http://www.sacbee.com/content/sports/story/13340162p-14182117c.html
(Things that make you go "hmmmmmm.")
Mark Kreidler: Who'd have thought Canseco might be telling the truth?
By Mark Kreidler -- Bee Columnist
Published 2:15 am PDT Tuesday, August 2, 2005
Story appeared in Sports section, Page C1
Holy Mother of Pearl, what if Jose Canseco turns out to be right? What if it's Canseco telling the truth and those other guys - the finger-jabbing-in-the-air, "Never. Ever. Period," I'm-not-here-to-discuss-the-past gasbags - who are the liars and the crooks and the cheats?
It'll just wreck the curve, won't it? It will wreck the curve for people who were very happy, not so long ago, to toss Canseco into the trash bin, mock his dopey, self-serving book and blast his appearance before Congress.
It could turn the game inside out.
It should.
It should, because if Jose Canseco is the one walking the straight and narrow here, then we're all going straight to the seventh concentric circle. And that ain't the on-deck area, baby.
Rafael Palmeiro walked an amazingly fine line Monday, the one that generally separates the athletes who barely tolerate us from the ones who outright think we're tools. But we can get past that.
We can get past Palmeiro's defense of his steroid suspension, the old Barry Bonds/C.J. Hunter/anybody-who's-ever-been-accused line of action.
Raffy is doing what many athletes in his situation would do, which is to try to hold on to his 3,000-hit, 500-homer reputation for as long as possible.
In Palmeiro's case, that meant pulling the old "never intentionally" hidden-ball trick on his public, as in, "I have never intentionally used steroids." It could be anything under such an explanation, you see. Tainted supplements. A spiked drink. You don't think Canseco slipped a little caplet in Palmeiro's water bottle to get even for Palmeiro blistering him at the congressional hearing, do you?
It could've been anything really, because Palmeiro said "never intentionally," not "never." It was before Congress that Palmeiro said "never," but, shoot, that was more than four months ago.
Barry Bonds could've told Palmeiro: They just don't make flaxseed oil and arthritis balm like they used to. That's just a player covering his bases. That's everyday stuff.
But Jose Canseco as the oracle? That'll take some getting used to.
You remember Canseco. One of the great cases of arrested development in modern baseball history. A guy who exploded into superstar status and then dissolved into a comic-book caricature of a player in record time. Later on, Jose began hinting that a whole bunch of his contemporaries had been jacking up with illegal junk. Then he wrote the book.
In the book, whose title is "Juiced," Canseco made it plain that not only had he been a user and spent time using with a bunch of other stars - Mark McGwire, Jason Giambi, Palmeiro - but that the 'roids had been incredibly good for him.
Canseco's take was that the juice, properly harnessed and openly dispensed, could simply become a great means to help elite athletes reach their full potential (or, heck, since it's a drug, maybe even actually exceed that potential). For that, and for the cheap smears that appeared under his byline, he was tarred and feathered and mocked when he went to Capitol Hill; and then he was torched by such noted drug experts as Cardinals manager Tony La Russa, who said he knew, just knew, McGwire had come by all his records honestly.
But you know what? Check the scoreboard. Giambi basically admitted being a user and apologized for it, though he never actually said the word "steroid." Bonds told a grand jury he didn't know what he was taking when he might have taken illegal substances.
Sammy Sosa's physique and power stroke suddenly shrank to unrecognizable proportions. McGwire recorded the most squirm-inducing appearance by a ballplayer before Congress, repeatedly saying he didn't want to talk about the past despite being asked point-blank whether he ever had used steroids.
Now Rafael Palmeiro, the one person who flat-out told the country in sworn testimony he never used, joins the long list of athletes who have done nothing wrong, yet bizarrely and inexplicably find themselves suspended from their respective sports.
Palmeiro would have us believe there is a greater mystery to the origin of that positive steroid test. A suggestion: Read Jose Canseco's book. Canseco seems to be fairly certain, at least in Palmeiro's past, where such a positive might have come from. That may not make Canseco the voice of clarity here, but it repositions him as the guy who, lately, seems to consistently be coming closest to the truth. It's the nightmare scenario: You can't even tell the bad guys in baseball anymore without a scorecard.
Reach Mark Kreidler at (916) 321-1149or mkreidler@sacbee.com.
(Things that make you go "hmmmmmm.")
Mark Kreidler: Who'd have thought Canseco might be telling the truth?
By Mark Kreidler -- Bee Columnist
Published 2:15 am PDT Tuesday, August 2, 2005
Story appeared in Sports section, Page C1
Holy Mother of Pearl, what if Jose Canseco turns out to be right? What if it's Canseco telling the truth and those other guys - the finger-jabbing-in-the-air, "Never. Ever. Period," I'm-not-here-to-discuss-the-past gasbags - who are the liars and the crooks and the cheats?
It'll just wreck the curve, won't it? It will wreck the curve for people who were very happy, not so long ago, to toss Canseco into the trash bin, mock his dopey, self-serving book and blast his appearance before Congress.
It could turn the game inside out.
It should.
It should, because if Jose Canseco is the one walking the straight and narrow here, then we're all going straight to the seventh concentric circle. And that ain't the on-deck area, baby.
Rafael Palmeiro walked an amazingly fine line Monday, the one that generally separates the athletes who barely tolerate us from the ones who outright think we're tools. But we can get past that.
We can get past Palmeiro's defense of his steroid suspension, the old Barry Bonds/C.J. Hunter/anybody-who's-ever-been-accused line of action.
Raffy is doing what many athletes in his situation would do, which is to try to hold on to his 3,000-hit, 500-homer reputation for as long as possible.
In Palmeiro's case, that meant pulling the old "never intentionally" hidden-ball trick on his public, as in, "I have never intentionally used steroids." It could be anything under such an explanation, you see. Tainted supplements. A spiked drink. You don't think Canseco slipped a little caplet in Palmeiro's water bottle to get even for Palmeiro blistering him at the congressional hearing, do you?
It could've been anything really, because Palmeiro said "never intentionally," not "never." It was before Congress that Palmeiro said "never," but, shoot, that was more than four months ago.
Barry Bonds could've told Palmeiro: They just don't make flaxseed oil and arthritis balm like they used to. That's just a player covering his bases. That's everyday stuff.
But Jose Canseco as the oracle? That'll take some getting used to.
You remember Canseco. One of the great cases of arrested development in modern baseball history. A guy who exploded into superstar status and then dissolved into a comic-book caricature of a player in record time. Later on, Jose began hinting that a whole bunch of his contemporaries had been jacking up with illegal junk. Then he wrote the book.
In the book, whose title is "Juiced," Canseco made it plain that not only had he been a user and spent time using with a bunch of other stars - Mark McGwire, Jason Giambi, Palmeiro - but that the 'roids had been incredibly good for him.
Canseco's take was that the juice, properly harnessed and openly dispensed, could simply become a great means to help elite athletes reach their full potential (or, heck, since it's a drug, maybe even actually exceed that potential). For that, and for the cheap smears that appeared under his byline, he was tarred and feathered and mocked when he went to Capitol Hill; and then he was torched by such noted drug experts as Cardinals manager Tony La Russa, who said he knew, just knew, McGwire had come by all his records honestly.
But you know what? Check the scoreboard. Giambi basically admitted being a user and apologized for it, though he never actually said the word "steroid." Bonds told a grand jury he didn't know what he was taking when he might have taken illegal substances.
Sammy Sosa's physique and power stroke suddenly shrank to unrecognizable proportions. McGwire recorded the most squirm-inducing appearance by a ballplayer before Congress, repeatedly saying he didn't want to talk about the past despite being asked point-blank whether he ever had used steroids.
Now Rafael Palmeiro, the one person who flat-out told the country in sworn testimony he never used, joins the long list of athletes who have done nothing wrong, yet bizarrely and inexplicably find themselves suspended from their respective sports.
Palmeiro would have us believe there is a greater mystery to the origin of that positive steroid test. A suggestion: Read Jose Canseco's book. Canseco seems to be fairly certain, at least in Palmeiro's past, where such a positive might have come from. That may not make Canseco the voice of clarity here, but it repositions him as the guy who, lately, seems to consistently be coming closest to the truth. It's the nightmare scenario: You can't even tell the bad guys in baseball anymore without a scorecard.
Reach Mark Kreidler at (916) 321-1149or mkreidler@sacbee.com.
