Our Man Mo…

This morning, Diane linked to an article Pete Abe wrote about Mariano Rivera.  Tyler Kepner also had a piece on Rivera yesterday.  I liked this bit:

At 39, Rivera understands that he is close to the end of his career. The statistics do not show it, but his body told him so last season.

“Oh, the end is coming,” Rivera said. “Sooner or later, it’s going to come. That’s why I don’t worry about those things, because it’s going to come. Only God knows when it will come; I don’t. But whatever I have left, I will give you my best.”

I have conflicting feelings about PEDs and seem to change my mind on the subject every few days. Without getting into morality, it does strike me that players, especially older ones, who use drugs to gain an edge, are essentially trying to cheat nature, to cheat time. While I can understand this from a players point-of-view, there is something satisfying about watching a great athlete grow old, watching them compete with diminishing skills, especially when they have a few tricks left (like we saw last year with Mike Mussina).

For the past seven or eight years, I’ve spent more time than any reasonable person should concerned about the health and effectiveness of Mariano Rivera. He’s defied all of my concerns, and yet I’m a greedy Yankee fan at heart–I want more. Who knows how much he’s got left? No matter, I’ll enjoy each and every time I get to watch him pitch, grateful that I’ve been able to root for the kind of sustained greatness that doesn’t come around often, and certainly won’t last much longer.

Michael Lewis is back at it again. He’s gone from MLB to the NFL, and now he’s got a long, engaging piece in the Sunday Times magazine on perhaps the most undervalued player in the NBA, Shane Battier: The No Stats All-Star.

I’ve always liked Battier but like him even more after reading this profile. Here’s just a sample:

Battier’s game is a weird combination of obvious weaknesses and nearly invisible strengths. When he is on the court, his teammates get better, often a lot better, and his opponents get worse — often a lot worse. He may not grab huge numbers of rebounds, but he has an uncanny ability to improve his teammates’ rebounding. He doesn’t shoot much, but when he does, he takes only the most efficient shots. He also has a knack for getting the ball to teammates who are in a position to do the same, and he commits few turnovers. On defense, although he routinely guards the N.B.A.’s most prolific scorers, he significantly ­reduces their shooting percentages. At the same time he somehow improves the defensive efficiency of his teammates — probably, [Houston Rockets GM, Daryl] Morey surmises, by helping them out in all sorts of subtle ways. “I call him Lego,” Morey says. “When he’s on the court, all the pieces start to fit together. And everything that leads to winning that you can get to through intellect instead of innate ability, Shane excels in. I’ll bet he’s in the hundredth percentile of every category.”

There are other things Morey has noticed too, but declines to discuss as there is right now in pro basketball real value to new information, and the Rockets feel they have some. What he will say, however, is that the big challenge on any basketball court is to measure the right things. The five players on any basketball team are far more than the sum of their parts; the Rockets devote a lot of energy to untangling subtle interactions among the team’s elements. To get at this they need something that basketball hasn’t historically supplied: meaningful statistics. For most of its history basketball has measured not so much what is important as what is easy to measure — points, rebounds, assists, steals, blocked shots — and these measurements have warped perceptions of the game. (“Someone created the box score,” Morey says, “and he should be shot.”) How many points a player scores, for example, is no true indication of how much he has helped his team. Another example: if you want to know a player’s value as a ­rebounder, you need to know not whether he got a rebound but the likelihood of the team getting the rebound when a missed shot enters that player’s zone.

There is a tension, peculiar to basketball, between the interests of the team and the interests of the individual. The game continually tempts the people who play it to do things that are not in the interest of the group. On the baseball field, it would be hard for a player to sacrifice his team’s interest for his own. Baseball is an individual sport masquerading as a team one: by doing what’s best for himself, the player nearly always also does what is best for his team. “There is no way to selfishly get across home plate,” as Morey puts it. “If instead of there being a lineup, I could muscle my way to the plate and hit every single time and damage the efficiency of the team — that would be the analogy. Manny Ramirez can’t take at-bats away from David Ortiz. We had a point guard in Boston who refused to pass the ball to a certain guy.” In football the coach has so much control over who gets the ball that selfishness winds up being self-defeating. The players most famous for being selfish — the Dallas Cowboys’ wide receiver Terrell Owens, for instance — are usually not so much selfish as attention seeking. Their sins tend to occur off the field.

“I am not a hustler. I am a practitioner who enlightens the American populace and brings joy to the world.” Joey Goldstein.

It’s times like these when I miss my Old Man because I’ve got no doubt that he would have a Joey Goldstein story. Goldstein, a character ripped right out of the pages of Damon Runyon, “a master presser of flesh and bender of ear who was a fixture in the New York sports scene for four decades,” passed away yesterday in Florida. He was 81.

I met him briefly last fall at memorial for W.C. Heinz at Elaine’s of all places. I introduced myself and shook his hand hand. He looked frail, vaguely like Al Pacino in “Angels in America.” He grumbled hello and moved on. I later understood that he was like this to most people until he got to know you.

Anyhow, Joey Goldstein was one of the true characters in New York sports history. Fittingly, Mike Lupica writes a wonderful tribute to him this morning in the Daily News:

Nobody remembers exactly when they met Joey Goldstein, a character out of an older New York City and a better one, out of all the old ideas about press agents and newspapers, out of a sports world so much more fun than we get out of it now. If you were in the business of sports in New York over the past 50 years, attached to it in any way, you knew Joey. You just couldn’t remember exactly when he came blowing into your life or your office, talking and laughing and wanting to sell you something.

“When did I meet him?” Jimmy Breslin was saying late Friday afternoon. “Maybe college doubleheaders at the Garden. What year was that?”

He was Breslin’s friend and the late Dick Schaap’s friend and he was mine. He was a friend to Roosevelt Raceway in the old days and the whole harness-racing business and later, much later, a friend to ESPN. And Joey Goldstein was so much more than that, from the time he hit the city running as a kid, when he first put a phone to his ear and never took it out:

He was a fast-talking history of sports in this city.

There really should be a book about Goldstein. There isn’t, though he was friends with Red Smith and every other big time New York City sportswriter ever since. But here’s a 1987 piece by Douglas Looney in SI:

What we are dealing with here may be the ultimate triumph of style over substance. Is Goldstein an intellectual? “I have been to Italy 41 times,” he non-answers. Whether his day begins at his home in Old Westbury on Long Island, at his East Side apartment in New York or on the road, Goldstein is hopelessly overscheduled, hysterical, late and on the phone. Whence the frenzy builds. Old buddy Red Auerbach says, “He’s always full of pep, know what I mean?” Yes, sir. Says Goldstein, as he darts through Manhattan’s underground passageways that he knows like the back of a telephone, “I’m energized about everything I work on. I’m eager. I’m anticipating.” He gets his shoes shined (“I do this every day, except if I’m wearing rubbers”); he gets a manicure (“New York is such a dirty place. Of course, I love it”); he’s on the subway; he gets his blood pressure taken at a doctor’s office—all the while he’s checking his watch. He needs to use a VCR in somebody’s office, but he won’t listen to instructions how to use it—he never listens—and only wants to know one thing: “How do you get it on fast forward?” For Goldstein, a moment when he is not talking is a moment wasted.

And here is the ultimate. Joey (“It’s such a sophomoric name. How can a guy post middle-age and Jewish be called Joey?”) has found a newsstand where he can buy The New York Times and the New York Post by 11 p.m., which he hustles—of course—back to his apartment to read. Ergo, he has the next day’s news read before the next day arrives. Fast forward, huh? And talk about getting the jump: Goldstein always works July 4, Christmas Eve, Christmas, New Year’s Eve. Why? “Things are real slow. It’s the best time to get things in the papers. And the guys appreciate it.” Which raises the question, how many people at big p.r. agencies work on Christmas?

Too, he’s a mighty sports resource, a walking, talking yellow pages. Any reporter needing an unlisted phone number can get it from Goldstein, whether the number has to do with Joey’s clients or not. Need facts? Call Goldstein. Need directions? Call Goldstein. He’s a kind of AAA without the membership fee. He arranges hotel reservations when all rooms are booked, makes last-minute dinner reservations for 8 p.m. on Saturday, gets tickets to hit shows at the last moment (he attends every Broadway play each season) and somehow finds a parking pass when there are no more left. “I do want to be loved,” he says, “or at least regarded fondly.”

The world will be less lively without Mr. Goldstein.

Happy Valentine’s Day y’all.

Here’s a tune to put you in the mood, one of my favorite Al Green joints.  I love the vibe on this record, it has such an intimate feel.  They got the particular texture by turning up the levels on all the instruments, including the vocals, and everyone played…softly.

Speaking of Al Green, here’s a terrific cover of “Love and Happiness” by Monty Alexander (this one is for all the heads out there, name those samples):

And this isn’t so much a love song, but I love coolin’ out to it all the same, from Joe Henderson’s “Page One” lp:

Finally, here’s a make-out standard:

Direct from the good folks at SNY…

Someone is not telling the truth here. Imagine that happening in our great game. Last week, free agent second baseman Orlando Hudson told reporters that his agent has been talking contract with four teams: the Nationals, the Dodgers, the Mets—and, of course, the Yankees. The very next day, in response to a question about the pursuit of Manny Ramirez, Brian Cashman told the media that the Yankees have finished signing high-profile free agents this winter. If any additions are to be made between now and the first day of spring training, it will involve non-roster invitees. Obviously, a high profile player like Hudson does not fit into the non-roster category.

Given Cashman’s history of oration, I’m inclined to believe Hudson, whose defensive, energy, and attitude have been highly regarded by the Yankee front office for years now. After all, it was Cashman who proclaimed in 2006 that Bubba Crosby would be the Opening Day center fielder, only weeks before Johnny Damon signed on the dotted line. Earlier this winter, Cashman said that the Yankees’ budget would not allow them to sign three big-ticket free agents like CC Sabathia, Mark Teixeira, and either A.J. Burnett or Derek Lowe. In not so uncertain terms, Cashman considered that possibility a pipe dream. Lo and behold, Sabathia, Tex, and Burnett have all been fitted for pinstripes.

So why would Cashman fib on the matter of Hudson? Two reasons, at least from where I’m standing. Cashman doesn’t want other teams thinking he’s involved in the bidding, just like he didn’t in the pursuit of Teixeira. Better to swoop in at the final minute and get the player at the price you want. And Cashman doesn’t want Robinson Cano thinking that he’s once again on the trade market. That way, if the Yankees explore the market for Cano and find nothing to their liking (like a frontline center fielder), then Cashman won’t have to admit to anyone—including Cano—that he was even considering a trade of his starting second baseman. Considering Cano’s fragile psyche and his tendency to mope when situations degrade around him, that might be smart thinking on Cashman’s part…

(more…)

Baseball Toaster alum Phil Bencomo has launched The Baseball Chronicle, an on-line magazine of baseball storytelling.

Man, am I ever looking forward to this.

Meanwhile, speaking of storytelling:

I’ve never been to Chicago but a few years ago, I had a Chicago-style hot dog.  It may have not been completely authentic but it was unlike anything I’d ever had before—hellacious an wunnerful. 

Of course, I grew up loving the Sabrett dirty water dogs that you get on the streets of New York–mustard, occasionally onions, and that nasty green relish when it was available.

When I was growing up, the old man would take my brother, sister and me out to Nathan’s in Brooklyn every so often to get what he claimed to be the best dog in New York. 

I don’t eat hot dogs too tough anymore–an unfortunate incident at Shea Stadium a few years ago saw to that–but every so often, I’ll get a craving.  So, here’s my question to you:  what’s the best hot dog you’ve ever had?  And where.

Joe Pos weighs in on Alex Rodriguez in this week’s SI:

A lot of people are tearing at Rodriguez now, raw meat in the lion’s cage, but I don’t feel anger toward him. I don’t feel sorry for him either. I just feel that he’s the emblem of his age. Players can give reasons, but I suspect that there is a two-word explanation for the steroid era: human nature. There was no testing. Authority figures winked. Money was flowing, home runs were flying. Many fans were enthralled; media, too.

More names will come out, of course. In a bizarre irony, the players’ union—Don Fehr and Gene Orza and the lot—which had fought ferociously against drug testing, failed to ensure that the results from a 2003 survey test remained anonymous. So now there are 103 more names from ’03 that, no doubt, will leak out over time. Those players might as well admit they used. Rodriguez has given them cover. There won’t be a bigger name on the list than A-Rod.

Now, there’s one guy I’d love to find: the clean player of the steroid era. I don’t just mean a player who didn’t use—I’m sure there were plenty of those. No, I’d love to find the player who was offered chances to use, the player who understood how much more money and playing time and fame he was giving up. And he still said no.

But Pos wasn’t buying Rodriguez’s taped apology a few days ago:

I thought Alex Rodriguez’s ”apology“ was one of the most absurd shams of recent memory. I thought it was so pathetic that, for the first time, that ”A-Fraud“ moniker finally made some sense to me. As a baseball fan, I wasn’t mad at A-Rod when the steroid story broke. As a baseball fan, I was furious at A-Rod when he and his handlers put together this infomercial apology.* I hope the children weren’t watching THAT.

*And I say this with all respect to interviewer Peter Gammons, who I actually thought handled the interview about as well as he could. Sure, like everyone, you want him to follow up here or question there, and I’m sure Peter has his regrets. But let’s not kid anybody: A-Rod came into this thing as prepped as a presidential candidate, and he was going to say precisely what he was going to say, and I don’t think follow ups would have made much of a difference.

…Look, I never blame anyone for doing what they have to do to minimize damage. But that doesn’t mean anyone should buy it. Do I think Alex Rodriguez is lying? You bet I do. The guy talks about being completely honest and he cannot remember what drugs he used? He doesn’t really know where he got them? He stopped because of some St. Paul like conversion he had with a neck injury in an Arizona bed? That story is so prepackaged it should come with your pack of Ho Hos. And look: I’m a sucker for prepackaged stories, melodramatic movies, sad songs and diamond commercials. I bought the TurboCooker. But I didn’t buy one word of it.

Thirty five years ago, baseball fans bided much of their time by obsessing over Hank Aaron’s pursuit of a record once deemed unbreakable—the all-time home run mark owned by Babe Ruth. Although many fans expressed support of Aaron’s continuing run at Ruth’s record, there were also those who clearly did not want him to succeed. As a black man who had started his career with the Indianapolis Clowns of the Negro Leagues, Aaron received numerous pieces of mail from people who resented him because of his race. Some of the letters were downright vicious; others implied or dictated threats on his life.

When people found out about the angry and hateful notes, Aaron started receiving a greater number of positive letters. In 1974, Aaron noted that he had received over 900,000 the previous year; “the overwhelming majority” of the mail supported his quest to overtake Ruth’s record. Still, the negative notes bore watching because of their menacing tone and direct threats of bodily harm.

The FBI began reading and confiscating the negative letters, which could best be characterized as “hate mail.” The bureau began investigating some of the letters, as a way of determining whether real dangers to Aaron’s life existed. The Braves, gravely concerned about Aaron’s safety, hired two off-duty Atlanta police offers to serve as personal bodyguards. Lamar Harris and Calvin Wardlaw would attend each of Aaron’s game from the stands, observing the stands and the playing field area for potential perpetrators. Wardlaw equipped himself with a .38 Smith-Wesson detective special in the event that Aaron faced an immediate threat of violence during the game.

(more…)

I bought it. Okay, I wanted to buy it, fair enough, but I thought Alex Rodriguez came off well in his sit down with Peter Gammons. He’s hard to take your eyes off. The guy who always gets it wrong. You want to see how he’ll screw it up this time, whether you are rooting for or against him. The golden boy as New York neurotic.

At first I thought he was wearing too much make up, but then saw that he just had a sunburn on his cheek bones, outlining the shape of where his sunglasses sit. With the camera locked in tight, Rodriguez gave Gammons a lot of direct eye contact, pursed his lips, furrowed his brow as he listened to a question, and was as self-aware as ever. He said the right things, and came across as being sincere more often than not.

Some people might still think he’s being phony. I can relate with that too. There were instances when he didn’t fully cop to what he did, where he side-stepped being direct and detailed. He started taking PEDS because he felt pressure in Texas; what about the pressure he faced when he came to New York?

Rob Neyer nails it over at ESPN:

He’s sorry he got caught. Everyone’s sorry when he’s caught. But you’re really sorry only if you think that what you did was wrong, and I don’t believe that any of these guys really believe they did anything wrong. A different culture five years ago? The culture today is exactly the same as it was five years ago. The only thing that has changed is the penalty for failing a drug test. If you want to know the culture, look no further than the ridiculous percentage of players who have a doctor’s note that allows them to take stimulants (under the guise of controlling their ADHD or whatever).

The culture is exactly what it’s always been: If you ain’t cheating, you’re not trying. And it ain’t cheating if you don’t get caught. Rodriguez tried, and now he’s been caught. The next step is damage control, full of apologies and admissions of youth and stupidity. (And, of course, it’s obvious that he’s now a mature and thoughtful adult.)

Asked whether the steroid use took place only from 2001 through 2003, Rodriguez responded, “That’s pretty accurate, yes.”

Pretty accurate? So maybe there was a little bit in 2000? What about 2004, and maybe just a dabbling in 2007?

Rodriguez also called Selena Roberts a “stalker” several times–a claim that SI has already refuted–and made some accusations about her that he’ll have to account for. He’s really going to be in the soup if he is lying her, that’s for sure.

Who knows if he’s being completely straight? It’s not like he turned into Henry Fonda or anything, but he was better than I expected. Then again, I wanted to like him, so I looked for the good stuff. Like always, there was plenty for everyone.

But as a fan, I won’t have a hard time rooting for him again.

Here is the entire transcript.

(You don’t say…)

When I first heard the news about Alex Rodriguez on Saturday, I sat down to write a blog post to express my initial reaction. I was emotional when I wrote the following:

I’m turned-off by how this story was reported–we’re talking about leaks from confidential documents. Why not release all of the names on the list? Why just Rodriguez? Color me cynical, I respect Selena Roberts as a veteran journalist, but I also know she’s got a book on Rodriguez coming out this summer. You can’t tell me that didn’t play at least a small part in all of this. Has she been sitting on the information waiting for the right moment to drop this bomb? I wish I knew. I don’t mean to discredit the story, but it’s hard to come away from it not feeling dirty.

Looking back, I was too hot to write soberly, and I was wrong to attack Roberts’ professionalism even if I was turned off by the fact that she has a book on Rodriguez coming out later this year. I know enough about the magazine business to know that she doesn’t decide what goes in the magazine and when. Moreover, I suggested that she sacrificed the truth for the sake of her book. If I was writing for a publication an editor would have called me to the mat: prove it. I can’t.

I could have written, “In wake of the fact that she has a book on Rodriguez that will appear in May, I will be interested to learn precisely how long she has had this information and why the story is being released at this time, because when a writer of a story stands to benefit financially through its release, such questions can speak of the veracity of the report.” Or something that that effect which would have been less accusatory, while making the same point.

So I want to apologize to Ms. Roberts for my half-baked critique. In the final analysis, I only made myself look like a fool. I also want to apologize to you, the reader. Because although this is a blog, where we often give a quick, emotional take on things, I am not in the business of character assination. And even when I’m worked-up I go to great lengths to be fair-minded and even-handed.

This whole mess brought out the worst in me too. And I owe to you and to myself to do a better job. I’m far from perfect but not too proud to admit to an error in judgement when I make one.

In an interview today with Peter Gammons of ESPN, Alex Rodriguez fessed up:

“When I arrived in Texas in 2001, I felt an enormous amount of pressure. I needed to perform, and perform at a high level every day,” Rodriguez told ESPN’s Peter Gammons in an interview in Miami Beach, Fla. “Back then, [baseball] was a different culture. It was very loose. I was young, I was stupid, I was naïve. I wanted to prove to everyone I was worth being one of the greatest players of all time.

“I did take a banned substance. For that, I’m very sorry and deeply regretful.”

…”Overall, I felt a tremendous pressure to play, and play really well” in Texas, the New York Yankees third baseman said. “I had just signed this enormous contract I felt like I needed something, a push, without over-investigating what I was taking, to get me to the next level.

“I am sorry for my Texas years. I apologize to the fans of Texas.”

…Rodriguez also said of his 2007 interview with Katie Couric on “60 Minutes,” when he denied ever using steroids, that “at the time, I wasn’t being truthful with myself. How could I be truthful with Katie Couric or CBS?”

Rodriguez is damned if he does and damned if he doesn’t but this is a good first step.

Life goes on.

It is uncommonly warm in New York this weekend. Today, it is in the mid-Fifties and people are out on the streets. The snow is melting. And though the cold is sure to return, you can feel the buzz of the springtime in the air.

The Alex Rodriguez news is depressing, though not altogether shocking. It’s another chapter in a continuing saga.  More stars are sure to be exposed, sooner or later.

As I’ve mentioned already, I think the whole thing stinks, and there is plenty of blame to go around.

But it’s not the end of the world. Most of us will continue to watch baseball and follow the game with enthusiasm.  Some of us will turn away and find something else for distraction and entertainment. 

But for what it is worth, it is a beautiful day in New York.  And I intend to enjoy it.

I was on the subway early yesterday afternoon, headed downtown for a late lunch with one of my dad’s old friends. I took out the Daily News from my napsack and gazed at the back cover. Celts beat Knicks; a smaller column on Joba (I’m starting dammit). It was 1:00 pm and the newspaper was already irrelevant, scooped by the 11:00 am SI.com story on Alex Rodriguez and steroids.

Before today’s papers came out, most of the major pundits had filed their two-cents on-line. The news cycle is just too fast for print.

Anyhow, powered by a great, big Oy Veh…

“His legacy, now, is gone,” one Yankees official said of Rodriguez, speaking on condition of anonymity because the organization had no public comment. “He’ll just play it out. Now he’s a worker. Do your job, collect your paycheck and when you’re finished playing, go away. That’s what it is.”

…“If he did it, he’s got to flat-out admit it, like Giambi,” the Yankees official said. “Just come out and say, ‘I did it. I’m sorry. I lied.’”
(Tyler Kepner, New York Times)

I always go back to the numbers.  They are comforting, a self-contained pleasure.  I used to flip through the encyclopedia and now I skip through baseball-reference.com.  I liked to look at Alex Rodriguez’s career numbers.  Talk about stacked!  They left little room for question–this is greatness.  Now, like the numbers for an entire generation, they’ve lost their magic.

I’ve enjoyed rooting for Rodriguez and will most likely continue rooting for the guy. But if these reports are true, I also think he’s a schmuck. What’s the old saying? Don’t do the crime…well, if he did cheat, it’s on him to handle himself like a grown up.

Here are some the reactions from the Bronx Banter comments section yesterday:

Ken Arneson: “And what victories arise are always magical, mysterious, haunting and untrustworthy.”

rbj: “What’s shocking to me is that I’m not shocked, just disappointed. The thing is, it was part of baseball culture at the time, which doesn’t excuse anyone for breaking the law but does spread the blame around, from Selig on down. And while baseball seems to be in the spotlight, I’d like to see some investigative journalism on steroids in football. You can’t tell me all those huge linebackers are 100% natural.

I am bothered that something that was supposed to be anonymous, in order to help clean up the game, has been seized by the federal government and is now getting leaked out. Anyone think the players are ever going to agree to anything like that again?

And Henry Aaron is back to being the all time home run king, natural division.”

Mr OK Jazz TOYKO: “Frankly, people who feel “morally shaken” about the whole issue make me question their priorities..baseball is truly the “beautiful game”, let them all roid up if they want. Mariano is still going to strike you out, A-Rod will still be a great hitter, Ichiro will still be a wizard with the bat…”

Zack: “The notion of the purity of the game is all kind of hogwash int he first place. Greenies,which have a real, documented affect on performance, have been around since pre-Aaron. I would put money on him having used them in fact. Mantle of course did too. That moral ambiguity has long been a major tenet of the game, whether its the spit ball, throwing games, betting on games, greenies, roids, segregation, or whatever.”

Matt Pat11: “I think it almost goes without saying that he’ll handle the situation in the worst possible way imaginable, because he always does.”

Monkeypants: “I love baseball deeply. it is indeed a beautiful game, as noted above. But I really despise this era of the sport more and more, and with each passing year, for a variety of reasons, I find MLB less enjoyable.”

Yankee23: “This doesn’t bother me nearly as much as it should. I was happy with A-Rod’s new contract, excited to see him finish his career in pinstripes. I don’t truly care about 2003 drug tests. Color me cynical, whatever, but there are 104 known positive tests during that season. Sure we only know one name, but these were positive tests from a sample size during that season. The “steroid years” are forever tainted, I’ll agree to that. But now it’s 2009, it’s time to move on. We have stricter tests in place and we’ll still have people testing positive. When will we be satisfied? Will this require daily testing and the outing of the other 103 names?”

joejoejoe: “Baseball aside, it’s very much wrong that grand jury testimony leaks and that test samples that are collectively bargained to be private leak. The health of our judicial process and privacy of records are both far greater issues than who takes steroids but it never seems to come out that way in the sporting press.

You don’t have a right to know what goes on in grand juries or what is in somebody elses confidential medical tests. It’s just voyeurism masked as a crusade for truth.”

williamnyy23: “The irony in this story is that the seizure and leaking of these confidential tests as well as the constant flow of what is supposed to be grand jury testimony is much more harmful to our society than professional athletes experimenting with chemicals.

Instead of leading the lynch mob to string up Alex and find out the other 102 names, I would rather see Selena Roberts and Mr. Epstein arrested and placed in prison until they reveal who illegally leaked to them this information. It’s shameful that our lust to oust baseball players who took steroids is blinding so many to the greater transgressions being perpetrated against our justice system. The bottom line is Roberts and Epstein cheated when they used illegal means to procure a scoop. Condemning Arod and applauding these “journalists” would be hypocrisy to the nth degree.

Aside from their criminal actions, Roberts’ and Epstein’s motives can only be seen as motivated by an agenda because the only name revealed was Arod’s. If the two authors were really interested in performing an investigative piece, why would they only seek information about Arod? I guess when you have a book to sell, all else become irrelevant.”

Rich: “Selena Roberts has a history of writing agenda-ridden stories, but I have little doubt that she and David Epstein have bona fide sources. The person with the primary agenda is the leaker, not the recipient of the leak, although they clearly are a primary beneficiary of it.”

Simone: “Why is the messenger is always attacked? Selena Roberts.has every right to make buck and write her books and articles. This is on Alex. He is the liar and cheat.”

Shaun P: “I, for one, am done with the idea of athletes being “natural”. There is no such thing. They ALL use drugs to manage pain, heal faster, get bigger, do more – whether its steroids or Advil or uppers or insulin or HGH or espresso (caffeine, after all, is a drug) or something we’ve never heard of, there is no such thing as an athlete that doesn’t use SOMETHING “unnatural”. I don’t think there ever was, or if there was, it was an awfully long time ago.

And disappointed is the right word, rbj. That’s exactly how I feel.”

Hungover too. And I didn’t have anything to drink last night.

Bonds. Clemens. Now Rodriguez. These are the names of some of the greatest players of our era. In some ways, it’s just been a matter of time with Rodriguez, hasn’t it? He’s another top dog, a historically great player with an enormous competitive drive to go with his ego. My question is: How long will we have to wait for the others? The other great stars. Historian Glenn Stout hit the nail on the head a few years ago when he wrote:

One has to be not only blind but considerably and willingly dumb to look at the last two decades of major league baseball and not raise an eyebrow at each and every number and achievement, not only of every single player, but of every single team, a point the Mitchell Report underscored. Apart from pushing the use of PEDs on the young, that is the worst aspect of this entire scandal, for just as the one player trying to throw one game calls into question everything that happens in that game, so too does the use of steroids and other PEDs by even a small number of major league players ripple through the game and undercut everything that happens after the umpire calls “Play ball!” The effects of steroids and PEDs on the game are not isolated events, but a like a disease, a long-term condition that affects every second of the patient’s life.

…When historians look back at this era there will be one irrefutable conclusion; it all stinks. Every number, every stat and every place in the game is suspect and tainted, artificial and enhanced. Since we cannot now and never will be able to state with any certainty who used what and who didn’t, how much and for how long, no player and no team comes out of this era pure. The implications of that are no more pleasant locally than they are in Oakland, New York or anywhere else, for just as the Canseco’s MVP award and McGwire’s and then Bond’s home run records are suspect, so too are the performances of those teams with those players in their lineups. And as the Mitchell Report told us, no team during this era was unaffected. There was a Jose Canseco on the field for every team in every inning of every game for most of two decades. Therefore the A’s 1988 pennant with Canseco in the lineup is as spurious as the Yankees four world championships in five seasons from 1996-2000, and – it pains me for m y Boston friends – as Boston’s two long-awaited championships in 2004 and 2007.

It is also personal. As an occasional writer of baseball history I do not look forward to a time in the future when I have to write about this era. And I am somewhat embarrassed by the way I have written about it in the past. Although I wrote about steroids in the pages of this magazine in 1998, my books barely mention PEDs and hardly consider their impact. Were I to re-write them today, armed with what we now know of the era, my recounting of the last twenty years would be radically different.

There’s so much to be disppointed in here, and it starts at the top with Bud Selig and the union and the owners and the players for allowing thier collective avarice and self-absorbtion to get out of control. I’m turned-off by how this story was reported–we’re talking about leaks from confidential documents. Why not release all of the names on the list? Why just Rodriguez? Color me cynical, I respect Selena Roberts as a veteran journalist, but I also know she’s got a book on Rodriguez coming out this summer. You can’t tell me that didn’t play at least a small part in all of this. Has she been sitting on the information waiting for the right moment to drop this bomb? I wish I knew. I don’t mean to discredit the story, but it’s hard to come away from it not feeling dirty.

It will be fascinating to see how Rodriguez handles himself in the coming days and weeks. The Torre flap is now meaningless, trivial. So will Rodriguez take the fight to these accusations or will be come clean, if in fact he’s guilty? I suspect he’ll deny everything. For a guy who seems to have two left feet when it comes to public relations, Rodriguez could potentially come out of this looking good if he copped to using PEDS in a way that satisfies our lust. The public craves blood but we are suckers for forgiveness. We love illusion but demand authenticity.

I’m left feeling that this is all one big, fat, ugly mess. On one hand it has ruined the game for many fans. It spoils the precious numbers that we use to evaluate our heroes. It reveals the players to be human, frail and weak, far from the kind of guys you’d want to have lunch with nevermind worshipping as role models.

At the same time, the game is thriving; attendance is up, and the game is viewed as a success–big time entertainment, ethics be damned. Baseball’s drug years forces us to either quit the game, to reject the culture of enhancement and cheating and find something else to enjoy, or accept the moral ambiguity that is part and parcel of the show and still root-root-root for the home team.

Never a dull moment, eh?

According to a report in SI.com, Alex Rodriguez tested positive for steroids in 2003.

Well, this takes care of Rodriguez having to worry about answering questions about the Torre book.

I’ve been reading Charles Pierce’s collection of sports stories, Sports Guy. I think Pierce is a terrific writer, with a fierce, half-crazed intelligence, that sets him apart from his peers. He’s especially good on basketball, but here’s a story that might be of some interest around these parts…direct from the SI Vault, a piece about two sports moms, including Brien Taylor’s ma:

Brien grew up long and lean, and the neighbors were amazed by how he could throw a stone and knock a bat out of midair. Soon, he was pitching for East Carteret, the school his mother had helped integrate, and his fastball was being clocked at 97 miles per hour. Scouts began to come to North River. By his senior year, Brien Taylor was 9-2 with an ERA of 0.92, and the feeling was that he would be picked first in the major league draft by the Yankees. The Taylors were all Yankee fans, as were many others in Beaufort, a fluke of fan demography caused first by an atmospheric glitch that allowed the old-timers to hear radio broadcasts of ball games from New York and second by the fact that Babe Ruth used to come down to Beaufort to hunt birds. His picture hangs in a number of the old hunting shacks that are still occupied deep in the scrub woods up behind the town. It was a very big thing to have Brien Taylor drafted by the Yankees last June.

The Taylors knew that Brien was going to need advice in dealing with his new employers, so they enlisted the aid of a Los Angeles-based attorney named Scott Boras. It was Boras who had wrung the Van Poppel contract out of Oakland, largely by threatening to have the pitcher go to college, which would have cost the A’s their rights to him. Boras instructed Bettie about the intricacies of the sports business, and he found a bright and apt student. “By the time the Yankees came down here,” Boras says, “she was ready with all the questions.”

New York first offered Brien $300,000, then $650,000. The family thought it over, consulted with Boras and turned the deals down flat. Baseball, which was once again trying to rein in salaries, was agog. Bettie was adamant. She knew what Van Poppel had gotten, and she knew what was fair. If the Yankees didn’t want to give Brien what was fair, then he would go pitch at Louisburg College, near Raleigh. The Yankees fumed. Newsday’s Tom Verducci, expressing an attitude widely held in baseball, ridiculed the notion of Brien as a student. This got Bettie even angrier. People seemed to assume that the threat of college was less credible coming from a poor black kid like Brien than from a suburban white kid like Van Poppel. She called on those same reserves that had gotten her through the doors at East Carteret on that first day of school.

“When somebody tells me I can’t do something,” she says, “it makes me want to do it all the more. Push me against the wall, and you’ve got a battle on your hands. O.K., so I looked like the bad guy, but I wasn’t going to do what they wanted just so I wouldn’t look like the bad guy.”

“Flowers” was the first cassette I owned as a kid. The first two tapes my mom ever bought for me were “Let it Bleed” and “Are You Experienced?” A good start, eh?

Our good friend Ken Arneson has the last word–okay, many words–at Baseball Toaster.  And that’s as it should be.  He was the head, and we formed like Voltron around him. 

It is a sprawling, ambitious post that is followed by an engaging comments section.  If you’ve got the time, I suggest checking it out. 

And don’t forget to turn that radio dial.

Milton Parker, the back-of-the-house partner at the Carnegie Deli, passed away yesterday. He was 90. From the New York Times:

According to savethedeli.com, a Web site that celebrates delicatessens nationwide, Mr. Parker’s business card read “Milton Parker, CPM (corned beef and pastrami maven).” Mr. Levine’s card reads “MBD (Married Boss’s Daughter).”

Besides the quality and belly-bulging portions of the Carnegie Deli’s menu items, several other factors brought fame to the restaurant. Dozens of delis dot the streets of the theater district. For years, the Stage Delicatessen — near the Carnegie, on Seventh Avenue — had a superior reputation. But in 1979, Carnegie pastrami was judged better by The New York Times. That touched off what newspaper articles called the Pastrami War. Both establishments fared well, with customers lining up down the block.

“Them?” Mr. Parker said at the time of his rival. “They’re living off our overflow.”

It certainly did not hurt business, five years later, when Mr. Allen’s movie “Broadway Danny Rose” was released, with some scenes shot at the Carnegie.

Kind of makes you hungry, no?