The following article, from ESPN.com some weeks ago, is a wonderful story which expresses a number of sentiments, including the adage, "actions speak louder than words".
The story speaks for itself, and stands as a seemingly rare but tremendously important example of genuine sportsmanship.
NOTE: The author of the piece, Graham Hays, offers the following sidebar in his piece to clarify the rule central to this incident: "As one of the umpires involved in the game between Central Washington and Western Oregon confirmed in an e-mail to ESPN.com, the rule in question was misinterpreted on the field after Tucholsky's injury and later clarified by the NCAA. According to page 105, rule 8.5.3.2 of the NCAA softball rule book, "If an injury to a batter-runner or runner prevents her from proceeding to an awarded base, the ball is dead and the substitution can be made. The substitute must legally touch all awarded or missed bases not previously touched."
===
Central Washington offers the ultimate act of sportsmanship
by Graham Hays
Western Oregon senior Sara Tucholsky had never hit a home run in her career. Central Washington senior Mallory Holtman was already her school's career leader in them. But when a twist of fate and a torn knee ligament brought them face to face with each other and face to face with the end of their playing days, they combined on a home run trot that celebrated the collective human spirit far more than individual athletic achievement.
Both schools compete as Division II softball programs in the Great Northwest Athletic Conference. Neither has ever reached the NCAA tournament at the Division II level. But when they arrived for Saturday's conference doubleheader at Central Washington's 300-seat stadium in Ellensburg, a small town 100 miles and a mountain range removed from Seattle, the hosts resided one game behind the visitors at the top of the conference standings. As was the case at dozens of other diamonds across the map, two largely anonymous groups prepared to play the most meaningful games of their seasons.
It was a typical Saturday of softball in April, right down to a few overzealous fans heckling an easy target, the diminutive Tucholsky, when she came to the plate in the top of the second inning of the second game with two runners on base and the game still scoreless after Western Oregon's 8-1 win in the first game of the afternoon.
"I just remember trying to block them out," Tucholsky said of the hecklers. "The first pitch I took, it was a strike. And then I really don't remember where the home run pitch was at all; [I] just remember hitting it, and I knew it was out."
A part-time starter in the outfield throughout her four years, Tucholsky had been caught in a numbers game this season on a deep roster that entered the weekend hitting better than .280 and having won nine games in a row. Prior to the pitch she sent over the center-field fence, she had just three hits in 34 at-bats this season. And in that respect, her hitting heroics would have made for a pleasing, if familiar, story line on their own: an unsung player steps up in one of her final games and lifts her team's postseason chances.
But it was what happened after an overly excited Tucholsky missed first base on her home run trot and reversed direction to tag the bag that proved unforgettable.
"Sara is small -- she's like 5-2, really tiny," Western Oregon coach Pam Knox said. "So you would never think that she would hit a home run. The score was 0-0, and Sara hit a shot over center field. And I'm coaching third and I'm high-fiving the other two runners that came by -- then all of a sudden, I look up, and I'm like, 'Where's Sara?' And I look over, and she's in a heap beyond first base."
While she was doubling back to tag first base, Tucholsky's right knee gave out. The two runners who had been on base already had crossed home plate, leaving her the only offensive player on the field of play, even as she lay crumpled in the dirt a few feet from first base and a long way from home plate. First-base coach Shannon Prochaska -- Tucholsky's teammate for three seasons and the only voice she later remembered hearing in the ensuing conversation -- checked to see whether she could crawl back to the base under her own power.
As Knox explained, "It went through my mind, I thought, 'If I touch her, she's going to kill me.' It's her only home run in four years. I didn't want to take that from her, but at the same time, I was worried about her."
Umpires confirmed that the only option available under the rules was to replace Tucholsky at first base with a pinch runner and have the hit recorded as a two-run single instead of a three-run home run. Any assistance from coaches or trainers while she was an active runner would result in an out. So without any choice, Knox prepared to make the substitution, taking both the run and the memory from Tucholsky.
"And right then," Knox said, "I heard, 'Excuse me, would it be OK if we carried her around and she touched each bag?'"
The voice belonged to Holtman, a four-year starter who owns just about every major offensive record there is to claim in Central Washington's record book. She also is staring down a pair of knee surgeries as soon as the season ends. Her knees ache after every game, but having already used a redshirt season earlier in her career, and ready to move on to graduate school and coaching at Central, she put the operations on hold so as to avoid missing any of her final season. Now, with her own opportunity for a first postseason appearance very much hinging on the outcome of the game -- her final game at home -- she stepped up to help a player she knew only as an opponent for four years.
"Honestly, it's one of those things that I hope anyone would do it for me," Holtman said. "She hit the ball over her fence. She's a senior; it's her last year. … I don't know, it's just one of those things I guess that maybe because compared to everyone on the field at the time, I had been playing longer and knew we could touch her, it was my idea first. But I think anyone who knew that we could touch her would have offered to do it, just because it's the right thing to do. She was obviously in agony."
Holtman and shortstop Liz Wallace lifted Tucholsky off the ground and supported her weight between them as they began a slow trip around the bases, stopping at each one so Tucholsky's left foot could secure her passage onward. Even with Tucholsky feeling the pain of what trainers subsequently came to believe was a torn ACL (she was scheduled for tests to confirm the injury on Monday), the surreal quality of perhaps the longest and most crowded home run trot in the game's history hit all three players.
"We all started to laugh at one point, I think when we touched the first base," Holtman said. "I don't know what it looked like to observers, but it was kind of funny because Liz and I were carrying her on both sides and we'd get to a base and gently, barely tap her left foot, and we'd all of a sudden start to get the giggles a little bit."
Accompanied by a standing ovation from the fans, they finally reached home plate and passed the home run hitter into the arms of her own teammates.
Then Holtman and Wallace returned to their positions and tried to win the game.
Hollywood would have a difficult time deciding how such a script should end, whether to leave Tucholsky's home run as the decisive blow or reward the selfless actions of her opponents. Reality has less room for such philosophical quandaries. Central Washington did rally for two runs in the bottom of the second -- runs that might have tied the game had Knox been forced to replace Tucholsky -- but Western Oregon held on for a 4-2 win.
But unlike a movie, the credits didn't roll after the final out, and the story that continues has little to do with those final scores.
"It kept everything in perspective and the fact that we're never bigger than the game," Knox said of the experience. "It was such a lesson that we learned -- that it's not all about winning. And we forget that, because as coaches, we're always trying to get to the top. We forget that. But I will never, ever forget this moment. It's changed me, and I'm sure it's changed my players."
For her part, Holtman seems not altogether sure what all the fuss is about. She seems to genuinely believe that any player in her position on any field on any day would have done the same thing. Which helps explains why it did happen on that day and on that field.
And she appreciates the knowledge that while the results of Saturday's game and her senior season soon will fade into the dust and depth of old media guides and Internet archives, the story of what happened in her final game at home will live on far longer.
"I think that happening on Senior Day, it showed the character of our team," Holtman said. "Because granted I thought of it, but everyone else would have done it. It's something people will talk about for Senior Day. They won't talk about who got hits and what happened and who won; they'll talk about that. And it's kind of a nice way to go out, because it shows what our program is about and the kind of people we have here."
====
To view the article on ESPN.com, follow this link:
http://sports.espn.go.com/ncaa/columns/story?id=3372631
To read more of the writings of Graham Hays, follow this link:
http://search.espn.go.com/graham-hays/
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Sunday, May 4, 2008
Just because the shot went in...
I’m not among those who had a rooting interest in the recently completed NCAA basketball championships.
Kansas defeated an excellent Memphis team in overtime, a game that Memphis could certainly have won, with any luck at all.
The "winning" Kansas Coach, Bill Self, is of course now looking for a new multi-million dollar contract with, as he called it, "security". (How many millions a person needs for security is a topic for another day.)
But the comment from Self that I found noteworthy revolved around the fact that after Memphis missed some opportunities to score and salt the game away, one of Self’s Kansas players made a key shot to send the game into overtime, whereupon Kansas won going away.
Here’s the context for the comment from Self, as it appeared in a web story on ESPN.com
On Monday night, Chalmers' shot fell and Self soon had a national title on his resume. Still, he said he didn't think of himself as a different coach. "I don't think just because a guy makes a guarded shot with 2.1 seconds left makes me any different than if he hadn't made the shot," Self said.
Exactly.
How often in sports do we glorify the player whose shot went in, sometimes with a lot of luck, and then say, "what a clutch shot. He’s a great pressure player."
Another player might make a similar effort, but see the ball hit the back rim and not fall. Does one ‘made’ shot—sometimes the result of good fortune--make one player "better" than the other?
There's one particular game I'll always remember: Game 7 of the NHL Stanley Cup finals in 1971. The Blackhawks were leading the Montreal Canadiens in Game 7 in Chirago. It was 2-0 about mid-way through the game. The Habs could get nothing going against Chicago goalie Tony Esposito. The Hawks had already scored twice against Montreal rookie phenom Ken Dryden.
Hawk star Bobby Hull took a blistering wrist shot from just inside the blue line that clearly beat Dryden over the shoulder. The puck rocketed off the cross bar.
Not long after, Montreal forward Jacques Lemaire scored on a seemingly harmless slap shot from beyond the Chicago blue line, a puck that Esposito lost sight of but would normally have been a routine save.
Another fortuitous bounce a few minutes later off the back boards, and Montreal had tied the game 2-2 and went on to win 3-2 to capture the Cup.
The legend of Ken Dryden was born in full.
The point is, if Hull’s great shot has bounced off the cross bar and "in" to make the score 3-0, the game was over. It was simply good fortune, not great goaltending by Dryden, that saved the day. Hull made a great shot, it just didn’t go in, by a fraction of an inch.
But the Habs indeed took advantage of good breaks, and earned their victory.
Esposito never won a Cup, though he was a Hall-of-Fame goalie, to be sure.
Back to the present, would the Kansas Coach, as he put it, be any lesser a coach if his player’s last second shot had not made its way through the rim? Would all the strategy, hard work, planning--and months of game execution--been any less well done and have been a "failure" if that last shot didn’t go in?
Of course not.
But since we need to proclaim "winners" and "losers", "heroes" and "bums", we’ll say this Coach is a Champion, while the other is not.
The only difference, quite often, is a shot that didn’t fall, or a puck that bounced in the wrong (or right) direction, or a field goal that went two inches wide.
Kansas defeated an excellent Memphis team in overtime, a game that Memphis could certainly have won, with any luck at all.
The "winning" Kansas Coach, Bill Self, is of course now looking for a new multi-million dollar contract with, as he called it, "security". (How many millions a person needs for security is a topic for another day.)
But the comment from Self that I found noteworthy revolved around the fact that after Memphis missed some opportunities to score and salt the game away, one of Self’s Kansas players made a key shot to send the game into overtime, whereupon Kansas won going away.
Here’s the context for the comment from Self, as it appeared in a web story on ESPN.com
On Monday night, Chalmers' shot fell and Self soon had a national title on his resume. Still, he said he didn't think of himself as a different coach. "I don't think just because a guy makes a guarded shot with 2.1 seconds left makes me any different than if he hadn't made the shot," Self said.
Exactly.
How often in sports do we glorify the player whose shot went in, sometimes with a lot of luck, and then say, "what a clutch shot. He’s a great pressure player."
Another player might make a similar effort, but see the ball hit the back rim and not fall. Does one ‘made’ shot—sometimes the result of good fortune--make one player "better" than the other?
There's one particular game I'll always remember: Game 7 of the NHL Stanley Cup finals in 1971. The Blackhawks were leading the Montreal Canadiens in Game 7 in Chirago. It was 2-0 about mid-way through the game. The Habs could get nothing going against Chicago goalie Tony Esposito. The Hawks had already scored twice against Montreal rookie phenom Ken Dryden.
Hawk star Bobby Hull took a blistering wrist shot from just inside the blue line that clearly beat Dryden over the shoulder. The puck rocketed off the cross bar.
Not long after, Montreal forward Jacques Lemaire scored on a seemingly harmless slap shot from beyond the Chicago blue line, a puck that Esposito lost sight of but would normally have been a routine save.
Another fortuitous bounce a few minutes later off the back boards, and Montreal had tied the game 2-2 and went on to win 3-2 to capture the Cup.
The legend of Ken Dryden was born in full.
The point is, if Hull’s great shot has bounced off the cross bar and "in" to make the score 3-0, the game was over. It was simply good fortune, not great goaltending by Dryden, that saved the day. Hull made a great shot, it just didn’t go in, by a fraction of an inch.
But the Habs indeed took advantage of good breaks, and earned their victory.
Esposito never won a Cup, though he was a Hall-of-Fame goalie, to be sure.
Back to the present, would the Kansas Coach, as he put it, be any lesser a coach if his player’s last second shot had not made its way through the rim? Would all the strategy, hard work, planning--and months of game execution--been any less well done and have been a "failure" if that last shot didn’t go in?
Of course not.
But since we need to proclaim "winners" and "losers", "heroes" and "bums", we’ll say this Coach is a Champion, while the other is not.
The only difference, quite often, is a shot that didn’t fall, or a puck that bounced in the wrong (or right) direction, or a field goal that went two inches wide.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Buckner earns his due... far too late
I’m so pleased that Bill Buckner was recently recognized before a Red Sox game and given a long ovation by the local fans.
It has troubled me for years that one play from his career, his late inning error in Game 6 of the 1986 World Series, has been the one mark on his career that is constantly brought up.
In my memory, Buckner was the kind of player who could be on my team any day. Tough, he played with and through injuries. A lifetime batting average close to .300. Played hard and well for many years.
Unlike many of the ballplayers of the last 15 years, he was not, to anyone’s knowledge, a cheater by any standard.
Yet, he made one “error” in a game that Sox were not necessarily going to win anyway, and he was—and is—vilified by arm chair observers.
He and his family suffered through the aftermath. I quote at length from a recent Associated Press story:
The former first baseman knew the same old questions would crop up about that play 22 years ago that has been replayed on television hundreds of times. At first, he turned down the team's request. A few days later he agreed to return to Fenway Park for the first time since 1997 when he was batting coach with the Chicago White Sox.
"I really had to forgive," he said after collecting himself, "not the fans of Boston per se, but I would have to say, in my heart, I had to forgive the media..."
Another pause, this one for 10 seconds, before he continued, "...for what they put me and my family through. So I've done that. I'm over that. And I'm just happy that I just try to think of the positive. The happy things."
And not about the night of Oct. 25 in Shea Stadium when Mookie Wilson's ground ball rolled through his legs in the 10th inning. It capped a three-run rally and drove in the winning run in the New York Mets 6-5 win that forced a seventh game.
The Mets won the final game 8-5 and Boston's streak of no championships since 1918 continued. That drought ended in 2004, and then the Red Sox made it two championships in four years.
Buckner, a .289 hitter in 22 years with more than 100 RBIs in two of his three full seasons with Boston, wasn't the only Red Sox player who failed in the last two games of the 1986 Series. To focus on just one play is "the ugly part of sports," he said.
"I don't think that in society in general that's the way we should operate. What are you teaching kids? Not to try because if you don't succeed then you're going to buried [sic], so don't try?"
The Mets already had tied the game at 5 in the 10th against Calvin Schiraldi and Bob Stanley before Wilson hit the ball to Buckner. And the Red Sox led 3-0 after 5 1/3 innings of Game 7 before the Mets tied it against Bruce Hurst in the bottom of the sixth and nicked Schiraldi for three runs in the seventh.
"You can look at that series and point fingers in a whole bunch of different directions," Buckner said. "We did the best we could to win there and it just didn't happen and I didn't feel like I deserved" so much blame."
"If I felt like it was my fault, I'd step up to the plate and say, 'hey, if I wasn't here the Red Sox would have won this thing,' but I really can't do that so I think some of it is unjustly directed my way," he said. "I'm pretty tough mentally, but the hardest part was with my family and my kids and I'm still dealing with it."
Since I work with a lot of young athletes, I want to focus in particular on one of Buckner more poignant comments:
"I don't think that in society in general that's the way we should operate. What are you teaching kids? Not to try because if you don't succeed then you're going to buried, so don't try?"
Amen.
Here was a guy, good enough to be starting and playing in the World Series, who had a near Hall-of-Fame career, who simply made an error on a ball that didn’t quite bounce the way he expected it to bounce.
It is so easy when you’ve never played the game at a high level to criticize someone when they make a mistake at a “key moment” in a game. I’ve done it myself, for sure.
But the reaction to Buckner and his error in the ’86 World Series was so unfounded, so unfair, that it is heartwarming to see that he has been able to speak so eloquently about it, years later.
The media and its need to criticize in cases like this should not be easily forgiven. But apparently Buckner has, and he is a better person for having done so than those who have put him down over the years.
Maybe the rest of us can learn something. Or if it’s too late for us, at least maybe our kids can distinguish between what’s truly important, and what’s not, in sports, and in life.
Buckner and the ’86 Red Sox did not win the World Series. But for me, he is a champion.
It has troubled me for years that one play from his career, his late inning error in Game 6 of the 1986 World Series, has been the one mark on his career that is constantly brought up.
In my memory, Buckner was the kind of player who could be on my team any day. Tough, he played with and through injuries. A lifetime batting average close to .300. Played hard and well for many years.
Unlike many of the ballplayers of the last 15 years, he was not, to anyone’s knowledge, a cheater by any standard.
Yet, he made one “error” in a game that Sox were not necessarily going to win anyway, and he was—and is—vilified by arm chair observers.
He and his family suffered through the aftermath. I quote at length from a recent Associated Press story:
The former first baseman knew the same old questions would crop up about that play 22 years ago that has been replayed on television hundreds of times. At first, he turned down the team's request. A few days later he agreed to return to Fenway Park for the first time since 1997 when he was batting coach with the Chicago White Sox.
"I really had to forgive," he said after collecting himself, "not the fans of Boston per se, but I would have to say, in my heart, I had to forgive the media..."
Another pause, this one for 10 seconds, before he continued, "...for what they put me and my family through. So I've done that. I'm over that. And I'm just happy that I just try to think of the positive. The happy things."
And not about the night of Oct. 25 in Shea Stadium when Mookie Wilson's ground ball rolled through his legs in the 10th inning. It capped a three-run rally and drove in the winning run in the New York Mets 6-5 win that forced a seventh game.
The Mets won the final game 8-5 and Boston's streak of no championships since 1918 continued. That drought ended in 2004, and then the Red Sox made it two championships in four years.
Buckner, a .289 hitter in 22 years with more than 100 RBIs in two of his three full seasons with Boston, wasn't the only Red Sox player who failed in the last two games of the 1986 Series. To focus on just one play is "the ugly part of sports," he said.
"I don't think that in society in general that's the way we should operate. What are you teaching kids? Not to try because if you don't succeed then you're going to buried [sic], so don't try?"
The Mets already had tied the game at 5 in the 10th against Calvin Schiraldi and Bob Stanley before Wilson hit the ball to Buckner. And the Red Sox led 3-0 after 5 1/3 innings of Game 7 before the Mets tied it against Bruce Hurst in the bottom of the sixth and nicked Schiraldi for three runs in the seventh.
"You can look at that series and point fingers in a whole bunch of different directions," Buckner said. "We did the best we could to win there and it just didn't happen and I didn't feel like I deserved" so much blame."
"If I felt like it was my fault, I'd step up to the plate and say, 'hey, if I wasn't here the Red Sox would have won this thing,' but I really can't do that so I think some of it is unjustly directed my way," he said. "I'm pretty tough mentally, but the hardest part was with my family and my kids and I'm still dealing with it."
Since I work with a lot of young athletes, I want to focus in particular on one of Buckner more poignant comments:
"I don't think that in society in general that's the way we should operate. What are you teaching kids? Not to try because if you don't succeed then you're going to buried, so don't try?"
Amen.
Here was a guy, good enough to be starting and playing in the World Series, who had a near Hall-of-Fame career, who simply made an error on a ball that didn’t quite bounce the way he expected it to bounce.
It is so easy when you’ve never played the game at a high level to criticize someone when they make a mistake at a “key moment” in a game. I’ve done it myself, for sure.
But the reaction to Buckner and his error in the ’86 World Series was so unfounded, so unfair, that it is heartwarming to see that he has been able to speak so eloquently about it, years later.
The media and its need to criticize in cases like this should not be easily forgiven. But apparently Buckner has, and he is a better person for having done so than those who have put him down over the years.
Maybe the rest of us can learn something. Or if it’s too late for us, at least maybe our kids can distinguish between what’s truly important, and what’s not, in sports, and in life.
Buckner and the ’86 Red Sox did not win the World Series. But for me, he is a champion.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Wild do the right thing
There are many different ways to communicate.
In the following case, actions speak louder than words.
This week, the Minnesota Wild announced they would offer a seriously injured player a contract, even though, technically, they are not required to do so to retain his playing rights.
The player is Kurtis Foster, a young defenseman who suffered a badly broken leg in a controversial icing-play incident.
Wire stories reported that Wild GM Doug Risebrough had already decided on a course of action.
One story, from TSN.com, reports that the Wild are not sure if Foster will be able to play in the NHL again, because of the seriousness of the injury.
"I don't have to qualify him [to retain his rights], but I will," Risebrough told the (Minneapolis) Star-Tribune. "It's a bad message not to do that. He's a good player. He needs a motivation [to rehab], and he doesn't need that stress in his life."
The Wild will offer Foster a one-year, $1.025 million contract before the June 25 deadline, which insurance would not have covered according to Wild assistant general manager Tom Lynn.
The professional sports world often reflects a kind of ego-driven and self-centered attitude, an environment which can be very cold and all about “business”.
In this instance, it seems clear that the Wild recognize that one of their own was hurt while in the line of duty, and they aren’t prepared to let him worry about his immediate future.
They have sent a message and they have done the right—and honorable—thing.
In the following case, actions speak louder than words.
This week, the Minnesota Wild announced they would offer a seriously injured player a contract, even though, technically, they are not required to do so to retain his playing rights.
The player is Kurtis Foster, a young defenseman who suffered a badly broken leg in a controversial icing-play incident.
Wire stories reported that Wild GM Doug Risebrough had already decided on a course of action.
One story, from TSN.com, reports that the Wild are not sure if Foster will be able to play in the NHL again, because of the seriousness of the injury.
"I don't have to qualify him [to retain his rights], but I will," Risebrough told the (Minneapolis) Star-Tribune. "It's a bad message not to do that. He's a good player. He needs a motivation [to rehab], and he doesn't need that stress in his life."
The Wild will offer Foster a one-year, $1.025 million contract before the June 25 deadline, which insurance would not have covered according to Wild assistant general manager Tom Lynn.
The professional sports world often reflects a kind of ego-driven and self-centered attitude, an environment which can be very cold and all about “business”.
In this instance, it seems clear that the Wild recognize that one of their own was hurt while in the line of duty, and they aren’t prepared to let him worry about his immediate future.
They have sent a message and they have done the right—and honorable—thing.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
A damaging double-standard
"Rocker rats out Texas
John Rocker claims he flunked a drug test ordered by Major League Baseball in 2000 and that he, Alex Rodriguez and other Texas Rangers were advised on how to effectively use steroids"
It’s revealing how the above media headline blares "Rocker rats out Texas"….
As we have mentioned often in this space, many in the media hate it when athletes "say nothing". Yet, when an athlete does step "outside the box" and say something outside the realm of the bland or ordinary, he or she is often condemned by those same media folks.
In this circumstance, we have a former high-profile major-leaguer stating that, basically, clubs knew about steroid use years ago. This is no real shock to anyone, of course.
Can we really believe that baseball commissioner Bud Selig was totally unaware of baseball’s bulked up athletes hitting balls farther than ever before, and home runs in greater numbers than ever before?
But the point here is this: athletes are glorified by the same media who had to know that many of these sporting heroes of the last 20 years have had big-time, shall we say, "help", from performance-enhancing supplements.
In the same breath, reporters and writers criticize athletes for lying through their teeth about steroid usage. (Many of us have witnessed the recent Clemens fiasco before Congress—his was simply a different approach than Mark McGuire’s "I’m not here to talk about the past" denials when the former slugger had his turn a couple of years ago.)
Yet, the media also hammer an athlete like Rocker for being a squealer, or a "rat".
If somebody doesn’t step forward and speak about what actually occurred, whether it be Jose Canseco or John Rocker or anyone else, how will people ever really know what has gone on in club houses?
Is the media philosophy actually supportive of the "old boys network" approach, where everyone covers up the truth and covers up for each other?
That’s how we ended up with baseball in the mess it is in, the world of sprinting with no credibility, the Tour de France in shambles, pro football with weekly drug suspensions announced, without fanfare.
In the above circumstances, everyone shut their eyes – and mouths-- and stood together in a big lie.
Unless, as in the case of a "star" such as Andy Petite, you face legal scrutiny and have to speak with the police or Congress. Then you may feel it is necessary to speak up and speak the truth, and the media will not give you a difficult time.
But if you’re just a mediocre ex-player, or "disgraced" ex-players such as Canseco or Rocker, you’re a "snitch" if you speak out about what you did or saw.
Quite the double-standard, at best.
John Rocker claims he flunked a drug test ordered by Major League Baseball in 2000 and that he, Alex Rodriguez and other Texas Rangers were advised on how to effectively use steroids"
It’s revealing how the above media headline blares "Rocker rats out Texas"….
As we have mentioned often in this space, many in the media hate it when athletes "say nothing". Yet, when an athlete does step "outside the box" and say something outside the realm of the bland or ordinary, he or she is often condemned by those same media folks.
In this circumstance, we have a former high-profile major-leaguer stating that, basically, clubs knew about steroid use years ago. This is no real shock to anyone, of course.
Can we really believe that baseball commissioner Bud Selig was totally unaware of baseball’s bulked up athletes hitting balls farther than ever before, and home runs in greater numbers than ever before?
But the point here is this: athletes are glorified by the same media who had to know that many of these sporting heroes of the last 20 years have had big-time, shall we say, "help", from performance-enhancing supplements.
In the same breath, reporters and writers criticize athletes for lying through their teeth about steroid usage. (Many of us have witnessed the recent Clemens fiasco before Congress—his was simply a different approach than Mark McGuire’s "I’m not here to talk about the past" denials when the former slugger had his turn a couple of years ago.)
Yet, the media also hammer an athlete like Rocker for being a squealer, or a "rat".
If somebody doesn’t step forward and speak about what actually occurred, whether it be Jose Canseco or John Rocker or anyone else, how will people ever really know what has gone on in club houses?
Is the media philosophy actually supportive of the "old boys network" approach, where everyone covers up the truth and covers up for each other?
That’s how we ended up with baseball in the mess it is in, the world of sprinting with no credibility, the Tour de France in shambles, pro football with weekly drug suspensions announced, without fanfare.
In the above circumstances, everyone shut their eyes – and mouths-- and stood together in a big lie.
Unless, as in the case of a "star" such as Andy Petite, you face legal scrutiny and have to speak with the police or Congress. Then you may feel it is necessary to speak up and speak the truth, and the media will not give you a difficult time.
But if you’re just a mediocre ex-player, or "disgraced" ex-players such as Canseco or Rocker, you’re a "snitch" if you speak out about what you did or saw.
Quite the double-standard, at best.
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