Thursday, January 10, 2013

Bonds, Sosa and Clemens for Hall? Never.

I recall being just nine or 10 while growing up on a now-closed military base in Glenview, Illinois, which is an affluent town in suburban Chicago.

It's where I first learned to play baseball. Heck, when I was seven, I slid head-first into first base in my first-ever at-bat in the T-ball league my father signed me up for. Simply because it was something I saw the legendary Pete Rose do once on TV when I was a child.

Back then, us kids looked up to baseball players. We all did.

On the Navy base I grew up on, there was a giant field --- and I do mean giant --- literally 100 or so feet from the front of the trailer I grew up in. The field was once a runway, and eventually, grass grew there plentifully, making it an open area kids could play in.

It was an innocent time, those 1980s.

The favorite thing I recall about that field was that for the longest time, there was only one structure built on the massive plot of land.

An old, rickety, silver baseball backstop.

I and others in the neighborhood would gather on an almost daily basis to play ball, much like the kids in the movie "The Sandlot." It's where I learned to love the game. It's where I'd hear my mother yelling for me to come in for dinner when the sun finally peeked below the horizon.

It was childhood innocence at it's purest.

Perhaps that's why I get so defensive when people ask me why I wouldn't vote for Barry Bonds, Sammy Sosa or Roger Clemens for the Hall of Fame.


(Bonds in 1990 vs. 2007. Who knew your neck could grow so much wider naturally?)

I'm guessing that at some point, Bonds, Sosa and the "Rocket" as we called him back then also played baseball on small fields like I did, when they were kids, and long before they became famous for their athletic abilities.

But at some point in each of their lives, something changed. What that something was, only they truly know.

Maybe it's because of the money, and the millions that were thrown their way. Maybe it's an ego thing. But whatever it was, it was a choice. A conscious choise they made...to suddenly all be different people than the public was accustomed to seeing, out of the blue.

When Barry Bonds' attorneys claimed during their court testimony Bonds was stuffing his body full of steroids and designer steroids like HGH but wasn't aware of what he was being given, I shut off the television and never watched another second of what was said.

Seeing Sammy Sosa suddenly forget how to speak English while testifying in front of Congress and being asked about whether or not he juiced, well that just made me shake my head in disbelief and turn the TV off then also.

And when Roger Clemens was brought up on charges he used PEDs, that were ultimately dropped, I stopped watching that fiasco pretty early on as well.

Part of the Hall of Fame voting process says voters should include a player's character, and their contributions to the game in assessing that individual's Hall-worthiness.

If I'm Barry Bonds, I know what is or isn't going into my body. Always. To say someone was just handing you creams, oils and other things to put on and in your body, yet you had no clue, is akin to someone handing you or I a bottle filled with an unknown substance, and us simply drinking it without even asking what it is.

It's ridiculous. It insults my intelligence.


(1990 vs. 2003. Hey, I work out too. Why don't I get that big in my 30s?)

In Sosa's case, well, there's that pesky New York Times report that he failed a test in 2003 and was also a juicer. And regardless of how the Times came upon the information, which was supposed to be kept secret, is really beside the point. Has Sosa ever once denied those alleged results being true? Did he sue the New York Times?

No.

I am also reminded of another incident, where Sosa was caught using a corked bat that exploded all over the Wrigley Field infield grass, then claimed ignorance.

And Clemens, whose own teammate Andy Petite tesitfied --- then retracted --- that he was well-aware he also juiced...well, consider this:

At age 42, in 2004, Clemens posted an 18-4 record and a 2.98 ERA in 214 innings. At age 43, he went 13-8 with a ridiculous 1.87 ERA. I challenge all of you to remember what you were doing, or will be, at age 43.



There are those who will argue that there is still no definitive proof any of these three juiced.

The words "resonable doubt" echo in my mind. That is, until I also stop to consider this:

If you weren't using steroids, and someone accused you of doing so, would you sit back and openly take the allegations and suspicions of an entire nation? Wouldn't you be furious that your name, reputation or credibility had been damaged? Or would you sit back, as one of the finest athletes the world has ever known, and just take it?

Funny how after yesterday's Hall of Fame vote, there's been neary a peep from any of these three. As strong as these warriors and competitiors would push themselves to win on a baseball field, how incredibly telling that when this occurs, and they aren't voted into the Hall, they are as quiet and shy publicly as the Cowardly Lion in the Wizard of Oz.

Maybe I was born yesterday. But do any of those things above scream out "good character" to you? Is there a shred of evidence that's been shown to overwhelmingly prove these three are truly innocent victims of a witch hunt?

Not a shred.

Sure, there are some semi-ratonal arguements out there that oppose mine.

Still, I'd never vote for any of these three for the Hall of Fame.

Maybe it's just gut instinct. Maybe it's my ability to read between the lines, or put two-and-two together. Or maybe it's my simple human empathy and reaction to know that those who are innocent behave a lot differently that these guys have in the face of such accusations.

People aren't dumb.

Which is why my 10-year-old self, standing in that field playing ball on a hot summer day back then would never, ever allow me to vote for any of these three.

The innocence and purity that I once felt when I played the game back then as a child, after all, insists upon it.

In a world where I, too, am now a parent to a child who loves baseball already, I have chosen to take a stand.

Frankly, taking these kinds of stands are just the thing our society needs a little more of these days.

Because doing and preaching the right things to our own kids makes us far greater heroes than any of these baseball players will ever be.

Friday, November 30, 2012

Tears Flow as Game-Winning Shot Helps Town Heal

Sometimes, it's the little things in life that really matter.

And while I don't normally write about high school sports in my blogs and columns on this site, I am compelled to make an exception this time.

Last night, I was lucky enough to witness one of those rare moments, in a gymnasium in the small midwestern town of Grayslake, Illinois. It also happens to be where I graduated from high school.

Last weekend, one of the team's former star girls basketball players, Alex Scarbro, tragically lost her life. Alex played on the 2010-11 squad that made it to the IHSA Class 3A Elite Eight, and wasn't just a great basketball player.

She was a tremendous, giving human being.



So needless to say, last night was a diffcult time, as it was also Grayslake's first home game since her passing. The Rams were facing one of their biggest rivals in the Fox Valley Conference, Cary-Grove.

There on the Grayslake bench sat Alex's green jersey, with the #10 on it, the entire game. It had been symbolically placed there by Rams coach Steve Ikenn.

Trailing by a point with 11 seconds to go, the Rams threw the ball in-bounds, and what happened next was a bit of magic reminiscent of the same magic so many witnessed when Scarbro finished her career there two years earlier.

Junior center Morgan Dahlstrom, who was one of the few current players on the varsity roster the same time Scarbro was two years earlier, sank the game-winning layup with just 7.6 seconds to go, giving the Rams a one-point victory.

And even though it was only a regular season game, fans began storming the court as the final horn sounded in what suddenly erupted into a wild celebration.

There, in the middle of it all, was Alex's father Dave, who was understandably bawling his eyes out after the shot went in, making winners out of the Rams. One-by-one, fans began hugging him. Even those who didn't know him but only knew his family's tragic story were also in tears.

After making his way through the mob of fans, he found Grayslake Central's players waiting for him. They, too, were in tears, knowing what the moment meant to him, and the entire community, and formed a huge circle around him while also showering him with hugs.

"I knew Alex was gonna make something happen," Dave kept saying repeatedly, as tears of a momentary comfort streamed down his eyes. "I just knew it. I told everyone."

Minutes after the game, I, too approached Dave, who reached out and gave me a huge hug. I felt his warm tears on my own cheek as they fell onto mine. I could tell words could never capture how much the moment meant to him. As he let go of me, he just looked back and smiled.

I'm not necessarily one to believe in divine intervention in sporting events. But if ever there was a moment made for such a thing, Friday night was it.

Maybe, just maybe Alex was there, in that gym, giving the team an extra boost in the waning seconds. Maybe she was there to oversee such a beautiful moment. One that for at least one night, helped start the healing process for a small community that was stunned by her sudden passing.

Oh, the little things.

This one "little thing," which felt more like a small miracle, made me, and a lot of other people smile again, if only for a night.

And it was one tiny step on the long road to recovery for a town that continues to miss Alex. A town that will never forget what she meant to it, and continues to.

Wednesday, November 28, 2012

NBA Must Send Rondo a Strong Message

First, it was Ron Artest (now known as Metta World Peace) running into the stands to confront a fan who threw a full bottle of soda at him, in what turned into a nasty brawl between players and fans in the stands in Detroit years ago.

As a result, fans at NBA games aren't allowed to have caps on their open bottles of Pepsi, Sprite, or whatever their drink of choice is. Not even us media folks, as I found out firsthand at Milwaukee's Bradley Center earlier this year.

Last night, a similar situation nearly took place at TD Gardens in Boston after Brooklyn Nets/Kardashian reality star Kris Humphries fouled Celtics forward Kevin Garnett during the final minute of the first half.



Click here to see video of the incident: http://aol.sportingnews.com/nba/story/2012-11-28/celtics-nets-brawl-fight-rajon-rondo-kris-humphries-kevin-garnett-gerald-wallace?icid=maing-grid10%7Chtmlws-main-bb%7Cdl2%7Csec1_lnk2%26pLid%3D239378

Immediately after the foul, Garnett's teammate Rajon Rondo went after Humphries, pushing him in the face and pushing him backwards until there were at least 10 players grabbing and pushing in several rows of courtside seats. There were also allegedly punches thrown. The video clearly shows Humphries initially doing everything in his power to avoid the conflict from escalating.

Interestingly, Rondo came into the night tied with John Stockton for the most consecutive games with 10 or more assists. He had just three when he was ejected, meaning Stockton's record remains safe for now. The two will remain tied in the record books.

Chicago Bulls fans near where I live are well-aware of Rondo's temper and aggressive style of play, as are NBA fans nationwide. In fact, his history of nonsense is well-documented.

In April 2012, Rondo was suspended one game for bumping a referee during a playoff game against the Atlanta Hawks. What made the incident even more pathetic was Rondo's lame excuse that the official "got in his way."

Earlier that season, in February, he was suspended for two games for throwing a ball at another official's chest.

When you also consider that Rondo's jersey is the sixth top-selling jersey in the entire NBA, one thing is clear: kids look up to Rondo. He's an incredibly talented, popular player.

People will be quick to point fingers, and on talk shows and sports shows across the country, the root of this problem will be discussed ... not just in Rondo's life, but in the lives of youths across the country.

Sure, fights and scuffles have gone on in the NBA as long as the league has existed. But these days, the fights seem to get scarier and scarier. We live in a society that shamefully has become little more at times than an a WWE wrestling match gone wrong, as evidenced by fans in Boston egging Rondo on as the incident occured.

This is the kind of moment that gets seered into our childrens' minds. Many of whom are busy asking their mom or dad, "Why are those men trying to hurt each other?" Even in the video, I see a young boy who can't be more than 10 or 11, with a giant green Celtics foam finger, who was nearly caught in the middle of the fray.

Frightening, as he stands there among seven-foot giants.

Instead of continuing on an even more long-winded rant, I will make my point brief and clear.

Throw the book at Rondo, commissioner Stern. And order him to seek some sort of help, as he clearly has an anger issue. Fans of the NBA, our kids who look up to these "men," they deserve better.

Deal with this swiftly, before someone innocent sitting in the stands gets hurt badly. Or worse.