Let’s be honest folks, this whole concept that crime doesn’t pay when it comes to using performance-enhancing drugs in baseball, it’s a load of crap.
Crime sure does pay. If it didn’t, players would be less inclined to commit it. When there are hundreds of millions of dollars at stake for guys who can get the job done in the big leagues, what’s a 50 game suspension, really?
As a former player I wish this was tougher to say, but PED use is a logical career move for a lot of us. Spend any amount of time in the minors stuck under guys who are living a dream, knowing full well the only difference is a couple miles per hour on your heater or a few dozen feet on your fly balls, and it’s easy to rationalize using.
In fact, the hardest question for me to answer isn’t why are we still hearing about players using PEDs, it’s, why are we shocked when we do?
And why are we outraged? You’re telling me that, if you were in a situation where sticking a needle in your ass could potentially make you millions, relieve your pain, and set up your family for generations, you wouldn’t at least strongly consider it?
Yes, there are potential health concerns, but the life of a pro athlete is, by nature, a gamble — one wherein you bet health, time, and reputation for a possible payout. Furthermore, It’s a gamble most of us will go bust in.
But, what if you could play with loaded dice? And, what if, when you got caught, you didn’t get taken into the back room for a thumb breaking, or locked up, or even lost your chips.
Instead you got a 50 day vacation and a news conference where you could warble out an apology, saying you only cheated so you could be the best, because you didn’t want to let the fans down, because “It was just a moment of weakness. I’m ashamed of myself. I have sinned against god and man and the game of baseball. Forgive me.”
“But, I’m still going to keep the money.”
I got into the game when PEDs were still rampant, when the old needle junkies were getting busted like the MLB hired the Untouchables. Back then a cycle of juice got you a 15 day vacation—a veritable slap on the wrist. I remember when fellow Padre teammate, Clay Hensley popped for steroids, took his time off, then took his mid-90s fastball and went to the Show.
Was I jealous? You bet. Not just because he got to the big leagues, but because he was transformed into a superior athlete and I had to compete against him. It’s tough to be a normal guy fighting to get to the top against super serum soldiers.
I felt like he betrayed some divine moralistic principle — a principle that, if I held fast to, would reward me. But now, looking back, I realize the game deserves to be cheated. After all, what’s a little iconoclasm compared to the power of compounding interest?
Why talk of social scorn and role model destruction as if they ever were or could ever be effective deterrents? They’re hollow altruisms at best, the stuff of comment boxes and call-in shows. They never amount to real ticket sale loss or profit decline. There is no premium market for organic players. Winners are the only thing that sells in this business, chemically enriched or otherwise.
No, I’m not saying baseball players should do steroids. But I’m only saying that because it’s socially unpalatable to say you should do them as a player, and there is the possibility of adverse medical side effects. However, if you can handle the social backlash, are willing to get bit with MLB’s rubber toothed police dog, and have proper medical supervision—and know how to script a tear-jerking apology—what do you really lose?
The punishment isn’t steep enough to defeat this argument under its own power.
An agreement with the Players Association and the MLB that lets teams go after a player’s wallet for a positive test won’t happen. As it stands, you can’t release a player for testing positive, or nullify his contract—even if he PED’s himself out of the game.
Players aren’t stripped of their awards, either. They rarely lose their endorsements, and there isn’t even convincing proof PEDs will keep them out of the Hall of Fame.
Besides, lots of players don’t make it into the Hall of Fame — lots of rich players. Players who are happy to say “keep the plaque; I’ll take the private island.”
But, maybe the real reason why PED use shouldn’t shock us is, after all the weeping and gnashing of teeth over cheating comes to its conclusion, if the player goes on to win for us, his sins are washed away. We’ve seen it before a million times, haven’t we? Guys do something wrong. They take a drug. They have an affair. They fight some dogs. Then, after a tremendous season, people forget.
Public opinion is easy to buy, especially if you’re winning. And you know what makes winning easier…
That might be the worst part of the whole system when you think about it: the folks that are devastated now will go on to not care if the right numbers are achieved by their beloved athletes.
As long as that’s the case, there will always be a market wherein crime pays.