He dominated for years. He set records and is considered among
the greatest ever to compete in his sport. If he’s not at the top,
he’s on a very short list of the best ever. But rumors of
performance-enhancing drugs — steroids, to be more specific —
have cast a shadow of doubt
He dominated for years. He set records and is considered among the greatest ever to compete in his sport. If he’s not at the top, he’s on a very short list of the best ever.
But rumors of performance-enhancing drugs — steroids, to be more specific — have cast a shadow of doubt. Books have been written. The court of public opinion has reached its verdict.
And the federal government is following the smoking gun.
That encapsulates the life of Lance Armstrong these days.
Oh, wait. You might have thought this was a description of someone else — maybe a baseball player a handful of years removed from becoming baseball’s home run king.
Actually, I was.
But as I’ve always said, the only difference between Armstrong and Barry Bonds is a heart-touching story of survival, a lily-white persona made more pristine by a good public-relations firm, and just as important, the fact that most Americans couldn’t care less about bicycle racing.
Armstrong will be dragged before a judge someday. The cancer-surviving, seven-time winner of the Tour de France and the guy who made the Live Strong bracelet a fashion statement will have his day to defend his good name — much like Bonds, who this week is in a San Francisco federal courtroom.
He’s not in court for using steroids.
He’s on trial for lying about his knowledge of using them.
It’s an exercise in semantics and makes you wonder about the need for such extreme measures. After all, he didn’t abscond with the Hope Diamond here. He supposedly lied. Back in another day, lying got you a trip to the corner — maybe a timeout in your room or, depending on the complexity of the lie, a possible Ivory Snow mouthwash.
But lying was never a federal offense.
OK, it was, but it was seldom enforced.
Truth be known, most of us have told lies — and not all of them were of the white variety. Proving a lie — or in this case, the intent to lie — seems petty. It rings with governmental vindictiveness and appears to be a colossal waste of taxpayer dollars at a time when there aren’t enough taxpayer dollars to balance an ever-expanding budget deficit.
And if Armstrong was on trial right now, that would be the sentiment.
Armstrong is a beloved figure. His trials and tribulations are the stuff that fuel made-for-TV movies. Heck, he got a cameo in “Dodgeball” for that reason alone. He is as close to Teflon as there is in the sports lexicon.
In short, he is the anti-Bonds.
As a player, Bonds was surly. He was brash. He was talented. And a jerk. The headline of a Sports Illustrated cover story best summed it up: I’m Barry Bonds and you’re not.
He is one of the best ballplayers ever, but he was a guy people loved to hate. And when he had the audacity to take baseball’s most revered record — heck, maybe the most revered in all of sports — he crossed the line and became the face of baseball’s steroid scandal.
In case you couldn’t tell, I take an agnostic approach to steroids, as they relate to professional athletes. Frankly, I don’t care. The money they make should warrant a certain commitment level.
Those who bemoan the dangers of injecting a foreign substance say nothing when that injection is cortisone or something else to mask pain, thus allowing an athlete to compete that night.
They consider that commitment — and fail to see the hypocrisy of it all.
Trying someone because he used steroids — yes, an illegal drug — is one thing. Trying someone because he lied about using them is a colossal waste of money. At a time when balancing the budget becomes more challenging each year, it seems that there are better ways to spend taxpayer dollars.
But proving Bonds’ intent has been difficult. You see, his trainer has held firm. He is back in jail because he refuses to rat out his childhood pal. There’s honor in that — and likely, a nice pot of gold, too.
And it dilutes the government’s case.
But what might weaken it the most is the arrogance and ignorance the federal government has in thinking it can prove its point to a jury in San Francisco. We’re well aware that the fed’s success rate in getting a verdict is better than 90 percent, but this one might be tough to win.
Bonds grew up in San Francisco as baseball royalty — the son of a star outfielder and godson of perhaps the greatest player ever — and returned home to make the Giants a team that was always in the playoff hunt during his decade of dominance.
We watched him grow up and — for some unknown reason — saw him really bulk up. We saw it, but he is still a favorite son, warts and all. Convicting him in The City will be difficult.
He’ll walk away from this one, but let’s not ever say he’ll walk away from this one unscathed.
The damage — the real self-inflicted damage — has been done, and it has nothing to do with prison time. Another Hall of Fame career will never find its way to Cooperstown. And though Bonds will be — and should be — spared from serving time, his real prison will be in knowing that he cost himself the chance at baseball immortality.
Infamy is not nearly as rewarding a legacy.
– Story by Pat Sangimino, The Hutchinson News, Kan.
