When I was a kid and into my teenage years I was a huge baseball fan. Thanks in large part because of my beloved abuelo, I loved the game.The male members of our readership will probably recall their baseball card collections — I had the complete 1966 Chicago Cubs — and I have very fond memories of the Saturdays I sat with abuelo watching baseball on TV with the color commentary by Dizzy Dean and Peewee Reese. Before his death in 1977 one of his is two favorite teams, the Cincinnati Reds — the Big Red Machine — won back-to-back World Series titles. The first against the Red Sox (boo! hiss!) in 1975; the second against my grandfather’s second favorite team, the New York Yankees, in 1976. That was a tough series for him but abuelo always rooted for the Reds and their complement of great Cuban players. Baseball was an American sport, and a Cuban sport. The love of the game was one of the very few things shared by the two countries between the Florida Straits.
All of this is prelude to the story linked here. It speaks to how low we have come in our culture and society, that a game as pure and as beautiful as baseball — the only sport with no time limit, a game that, at its best, unfolds itself like a Bruckner symphony, a game that has inspired some of the greatest sports writers and filmmakers — has deteriorated to the point that we cannot even trust the accomplishments of the players because of artificially induced talent.
Roger Clemens, Barry Bonds, Sammy Sosa, and especially Mark McGwire, should NEVER be inducted into the Hall of Fame at Cooperstown. If they are, then let a real baseball player like Pete Rose get in. At least Charlie Hustle was banned for gambling, not injecting performance-enhancing drugs. If you ask me, all four of these players should have huge asterisks next to their fake and tainted records. If they did it to Roger Maris, then it should be good enough for them too.