BruceLee
03-18-2005, 12:24 PM
I didn't even realize that McGwire was balling at the Senate hearings from the news reports I read yesterday.
From the Chicago Sun Times
WASHINGTON -- The room was dead quiet, and the six rows of spectators and the Congressmen had all turned their eyes to the big, bespectacled man at the long table in front, reading into a microphone from a prepared paper.
The man was crying.
Mark McGwire.
Big Red.
Bawling.
The formerly muscle-bloated, neck-swollen major-leaguer who broke Roger Maris' season home-run record in 1998 by hitting 70 homers, was weeping as he said, "My heart goes out to every parent whose son or daughter were victims of steroid use. ... I admire the parents who had the courage to appear before this committee and warn of the dangers of steroid use. My heart goes out to them.''
Why did his heart go out to them?
Yes, it is true, McGwire does charitable work for abused kids.
And the parents who had spoken to this same House Government Reform Committee earlier in the day and were seated in the row behind -- Donald Hooton Sr. and Denise and Raymond Garibaldi -- had told tragic stories of their teenage sons' suicides after steroid use.
But let us speculate.
And on this day of evasion and spin and waffling and sporadic bursts of unintentional clarity, speculating was perhaps the fairest game around.
So how about this: McGwire, the red-haired Irishman wearing a nice green tie on St. Patrick's Day, was weeping for himself.
Why?
Maybe because he is a gargantuan fraud. Maybe because he is a former steroid-taker himself.
Maybe because all those magazine cover shots and heroic poses and moon-launching tater memories remind him that he owes his fame and wealth to a simple fact: He cheated when he played ball.
That his epic stature -- and that of too many of his colleagues -- has enchanted young American kids to want to be mini-Paul Bunyans and take dangerous, performance-enhancing drugs may well be one of the saddest tales around.
Game has head in sand
There were questions as to whether this unusual congressional hearing was a witch hunt or some misguided foray into vote-gathering or celebrity rubber-necking or political grandstanding in an arena not within its realm.
It was not.
There were a number of representatives who openly admitted their love of baseball.
Start with committee chairman Tom Davis. "I'm a baseball fan,'' he said. "I always have been.''
Then he added, "But there's a cloud over the game I love.''
But as the wall clock with the blue and red voting lights ticked away and the subpoenaed witnesses droned on without truly exposing their guts or passion or consciences, a spectator could come to one only conclusion.
Major-league baseball is out of control.
It is hidden in a cloud of denial and arrogance and stupidity and non-accountability.
Thirty years ago, according to Rep. Henry Waxman, the ranking minority member of the committee, baseball knew it had a drug problem and "it failed to regulate itself.''
As late as 1995, commissioner Bud Selig said, "If baseball has a problem, I must say candidly that we were not aware of it. But should we concern ourselves as an industry? I don't know.''
So rubber Bud and his hole-riddled drug policy were roundly excoriated by the committee members.
As were Selig's attending medical expert, Dr. Elliott J. Pellman, his labor vice president, Robert Manfred Jr., and the players union executive director, Don Fehr.
What the questioners discovered was that trying to pin down protective, self-important men such as Selig, Manfred and Fehr is like trying to spear egg yolks with a straw.
Such agenda-driven executives are slippery, spineless and will ooze to the lowest spot on the landscape.
The frustration and, ultimately, anger coming from the questioning politicians was encapsuled in the heated words of red-faced Rep. Paul Kanjorski from Pennsylvania as he spluttered to Selig and Co.: "You really have to disengage yourself from the idea that you are some special segment of America!''
Canseco most calm, candid
Almost nobody but the oily and tune-changing pitcher Curt Schilling had much to say about anything.
Congress looked ready at the end to take drug-testing matters into its own hands.
Steroid problem?
Standards established by Davis held that personal questions were going to be soft and few.
But. Well. Who took 'em?
Not Sammy. Not Raffie. Not Curt. Not Frank Thomas, via video-conferencing. Not Mark, uh-uh.
Only Lucifer himself -- author and admitted drug abuser Jose Canseco -- apparently was responsible for baseball's steroid problem.
Indeed, Canseco, the nutball muscle freak who speaks of conspiracies the way most of us speak of gas prices, sounded like the most forthright and honest athlete in the building as he calmly and openly answered questions. Even after requesting immunity and not getting it.
"I don't know,'' McGwire said to one obvious question.
"Sir, I'm not here to talk about the past,'' he said to another.
"I'm retired. I'm not here to talk about the past,'' he said again and again when asked anything close to a drug question.
Did he know anybody who took androstenedione, and why did he take it himself, as acknowledged years ago?
No comment from Markie.
"Are you taking the Fifth?'' Rep Elijah Cummings asked.
"I'm not here to talk about the past.''
But Raymond Garibaldi was here to talk about the past -- since his son, whacked out and depressed from steroid use, hanged himself.
"We live in Foster City, Calif.,'' the dad said in the hallway during a break. "Near San Francisco. My son was a baseball player. He loved Barry Bonds, Jose Canseco, Mark McGwire, from the area. He would videotape their swings.''
The young man couldn't copy their bodies, however.
And perhaps that's why McGwire was crying.
Because the kid is dead.
And maybe Big Mac helped a bit.
http://www.suntimes.com/output/telander/cst-spt-rick181.html
From the Chicago Sun Times
WASHINGTON -- The room was dead quiet, and the six rows of spectators and the Congressmen had all turned their eyes to the big, bespectacled man at the long table in front, reading into a microphone from a prepared paper.
The man was crying.
Mark McGwire.
Big Red.
Bawling.
The formerly muscle-bloated, neck-swollen major-leaguer who broke Roger Maris' season home-run record in 1998 by hitting 70 homers, was weeping as he said, "My heart goes out to every parent whose son or daughter were victims of steroid use. ... I admire the parents who had the courage to appear before this committee and warn of the dangers of steroid use. My heart goes out to them.''
Why did his heart go out to them?
Yes, it is true, McGwire does charitable work for abused kids.
And the parents who had spoken to this same House Government Reform Committee earlier in the day and were seated in the row behind -- Donald Hooton Sr. and Denise and Raymond Garibaldi -- had told tragic stories of their teenage sons' suicides after steroid use.
But let us speculate.
And on this day of evasion and spin and waffling and sporadic bursts of unintentional clarity, speculating was perhaps the fairest game around.
So how about this: McGwire, the red-haired Irishman wearing a nice green tie on St. Patrick's Day, was weeping for himself.
Why?
Maybe because he is a gargantuan fraud. Maybe because he is a former steroid-taker himself.
Maybe because all those magazine cover shots and heroic poses and moon-launching tater memories remind him that he owes his fame and wealth to a simple fact: He cheated when he played ball.
That his epic stature -- and that of too many of his colleagues -- has enchanted young American kids to want to be mini-Paul Bunyans and take dangerous, performance-enhancing drugs may well be one of the saddest tales around.
Game has head in sand
There were questions as to whether this unusual congressional hearing was a witch hunt or some misguided foray into vote-gathering or celebrity rubber-necking or political grandstanding in an arena not within its realm.
It was not.
There were a number of representatives who openly admitted their love of baseball.
Start with committee chairman Tom Davis. "I'm a baseball fan,'' he said. "I always have been.''
Then he added, "But there's a cloud over the game I love.''
But as the wall clock with the blue and red voting lights ticked away and the subpoenaed witnesses droned on without truly exposing their guts or passion or consciences, a spectator could come to one only conclusion.
Major-league baseball is out of control.
It is hidden in a cloud of denial and arrogance and stupidity and non-accountability.
Thirty years ago, according to Rep. Henry Waxman, the ranking minority member of the committee, baseball knew it had a drug problem and "it failed to regulate itself.''
As late as 1995, commissioner Bud Selig said, "If baseball has a problem, I must say candidly that we were not aware of it. But should we concern ourselves as an industry? I don't know.''
So rubber Bud and his hole-riddled drug policy were roundly excoriated by the committee members.
As were Selig's attending medical expert, Dr. Elliott J. Pellman, his labor vice president, Robert Manfred Jr., and the players union executive director, Don Fehr.
What the questioners discovered was that trying to pin down protective, self-important men such as Selig, Manfred and Fehr is like trying to spear egg yolks with a straw.
Such agenda-driven executives are slippery, spineless and will ooze to the lowest spot on the landscape.
The frustration and, ultimately, anger coming from the questioning politicians was encapsuled in the heated words of red-faced Rep. Paul Kanjorski from Pennsylvania as he spluttered to Selig and Co.: "You really have to disengage yourself from the idea that you are some special segment of America!''
Canseco most calm, candid
Almost nobody but the oily and tune-changing pitcher Curt Schilling had much to say about anything.
Congress looked ready at the end to take drug-testing matters into its own hands.
Steroid problem?
Standards established by Davis held that personal questions were going to be soft and few.
But. Well. Who took 'em?
Not Sammy. Not Raffie. Not Curt. Not Frank Thomas, via video-conferencing. Not Mark, uh-uh.
Only Lucifer himself -- author and admitted drug abuser Jose Canseco -- apparently was responsible for baseball's steroid problem.
Indeed, Canseco, the nutball muscle freak who speaks of conspiracies the way most of us speak of gas prices, sounded like the most forthright and honest athlete in the building as he calmly and openly answered questions. Even after requesting immunity and not getting it.
"I don't know,'' McGwire said to one obvious question.
"Sir, I'm not here to talk about the past,'' he said to another.
"I'm retired. I'm not here to talk about the past,'' he said again and again when asked anything close to a drug question.
Did he know anybody who took androstenedione, and why did he take it himself, as acknowledged years ago?
No comment from Markie.
"Are you taking the Fifth?'' Rep Elijah Cummings asked.
"I'm not here to talk about the past.''
But Raymond Garibaldi was here to talk about the past -- since his son, whacked out and depressed from steroid use, hanged himself.
"We live in Foster City, Calif.,'' the dad said in the hallway during a break. "Near San Francisco. My son was a baseball player. He loved Barry Bonds, Jose Canseco, Mark McGwire, from the area. He would videotape their swings.''
The young man couldn't copy their bodies, however.
And perhaps that's why McGwire was crying.
Because the kid is dead.
And maybe Big Mac helped a bit.
http://www.suntimes.com/output/telander/cst-spt-rick181.html