In the world of sports, stories come at us from every direction. They makes us cry, cheer, scream at the television and at times even bring about a case of acute depression. As fans, the games we love affect our lives in important ways.
Sport seems to touch something deep inside the observer resembling a feeling that is, at its very core, almost religious.
After all, to be a fan “You gotta believe.” The first time I saw that phrase I was but a wee sophomore in high school. As a member of the Beech Buccaneer football team I received a T-Shirt that displayed that phrase in all its white and orange glory. We were given these shirts by the coaches showing us the theme for the season.
Indeed, the theme was that, as players, we had to have faith in each other and ourselves. But as fans, the idea of believing means you have to have faith in your team. And this faith must be as real as it is in church on Sunday mornings.
But, the problem with faith is that it’s often questioned and it usually does not have many intellectually honest answers. Losing faith is a common thing in today’s secular world, especially in the world of sports.
From doping to drunk driving, our great heroes push us close to the brink of complete disgust. But, of all the things that players get themselves into, whether it’s a double murder, DUI or animal cruelty, nothing seems to raise more eyebrows than cheating. And there’s a good reason: it corrupts the game and challenges all the things we’ve had faith in our entire lives.
With a notable list of cheaters on the front page this year, none compare to Barry Bonds. Floyd Landis took something to win a French competition that we really don’t care about, Belichick played dirty, but winners don’t have to answer too many questions when the going is good. On the other hand, Bonds is a name that brings about some edgy emotions among even casual fans.
Records in baseball are treated as the fables of grand characters in annals of our most rich and endearing mythological figures. That’s correct, the home run record is every bit as important as the Skywalker and Baggins families are to us.
The question here is not why these things are important to us, but where to place Barry Bonds in our complex creation that is baseball.
My argument is: you place him in the hall of fame in a special area set aside for other players in his era.
That’s right, let Bonds, Sosa and McGuire live on together forever. The fact is that these players are part of an era, they are not a few bad seeds that slipped through the cracks, they are card carrying members of the steroid era. More than likely, that era had many juicers at many positions. So, like with all other eras, we should give them a section in Cooperstown.
Even more important, we need to lay off Bonds because he would have been a hall of famer with or without the needle. He’s truly a special player that deserves accolades for his ability to play the game.
The fact is that he is not the true devil here, that person resides in the commissioners office. Eras are defined by the man in the big chair as much as they are the players. The league knew about steroids and it turned a blind eye to it.
So it’s our job to define the era, its beginnings and its more apparent end, and that is what you should see when you go to the hall of fame. The players who used along with those who didn’t will be covered because the clean guys succeeded in face of artificial competition. And the dirty guys get to see the shame of the era they defined displayed to every fan from now until the stadiums are torn down and the game is discussed in history books in the classrooms of the future.
