I have now spent three days digesting the news of Manny Ramirez's retirement, and my feelings on the subject remain conflicted.
As a Yankees fan, I am happy to see him go. No one was better at coming through against the Bombers, and I sat nervously through his every at−bat. Even when he returned to the AL East this year long since his prime, I dreaded having to regularly see him again.
But as a sportswriter, I mourn the loss of a great source of material: Ramirez was one of the game's great goof−offs. Before Charlie Sheen was winning, Manny was being Manny. Before Chad Ochocinco was kissing babies, Ramirez was disappearing inside of scoreboards mid−game.
I could easily go on for a full column (or five) about Manny's antics, but that isn't what I wanted to focus on. Instead, I wanted to discuss the other consequence of Ramirez's retirement: the conversations on steroids and their effects on Hall of Fame voting that inevitably followed the announcement.
By now, it seems the Hall of Fame voters have made up their minds about those who are proven steroid users — none are getting in. The precedent has been set for many years now with Mark McGwire, who failed for the fifth time this year. Based on that unwritten rule alone, Ramirez will not be inducted into Cooperstown, despite his 555 home runs and .312 career batting average.
But what do we make of the rest of the players of the steroid era, those who haven't been formally outed by the game but who may be just as likely to have taken steroids during their careers? Is it fair that success in this generation is based as much on performance on the field as it is hiding things off it?
The best example of this may end up being Jim Thome, who will spend all season in the headlines as he chases 600 home runs. Incredibly, during a time when just about every player who hits home runs comes under fire, Thome is widely accepted as a clean player.
Now, I love Thome and think he is one of the most genuine players in the game. The way he plays baseball is a throwback, and from his first days in the pros, he was built like a power hitter with a long−ball swing. It's because of all of these things that I, and many others, have no urge to accuse him of being a user.
But what if he's got us all fooled? After all, he had the same access to steroids as every other player in the past 20 years and rose in the game before they were even banned. In fact, there's no good reason why he wouldn't have taken them.
The same goes for Albert Pujols, who continues to avoid criticism despite slamming his way through the record books with a body that, beyond the Cardinals uniform, looks a lot like McGwire's. The signs are definitely there, but he is a fan favorite in a franchise that does not receive much hate (i.e. not Alex Rodriguez in New York).
Babe Ruth was a once−in−a−lifetime player, and it is no surprise that his all−time home−run record stood for as long as it did. Hank Aaron broke the record with longevity and consistency. Since then, anyone nearing it has done so with the quite obvious taint of steroids.
Maybe Pujols is the next Ruth. Maybe his appearance during the steroid era was purely coincidental. But regardless of whether Thome and Pujols are indeed clean, fans of the nation's pastime have chosen to be true Americans and mark them both innocent until proven guilty.
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