYBODY BUT YOU!

YOU! WAIT, YASMANI, WHAT?

WHO ARE YOU? WHO’S YASMANI GRANDAL?

NOOOOOOO!!!!

The above was an internal conversation most Padres fans had with themselves last week. And, I don’t blame them. Most people have/had no idea who Yasmani Grandal is. Honestly, he doesn’t even sound like a real person, like a name generated in MLB The Show.

Just thinking about some stuff. (Christopher Hanewinckel-US PRESSWIRE)

But, I knew who Yasmani Grandal was. And, now I know who Yasmani Grandal is. He’s a cheat, a liar, and a shining example that Baseball’s worst fears are coming true.

I’m 32 years old and have lived and breathed Baseball for a majority of that time. It’s not a fate I chose, it honestly felt like it chose me, and I’ve felt like the game was always a part of my life. After the strike of 1994 I was pretty sure I would never come back. I know that’s a bold statement for a 14-year old to make, but I felt betrayed. I felt like the players and owners had no interest in what I cared about, which was them. My love for what they did was not being reciprocated, and at 14 the world pretty much revolves around you, so I left the game in favor of Bad Religion and Spitfire wheels. Four years later, like most Americans I got pulled back in, but for us San Diegans that yank was two-fold: The Padres reaching the World Series and of course the McGwire/Sosa homerun race. The first reason proved futile, as anyone who came back to the Padres in ’98 were immediately devastated to find themselves rooting for whatever it was we had in 1999.

The second thing that once again peaked America’s interest in Baseball, was far more spectacular and for a short time completely untouchable. Two massive men, with arms like small oak trees began hitting homeruns like no one had seen in decades. Not just the amount, but also the distance, the hang time, the pure power with which these round trippers were leaving the yard became astounding. It not only seemed like Baseball was back, it seemed like Americana revisited. An old Norman Rockwell painting come to life in a bygone era when we didn’t focus our attention on grown men bashing their heads together and for a short time, we all felt smarter. Kids came back in droves, rooting for their favorite. The question wasn’t, “What’s your favorite team?” it was, “Sosa or McGwire?” But, after the rockets been fired and the streamers grounded, something seemed off.

A couple seasons later, when it was obvious that things were indeed a bit skewed, millions once again felt betrayed. To adults it didn’t seem all that strange, athletes cheating had always been a part of sport. Although, this seemed a bit deeper and a bit more…dastardly, we all took it in stride. It sucked, but as more and more facts and numbers became public it looked like this was pretty much how the game had been played for quite some time. Bud Selig wasn’t shocked, in fact no one within the game felt betrayed, only saddened that it was now public knowledge. When they began talking about asterisks and omitting people from the Hall of Fame because of steroid use I personally became enraged. Why were they being vilified? Because they did what most of the sport was doing? They needed to stay relevant? Going by this awful double standard, then every record before 1947 should have an asterisk next to it, and every record from the Dead Ball Era as well. (For more on this I heavily encourage you to read a brilliant article my friend Joe Quadres wrote in 2006 on an old sports blog. WARNING: It contains adult language, but is possibly the best thing I’ve ever read on steroids.)

When it was pretty apparent that no actual adult cared that players were using steroids, because cheating is something we all do in some way or another, Selig and the Major Leagues shifted their argument. It was no longer about the purity of the sport, because that’s something Selig let die long before 1998.

It became about the kids.

We had to protect our children! We couldn’t let American children know their heroes were full of crap, and we definitely couldn’t let them know how they were full of crap! What if kids found out that in most cases steroids did give you a competitive edge? They could up your contract, or your signing bonus for that matter, by millions of dollars! Not to mention the side effects from using steroids could be disastrous, and kids could die! The narrative shifted so quickly it seemed like Major League Baseball had given up on current players as a lost cause, and looked on to prevention in the Minor Leagues, college and even high school. Suddenly, Baseball cared about its fans, because suddenly Baseball could be directly responsible for literally ruining the lives of children. I agreed with this then, but unfortunately Baseball’s reach was not far enough and now looks to have been too little too late.

In the last year we’ve seen three players suspended 50-games for steroid violations: Melky Cabrera (28 yrs old), Bartolo Colon (39 yrs old), and now Yasmani Grandal, who just turned 24. Colon can easily be written off in the same vein as a Jason Grimsley or Manny Ramirez; the aging player looking for a lift as their skills begin to diminish. But, Cabrera and Grandal are right in the wheelhouse when Baseball really f’ed up. During the historic and media frenzied ’98 homerun show, Grandal was only 10 yrs old and Cabrera was 14 – the same age I was when I was so impressionable I walked away from fandom for feeling so directly affected by something that had nothing to do with me. Just think what these two felt when seeing two giant and powerful ballplayers smashing the ball out of the yard, and being portrayed more heroic than Rocky in Rocky IV. Young, impressionable kids being told by Baseball and the country that THESE men are heroes. THESE men are the best, the elite and examples of all that is good about the game.

Of course years later, that was all torn down and found to be inaccurate, but it was too late. A whole generation of kids saw what they were told to see. By the time Baseball got its shit together it meant nothing to these kids. I mean no matter what anybody tells me I’ll always love Labyrinth, even though watching it now I can literally see how awful it is. The film resonates with me because of when I saw it, who I saw it with and what that time and age meant to me. It’s bigger than the film, just like the pageantry of ’98 was always going to be much bigger than McGwire, Sosa or Bud Selig’s ineptness.

So, Baseball’s worst fears in 1998 have begun to rear their ugly head. Despite their delayed campaigns and attempts to right their wrongs, it’s all for not. The kids of that time learned what they learned because Baseball let them. We all let them.

Do I think we should completely forgive Yasmani Grandal? No. He cheated and in turn could not only end his bright career, but could force us back to rooting for Nick Hundley. What’s worse is that now we don’t know if the hue of Grandal’s career rested on actual talent.

With one decision he impacted the hopes of literally thousands. But, why would he think anything of it? Especially since he saw first hand that same decision impact the admiration of millions. Was he wrong? Hell yes. Was it his fault? Yes. Should we blame him? No. We should blame ourselves. As much as we don’t want it to be this way, it is this way. We all made it this way. If we really want to do away with steroids, then any player who uses them should be banned from Baseball for life. That may be a bold stance, and a little too much for some people, but why? At this point in any players life they have all the information they need, and they make the decision, knowing the outcome. An outcome we pay millions to support, while Baseball pretends to spend millions to defeat. If we really want to dig ourselves out of the hole, we need to start by getting our hands dirty. It may sound like I’m hopping blame from person to fan and then back again, and that’s exactly what I’m doing. Although it was Grandal’s choice, and he should be punished for making a stupid one, it’s our fault for only telling him it was a stupid choice, and not a wrong one. 50 games, 100 games, it doesn’t matter, because it is a game and you’re still allowing them to play. Rip the band-aid off and expose the wound, or keep it on forever. But, don’t let it dangle half way, clinging to the skin and threatening everyone that it could end up floating in their pool. Yasmani Grandal will be a poster boy for all that is wrong with the game, which is unfair since as a boy he was told to buy the posters of those who represented all that was right with it.

For more Padres stuff and other things you might not care about follow me on Twitter @dallas_mc

No matter the reason, I thought it would be interesting to examine the top players in 1996 and see how Caminiti’s numbers stacked up.  If he were not eligible for the MVP, who would have received it?
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