I've refrained from the Mark McGwire castigation on this blog since his apology. It's because there's not much that can be done about it now, and because his record-breaking feats were a symptom rather than the disease itself that ate into baseball. I've seen enough from Jason Giambi, Andy Pettitte and A-Rod to safely say I didn't want to go through a dissection of McGwire's so-called apology. Needless to say, none of it makes me happy.
That being said, Walk-Off HBP sent through this link during the week and I've been meaning to post it for a couple of days now.
I knew that what I was seeing was impossible. When you play the game long enough, you develop a sixth sense for the realm of the possible. You learn your body’s limitations (and your opponents’ bodies) in short order, because knowing is integral to your longevity. Sure, limits are pushed, but it doesn’t happen overnight. I played centerfield and had to know that when Chad Kreuter or Todd Zeile hit a ball, there was a good chance it would come off their bats with no spin, making it dance unpredictably while I was trying to catch it in the outfield. I could tell from the angle of Vladimir Guerrero’s bat and the location of the pitch when the ball was going to slice away from me. From bat-ball contact I could tell to a fine degree where a ball would end up long before I got there. As the Phillies announcers always used to say to me, “I knew right away when you had the ball in your sights, and then you would just be there.”
That’s because it was my job to be there — to know the field, the wind, the conditions so well that I could take the ball out of the equation after contact, and get to where it was supposed to be. I had all the data I needed without relying on my eyes exclusively. I could run to the spot and wait for the ball while getting into position to throw to the next base (should a runner be on base).
The first time I questioned those instincts was during a game against the Kinston Indians and Manny Ramirez in 1992. It was my first full minor league season with the Winston-Salem Spirits of the famed Carolina League. I was in centerfield and Manny hit a line drive into the gap in right-center. No problem, I thought. I’ll run at an angle and cut the ball off near the warning track. Even if can’t quite get there to catch it, maybe I can hold him to a double.
Well, the ball hit part-way up the light tower, well over the fence for a home run. I could not believe my eyes. Up until that moment, I’d never seen anyone who could hit a home run to the opposite field, let alone a missile like that. It was stunning. As far as I knew, this was pure hitting ability. Ability that none of my college opponents had possessed.
There you have it. Incredulity as the reason for suspicion. The problem at the time was that even with the professional opinion of a fellow player, the Glanville line of reasoning would not have stood in a court of public opinion. Most of us who suspected, did so on the basis of our incredulity at the feats being accomplished. Those who denied the possibility o steroids demanded proof and gloated behind the absence of testing in baseball.
The Onion's Take
Which leads me to this other link to The Onion whose headline reads: "Mark McGwire Admits It Was Really Fucking Fun Hitting Baseballs So Far.
"I can't remember having a better time in all of my life," McGwire said during an hour-long interview with the MLB Network's Bob Costas. "Do you have any idea what it's like knowing instantly that a ball you hit is going to fly—no, soar—over a fence in a major-league stadium? Well, I do. And it's fucking fantastic."
"I'm sorry everyone had a problem with it," McGwire added. "But I was having a blast."
Though McGwire told Costas there were times he almost regretted taking anabolic steroids, the former Oakland Athletics star said that, considering the tons of fun the performance-enhancing substances allowed him to have, he never thought twice about his decision.
"I was hitting baseballs over 450 feet," McGwire said. "That's really far. And high, too. Oh my God, were they high. Towering, in fact. I was, like, crushing these things."
According to McGwire, he had the most fun during the 1998 season, when he fired off 70 home runs and broke Roger Maris' single-season long-ball record. McGwire said he had the second-most fun the following year, when he hit 65 home runs, many of which, the giddy slugger proclaimed, "went for miles and miles."
If that doesn't illustrate the moral obtuseness of McGwire's 'apology', then this bit mows down the complicity of the MLB and MLBPA:
According to the three-time Silver Slugger Award winner, the fun he was having also seemed to make everyone else—including teammates, fans, and Major League Baseball commissioner Bud Selig—have fun while they watched his at bats.
McGwire said that the main thing he learned in his 16 years as a player was that people tend to be happier when players are hitting the ball really far.
"By their reactions, I just figured they were cool with me taking steroids and having a good time," McGwire said. "They clearly knew I was taking performance-enhancing drugs, right? I mean, look at me. I look like a fucking monster. Plus, come on—I was hitting the ball really, really fucking far."
Ouch.
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