Kindly take note that for the 90th consecutive year, no member of the Cubs has been accused of taking performance-enhancing drugs.
Mark McGwire, of course, is not so fortunate as he chases home run history while skeptics wonder whether it’s the rabbit in the ball, the quail in the pitcher or the androstenedione in the oversized man himself.
The public would find fault if it discovered that McGwire’s bat is corked, let alone his body. Also, however, we must realize that athletes of today are doing things that athletes of yesterday simply couldn’t do.
One of the most famous shots in golf annals was Gene Sarazen’s 4-wood for double eagle to the 15th green in the 1935 Masters. Tiger Woods routinely reaches that par-5 at Augusta National with a driver and 9-iron, and even if you don’t think that’s progress, it’s not all titanium, either.
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In his recent biography, hot off the presses and waiting at a bookstore near you, McGwire admits using the controversial creatine. He has been just as open about “andro,” a dietary supplement sold over the counter, as are tobacco and booze and guns.
As the Tribune reported, one chain ordered the nutritional booster removed from shelves nationwide. But the news doesn’t solve the debate as to what effect, if any, McGwire’s habit might have on his ability to hit 62 homers or, more important, his chances of hitting age 62.
And if doctors don’t know, how are we to know? Besides, if McGwire is so stimulated by this breakfast of champions, how come he still needs days off?
The fact that androstenedione is banned by other organizations doesn’t necessarily indict McGwire. The same NFL that disallows it has been known to look the other way when players are injected with pain-killers on Sunday mornings.
And please, table any discussion of the Olympics, the international house of hypocrisy. Those windbags are all about greed and deception, but whatever you do, don’t you dare touch that Sudafed.
Baseball has no answer to the “andro” question because baseball has no policy on a number of matters, such as how to discipline a player who spits all over an umpire’s face. The former national pastime has been adrift at sea without a leader, and it’s an odd twist that McGwire, who has contributed mightily to the shiny summer of ’98, gets scolded now for lifting the game on his suspiciously wide shoulders.
You would be inclined to condemn McGwire if he were a stranger to powerball, which he isn’t. He has been feasting for several seasons, long before this current diet of pep pills and rag-arm expansion pitchers. The most difficult task in sports is hitting a baseball, a skill that cannot be found in a bottle, in a jar or with a needle.
Also, feel free to assume that a lot of athletes and entertainers you’ve paid to witness have reported to work higher than a kite, fueled by more than oatmeal and brussels sprouts. For years, the unofficial major-league snack was the “greenie,” not that the little energy boosters ever seemed to propel the Cubs toward any superhuman feats.
If McGwire hurts himself in his quest to be bigger and stronger, he’s still less a menace to society than all these athletic macho men who go around beating up wives and girlfriends. These miscreants get a pass, and we want to give McGwire a urine test for taking out his aggressions on a baseball?
McGwire is looking for an advantage, his sport permits it, and now here comes word that Commissioner Bud Selig and the players union will combine their testosterone to study this matter. Now, isn’t that dandy? Baseball, which McGwire has helped save, will return the favor and help save McGwire.
Androstenedione should go down as a miracle drug if for no other reason than it convinced management and labor to agree on something. If time permits, perhaps the two warring factions can form a committee to investigate causes for cancellation of the 1994 World Series.