Inside Baseball: The Best of Tom Verducci (25 page)

And steroids are not just for sluggers anymore. They’re used by everyone, from erstwhile singles hitters to aging pitchers. Says Rogers, “Just look around. You’ve got guys in their late 30s, almost 40, who are throwing the ball 96 to 99, and they never threw that hard before in their lives. I’m sorry. That’s not natural evolution. Steroids are changing the game. You’ve got players who say, ‘All I want to do is hit,’ and you have pitchers who say, ‘All I want to do is throw 97. I don’t care if I walk [everyone].’” Steroids have helped even mediocre pitchers turn up the heat. “The biggest change I’ve seen in the game,” says a veteran major league infielder, “is seeing middle relievers come into the game throwing 91, 92 [mph]. Those guys used to be in the mid-80s or so. Now everybody is throwing gas, including the last guy in the bullpen.”

The changes in the game are also evident in the increasingly hulking physiques of the players. The average weight of an All-Star in 1991 was 199 pounds. Last year it was 211. “We’re kidding ourselves if we say this is not a problem,” says Towers. “Look at the before and after shots, at the size of some of these players from the ’90s to now. It’s a joke.”

Barry Bonds of the Giants is often cited as a player who dramatically altered his size and his game, growing from a lithe, 185-pound leadoff hitter into a 230-pound force who is one of the greatest home run hitters of all time. Bonds’s most dramatic size gains have come in the past four years, over which he has doubled his home run rate. Bonds, who insists he added muscle through diet and intense training, has issued several denials of rumors that he uses steroids, including one to a group of reporters in April in which he said, “You can test me and solve that problem [of rumors] real quick.”

But there is no testing in baseball, and everyone continues to speculate. What’s a little speculation and innuendo these days anyway? Mark McGwire was cheered in every park on his march to 70 home runs in 1998 by fans hardly concerned about his reluctant admission that he’d used androstendione, an over-the-counter supplement that reputedly has the muscle-building effects of steroids.

“If you polled the fans,” says former outfielder Curtis, “I think they’d tell you, ‘I don’t care about illegal steroids. I’d rather see a guy hit the ball a mile or throw it 105 miles an hour.’”

Says Caminiti, “They come to the arena to watch gladiators. Do they want to see a bunch of guys choking up on the bat against pitchers throwing 82 miles an hour or do they want to see the ball go 500 feet? They want to see warriors.”

It is a long way from 1988, when Canseco lost a prospective national endorsement deal with a major soft drink company because of unconfirmed suspicions that he used steroids. Many players, too, are showing more acceptance of steroids, especially when users and nonusers alike believe the health risks can be minimized if the drugs are used in proper doses. Today’s user, they claim, is more educated about steroid use than Caminiti in 1996 or NFL lineman Lyle Alzado, who died in 1992 at age 43 from brain cancer he believed was caused by grossly excessive steroid use.

Pete, the minor league steroid user, says, “I’ve talked to doctors. They’ve studied [steroids], and they know if you don’t abuse them, they can help you. As long as you don’t go crazy with them, like Alzado, you should be fine.”

Says Curtis, who estimates that 40% to 50% of major leaguers use steroids, “There are two things that might stop a person from using steroids: a moral obligation—they’re illegal—and a fear of the medical complications. I was 100 percent against the use of steroids. But I must tell you, I would not fear the medical side of it. I fully agree you can take them safely.”

Rogers also opposes steroid use on ethical grounds, but understands why it is so tempting. “My belief is that God gave you a certain amount of ability, and I don’t want to enhance it by doing something that is not natural and creates an unfair advantage. I’m critical of guys who do it,” he says. “On the other hand if I were 22 or 21 and trying to make it in baseball, I can’t say for sure that I wouldn’t try something when I plainly see the benefits other guys are getting. I can’t say I’m 100 percent positive I wouldn’t resort to that.”

The first generation of ballplayers who have grown up in the steroid culture is only now arriving, biceps bulging, chests shaven and buttocks tender. The acceptance level of steroids in the game may very well continue rising until … until what? A labor deal that includes a comprehensive testing plan? Such a plan, unlikely as it is, given the union’s resistance, might deter some players, but even baseball officials concede that the minor league testing program in place gives players the green light to shoot up in the off-season. And athletes in other sports subject to testing have stayed one step ahead of enforcement with tactics such as using so-called “designer drugs,” steroids that are chemically altered to mask the unique signature of that drug that otherwise would show on a urine test.

So even with testing, will it take something much darker for steroids to fall from favor? Renowned sports orthopedist James Andrews recalled the impact of two prominent deaths on the drug culture in football. “Major League Baseball can’t continue to leave this door open,” says Andrews. “Steroids became a big deal in football after Lyle Alzado [died] and ephedrine became a big deal after Korey Stringer. You don’t want to see it get to that [in baseball] before someone says stop. But, unfortunately, that’s what it seems to take to wake people up.”

Rogers has a nightmare about how it might end, and that is why he does not always throw his fastball as hard as he can. It is the thought of some beast pumped up on steroids whacking a line drive off his head. “We’re the closest ones to the hitter,” he says of the men on the mound. “I don’t want the ball coming back at me any faster. It’s a wonder it hasn’t happened already. When one of us is down there dead on the field, then something might happen. Maybe. And if it’s me, I’ve already given very clear instructions to my wife: Sue every one of their asses. Because everybody in baseball knows what’s been going on.”

Postscript: This story began in 2001, when more and more players were complaining to me (off the record) about the competitive disadvantage of facing an increasing number of opponents using steroids. I told my editors in March, “Somebody’s going to write this story, and it better be us.” I had been reporting the story for many weeks when I called Ken Caminiti, and he agreed to meet me at his garage in Houston, where he worked on his cars. With no apparent agenda except to tell the truth, Caminiti took responsibility for his steroid use and implicated no one else. That night we ate dinner close by, at his favorite diner. “This is going to be a pretty big story, huh?” he asked me. “Yes,” I said. “It is.” He looked at me and said, “Well, I’ve got nothing to hide,” and went back to eating his egg whites.

The story ran with sidebars about the high incidence of amphetamine use in baseball, the ease with which steroids could be obtained and the connection between steroids and injuries that were costing owners millions of dollars. I don’t believe the package shocked anybody in baseball, but I think it’s fair to say that the story changed the terms of the public debate about steroid use in the game.

Within three months of publication, the players association reversed its long-standing policy and agreed to a drug testing program. I do not believe that would have happened without Caminiti’s honesty.

Caminiti died Oct. 10, 2004 of a drug overdose.

AUGUST 19, 2002

After belting his 500th homer only one season earlier, late boomer
Barry Bonds busted another milestone in his run at Hammerin’ Hank

O
N A PLEASANT SUMMER NIGHT IN SAN FRANCISCO
last Friday, Barry Bonds did something the rest of us should try. No, hitting the 600th home run of a major league career is beyond the general populace, not to mention all but three other ballplayers in history. What’s instructive is what Bonds did
after
he connected with a fastball from Pirates righthander Kip Wells. Like De Kooning before a drying canvas, Bonds took a step back and admired the majesty and magnitude of his work.

A Bonds home run typically leaves nothing to doubt from the violent, noisy moment of contact. This one screamed for 421 feet before landing among the centerfield loonies of Pacific Bell Park. They clawed, pummeled and bloodied one another at the chance to own the five-ounce piece of history, at least until it could be sold to the highest bidder. And just as Bonds took a long, steady view of the moment when he joined Hank Aaron, Babe Ruth and Willie Mays in an exclusive fraternity, so do we need to take a long view of his career.

We need to pause because Bonds is not only a late boomer, but also a mostly unembraceable presence. He has, despite his unsurpassed skills, engendered no simpatico emotions or even a nickname. After blasting 73 home runs last year in one of the greatest seasons of all time, Bonds finished third—
third!
—among outfielders in fan balloting for the All-Star Game this year, drawing less support than Ichiro or Sammy Sosa.

“People don’t appreciate him,” says teammate Shawon Dunston, an 18-year veteran. “We’re playing with arguably the best ever, but he won’t get that recognition because people say he’s not nice. He’s going to break [Aaron’s] record. He’s going to hit 800.”

So step back and behold. On Friday night Bonds was again at that jewel of a ballpark beside the shimmering waters of McCovey Cove. He hit No. 500 there. He hit 71 there. He hit 600 there, as if joining Hammerin’ Hank, the Babe and the Say Hey Kid was another return engagement on the tour, like Sinatra at the Mirage or Springsteen at the Garden. You half expected the crowd not only to cheer but also to flick cigarette lighters. “To be in that select group is great,” Bonds said after the game, “but nothing’s more satisfying than doing it in front of 40,000 fans in San Francisco.”

Perspective? Bonds is the only player who broke into the big leagues in the past 47 years to hit 600 homers. If he plays another four seasons with a modest decrease in production, the 38-year-old leftfielder might retire as the alltime leader in home runs, extra-base hits, runs, walks and intentional walks (a mark he already has). Explaining how he arrived at 600 is a lesson in spontaneous combustion.

The alltime greats announce themselves early, like youthful princes born to the throne. Ruth, Ted Williams, Mays, Mickey Mantle all glowed with an unmistakable destiny from their first moments as big leaguers. Outside this regal procession is Bonds, the only man to sneak up on one of baseball’s numeric Mount Everests. Ever defiant, Bonds has overturned the game’s actuarial tables.

Bonds began his career as a lithe leadoff hitter for the Pittsburgh Pirates in 1986. In determining Bonds’s statistical twin after each of his first eight seasons, the comprehensive website Baseball-Reference.com found him to be most similar, in career production by age, to this mixed bag of hitters from throughout major league history: Bob Coluccio, Tom Brunansky (twice), Jack Clark (thrice), Bobby Bonds and, as recently as ’93, Greg Luzinski. Two years ago Bonds wasn’t even among the 10 outfielders named to major league baseball’s All-Century team.

Today he ranks not only among the greatest players of all time, but also as perhaps the most feared hitter ever. Never before have pitchers avoided a batter as much as they do the lefty-swinging Bonds, who, like a supersized Danny Almonte, seems too good for his league. In 2001 pitchers walked Bonds a record 177 times, or 26.7% of his plate appearances. They have been even more careful this year, walking him 31.6% of the time. The respect Bonds gets is most extraordinary with runners in scoring position (47.3%), and with runners on and first base open (67.2%).

That fear factor is a late-career development. Entering this season Bonds had almost the same number of plate appearances as Williams (14 more, or 9,805 to be precise), but he had made 13% more outs and struck out 82% more often. Bonds trailed Williams by wide margins in batting average (.344 to .292), on-base percentage (.483 to .419) and slugging percentage (.634 to .585). Ruth and Williams were feared throughout their careers—they walked in 20% or more of their plate appearances in nine and 10 seasons, respectively. Bonds has done so only four times.