Tck tck tck Ouch! Crap.

Hello All,

No posts in a while. Usual malaise? No. Seems I have a torn ligament in my wrist and I'm supposed to lay off the typing for a
few more weeks. Drag. But I promise I'll be back soon.

Excerpt 1983

“I hate you! I hate you!” I screamed at him small and red faced, smudged and salt streaked with tears. “You stupid little bastard. Sometimes I wish I could just give you away.” He wailed and crumbled in the back seat in the car and my anger, fed by pleasure blazed in viciousness.

The perfect excuse for anger, for letting loose of control.

My feelings have been so bad lately, so frustrated, lashing out. Crippled by depression – the job, feeling hurt, hopeless, confused, who, what, why. Feeling hateful, it’s draining. Pencils in my back. I can’t concentrate on work and I make lists that irritate me. I don’t want to exercise. Ugly times and fights at work. Don’t want to be there.

I fly off the handle when I find my son has lost his second set of $55 dental equipment. “I want to die!” he cries. Superstitious thoughts spring into my mind. What if, because I’m cruel, it happened?

Where’s Martin when I need him? The bell rings and rings, he’s not home. Is he alright? (How will I be punished? My worst most frightening fantasies coming true?)

My child is not happy either. He imitates me in temperament and action. “I can’t do anything. I’m useless.” he sobs. I’m mad at myself because I’m so absent minded.

But in some way maybe this is a growing point for us. Tito is less of a child because he is starting to split from me. I have to treat him like a big boy, to share my feelings. Maybe it’s wrong to tell your children your problems but I can’t handle them alone.

Maybe I’m poisoning him. I’m showing him an immature way to react to problems. I was treated that way, it’s what I know and I pass this horror to my son.

I love him, I just don’t know how to.

Cheated

Recently, during the end of a family evening, I felt the loss of my mother more acutely than I have in a while. It was during a conversation about my in laws. My wife and I have been on the outs with them for about six months and when we were discussing it this time she hit on an important issue. One of the big issues is that they don’t seem to put any value or priority in getting to know their grandson. And the thing is that whatever they’re mad at us about has become so important to them that they’d rather avoid us than see him. All this continues despite my wife’s attempts to put aside her own discomfort with them to get the family together. While discussing this I felt void left by my mother’s death as if it had just happened. Our lives would be so different if she were still here.

My mother would have wanted to see Ryu as much as possible. In my day dreams, where my mother is alive and well and living just a mile and a half away, we see her three or four times a week. We’re there for dinner because we were passing by and we stopped in and then we all got hungry. She’s over at our place reading to him while sitting on a big pillow on the living room floor. She’d convince us to let her come over to baby sit on Wednesdays so we could get out for a couple hours. In all the dreams of him growing up she’s there rooting him on, smiling that satisfied smile knowing that she’ll do even better with him than she did with us because she won’t have to worry as much. She would have brought all the joy and passion to being a grandmother that she brought to her work and her friendships. She’d be perfect.

Of course this is all fantasy. No one’s perfect. Beyond that if my mother had never gotten sick there’s a good chance we wouldn’t be back in California. If she hadn’t died we may not have felt the same urgency to come back here. We might still be in DC wondering what we were going to do about childcare and desperate to meet other parents. We certainly wouldn’t be in our current home since my mother’s life insurance became the down payment. Instead we’d likely be upside down on some condo in Silver Spring. Still, I think we would have come back by now. I can’t see anything in the last few years that would have convinced me to raise my kids in DC. If there was a positive in my mother’s passing it was that it got us back to our community. Back to our friends who are already experienced parents. Back to the people who can give us advice, and support, and hand me downs. Her passing brought us home.

The next day I heard this story on This American Life. It’s about a woman who’s mother had cancer and knew she was going to die. So the mother wrote a series of letters for her daughter to open each year on the daughter’s birthday beginning at age 18. In the end the daughter and her father come to see the letters as a kind of curse. For them the problem is that while they continued to grow and change the voice of the letters did not. They felt stuck trying to adhere to the wishes of someone, long since gone, who every year would try to exert some influence on their lives. Again I felt my mother’s absence like a swirling vortex in my soul.

My mother and I got to say goodbye, but that was all we got. I know I might sound selfish because many people don’t even get that but I still feel cheated. We could have had so much more except no one would acknowledge that my mother was dying. When she was diagnosed she already had stage four renal cell carcinoma; a kind of cancer that doesn’t respond to traditional cancer therapies like chemo. After the first few months I knew she was going to die. But because she couldn’t admit it, or she was trying to be brave for my brother, or she really thought she’d pull through we never talked about the possibility.

Because no one would talk about mom dying we never got to have the conversations I longed for. I wanted to get closure on all the things that had haunted us for so long. I wanted to tell her that she had been a good mother and that I forgave her for all the negative things that had passed between us. I wanted to get her advice on marriage and child rearing. Mostly I just wanted us to be able to spend her last months really loving each other without reservation. Instead I felt pressured to keep up with the manic positivism of the rest of my family. After all “everything” was “going to be OK.” We’d have plenty of time to hash out the past.

Surprisingly, when my mother died it was sudden and unexpected. She had gone in for some tests and was supposed to go home but she ended up staying. She never did go home. I had spoken to her on Thursday afternoon. This was a day after she was supposed to have gone home. “They’re just going to keep me over one more night for observation. I’ll call you tomorrow. I love you.” Those were the last words my mother ever spoke to me. Not bad as last words go. The next time I saw her she had a tube down her throat and couldn’t talk. That was Friday night. I was living in Washington DC and I’d had kind of a bad feeling all morning when I got a call at my office. The doctor on the phone said that if I was going to see my mother again it had better be today. Two hours later I was on a plane to California.

When I got to the hospital and spoke to the doctors it was clear that my mother wasn’t going to recover. Her organs, at least the ones that filter toxins weren’t working at all and her blood wasn’t clotting. They had kept her alive by inducing a coma and pumping a constant stream of blood in and out of her body. The thing that happens with this is that over time the brain is slowly starved of oxygen. They could have kept her like that for a while, but she’d be a vegetable. The most humane option was to turn everything off and let her go. The one solace was that they offered to wake her up and let her say goodbye.

As the oldest and only adult child the decision making role had fallen to me. When my mom came to and started to reconnect with the world around us she recognized me and took my hand. “Hi mom.” was all I could muster. I think she could see it in my eyes. She knew why I had come. With the breathing tube adhered to her face she mouthed as best she could, “It’s OK. It’s OK. I’m ready.” I explained to her what was going on. She nodded in comprehension and agreement. In her eyes I could see she was trying to comfort me. We were able to call a small group of her close friends in to say goodbye. Mom had faded a little bit by then having turned up her pain meds with the little button next to her bed. I introduced them as one at a time they each got a few minutes to say goodbye. I knew my mom was lucid when I mispronounced someone’s name and she shook her head vigorously. “Mom, Judy’s here. Would you like to talk to Judy?” This was followed by a very strong “negative” “I’m Julie honey.” “Sorry. Mom Julie’s here.” Affirmative. She knew what was happening.

After friends and family had had their opportunity for closure I was able to have one last moment. Around her tube she mouthed, “It’s OK. You can let me go. I’m ready.”

And that was it.

And it should be enough, but it’s not.

I feel cheated.

Not just because my mother died. Not just because my son will never know this wonderful woman. Not just because she missed out on a really fun joyful part of her life that she had been looking forward to for years. I feel cheated because of this bullshit sense that we all have be endlessly optimistic. I feel cheated because I didn’t get to have those final conversations with her that I needed. Maybe it sounds selfish. Maybe it is selfish. After all dying is a very personal process. But goddamnit she’s dead and I’m still here. I’m the one who has to keep living with this pit in my heart every day. I’m the one who has to look at my son and know that there are no answers to my questions.

Which brings me back to the This American Life story. I would give almost anything to have one last token of my mother’s love. One last message, something I could hold on to, something tangible that shows she was thinking about how I could cope with the future without her. I wish she had written something to Ryu, to me, to the family, something that we could go back to and say, “See, this is what grandma thought. This is what she had to say before she left.” The problem for the people in the story isn’t that they were growing and changing it’s that they felt the need to argue with ghost instead of just appreciating that in her final days that mother wanted to remain as a presence for her family. They couldn’t find a way to laugh off or otherwise set aside the parts of the mother’s message that no longer fit their worldview.

I wish my mother still had some presence, any kind of presence, in my life. I don’t really feel one. I don’t’ feel like she’s watching me from heaven. I don’t’ feel like her spirit lives on in the artifacts of hers that I have around my home. I just feel like she’s gone. She’s gone and I’ll always have this hollow spot in my heart. That’s why my in-law’s behavior is so infuriating. They seem like they take it all for granted. They do this despite the fact that my father-in-law may be dying of cancer himself. They have a chance to know Ryu that my mother never had and they don’t care. They’re willing to sacrifice that relationship with him because of some perceived problem with us. I really hope they change their minds before it’s too late. He’s at an age now where he can start to remember people. If you don’t know what you have until it’s gone what happens when you’re the one that’s leaving? What will you leave behind? What will you say before you go? I wish I could have one more message.

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Update: In the years since this was written my wife's parents have been much more present in our lives. I don't remember how it happened, but somehow we were all able to set aside our disagreements and hurt feelings and move on. They have been wonderful supporters of us and our now three children for several years now. My father-in-law is in remission and is now able to travel and visit us. It's wonderful what you can accomplish when you have time on your side.

Friends Again

A while back I penned some thoughts on friendship. It turns out that like the relationships themselves my view on friendship continues to evolve. If you look at my facebook page it will tell you that I have 398 “friends.” Of these I have met all but three of them in real life. There is a group of these that I have not seen since high school. That group is further divided into people I did and didn’t really know very well in high school. There is another group of people I talk to regularly on facebook but never see. Corollary to that is the people I see all the time in real life but who are never on their facebook pages. I’m not the first to comment on how social networking sites have changed and possibly diminished the quality of friendship. I’m not here to hammer that point. I recently realized that all this “friending” had worked a subconscious change on me. I became very cautious about referring to people as “friends.”

I didn’t notice this change for a while though I did notice a little more precision in describing my relationships with people. For example when the topic of Andy Samberg comes up it usually comes up that we went to Berkeley High at the same time. For some reason I always feel compelled to emphasize that I didn’t really know him. I remember him being around but that’s about it. It’s a little weird for me because I’m a big fan of his work on SNL and I’m proud that he’s a BHS grad the same way I’m proud of my mom or Raymond Burr. In fact the first part of the Raymond Burr conversation goes pretty much the same as the Andy Samburg conversation:

Person: “Raymond Burr for some reason.”
SR: “Oh, he went to Berkeley High.”
Person: “Oh, neat.”

The difference is this:

Person: “Ha ha, I’m on a Boat. I love that guy.”
SR: “Oh, he went to Berkeley High.”
Person: “Really? What’s he like? Is he funny? Was he in the yacht club?”
SR: “I didn’t really know him.
Person: “…”

This is usually followed a few weeks later with Person telling someone “Oh, yeah Berto knows that guy.” Followed by me having to correct them. So what’s the point? Well I bet if I were to go on facebook and send a friend request to one of Andy’s (see we’re on a first name basis) buddies from The Lonely Island who I used to skate with, that guy would accept it. Then, if I sent a friend request to Andy he’d see we have that guy in common and he’d probably accept it. Heck, he might even remember me. Then, in the context of facebook we’d be “friends.” But in reality our relationship wouldn’t be any different than it is right now. By contrast, when the topic comes up, I readily tell people that my friend Malik was on the Real World. Because Malik and I really are friends. We hang out. We BBQ. I know his family and he knows mine. He has my WiFi password.

These distinctions don’t just apply to the semi-famous. I break all the people in my life into these categories. The thing is, it feels like a very antiquated and formal thing to do. Five years ago I would have just called anyone I knew, even a little bit, in high school a “friend.” Now they are “acquaintances,” or “classmates,” or “we were in a play together.” I didn’t really realize what I was doing until I wrote this for my other blog.

“I recently came across a former classmate of mine from Berkeley High on the internet. If she ever reads this I hope she’s not offended by my use of “classmate” and “Ms. Welch.” I still have a hard time using the title “friend” for people I haven’t heard from in 15 years. Besides, though we were friendly and spent a lot of time together one semester while working on a play I don’t know if we she would consider us old friends. Though we may become friends again now that we’re in touch. Or at least that version of friendship you can have between busy adults who live on opposite sides of the country.”

Oops. I used another example with a “public figure”. So maybe this whole article is really about my comfort level with name dropping or the appearance of name dropping. The thing is, the more “friends” I have online the fewer people I call friends in real life. There is some balance however. There are a few people I hardly knew in high school who I communicate with all the time on facebook. If not for social networking I would never have known how interesting they are. Of course, I never see them out in the world. I’ve thought about setting up some kind of happy hour for all of my facebook “friends” so we can all say we’ve seen each other at least once in the last fifteen years but after watching The Guild I don’t know how well that would go over.

I feel like I’m getting sidetracked. Where was I going? I think if we really analyze the issue we see that “friendship” isn’t necessarily diluted by social networking. Sure you end up being “friends” with a bunch of people you would otherwise just lose track of but is that so bad? It’s nice to be able to keep an eye and an ear on the comings and goings of people who were once a bigger part of your life. It’s also nice to get better acquainted with people who slipped by on the first run. And hey, if we all become a little more precise with our language that’s not a bad side effect either.

G.O.A.T.s

This year Jerry Rice will be inducted into the Pro-Football Hall of Fame in Canton Ohio. This is Rice’s first year of eligibility and he will be what is known as a “first ballot hall of famer.” That’s all obvious and well known to people who follow football and even to some people who don’t. The only real question surrounding Rice’s career is whether or not he is the best football player ever,, or the Greatest Of All Time. During the latter part of his career Rice’s nickname was G.O.A.T. which is a pretty strong argument for his status as the best football player ever. A recent ESPN.com article examined Rice’s candidacy for G.O.A.T. status and in my opinion sealed it up for old “Flash 80.”

The Jerry Rice question got me thinking. If he is the best ever that means that recent sports fans have been treated to quite an era. Anyone who was alive and conscious between 1978 and 2005 (inclusive) had a chance to see the best athletes ever to compete in three of the four major North American sports*. Wayne Gretzky and Michael Jordan are held almost without debate as the best ever in their sports. Sure, some diehards still hold out for Bill Russell and Gordie Howe but the fact is that Gretzky and Jordan established their greatness during a time when their leagues were really coming to prominence. Gretzky helped establish hockey in the non-Canada adjacent parts of the United States. Jordan not only won at an astonishing rate he also changed the way sports-business is done. Howe and Russell played at a time when their sports were niche compared to baseball and football. Out of the three greats to play between 1978 and 2005 only Rice is still really debated in terms of his place on the all time leader board.

In 1999 Wayne Gretzky was inducted into the Hockey Hall of Fame without having to wait the usual three years. That same year Jerry Rice was named the second greatest football player of all time by the Sporting News. Jerry went on to play five more years, which in the minds of many solidifies him as the NFL’s G.O.A.T. Both of these honors were bestowed on the heels of Jordan’s sixth NBA championship run in 1998. In 2002 Rice went back to the Super Bowl one last time but lost to the Buccaneers. Still, Rice can’t shake the ghost of Jim Brown. Brown supporters point to his dominance during his playing career and the fact that he retired early. “Look,” says the average Brown fan “he could have done so much more f he hadn’t retired early.” But he did retire early. He left the game and in my mind left behind his claim as the Greatest Of All Time.

But I don’t want to get bogged down too much in what is really an impossible debate. My point is that we sports fans have been treated to a special era. We saw three of the greatest athletes in three of the most popular sports in North America all overlapping. So, what do we hope for now? Maybe we hope for Albert Pujols to stay free of the steroid era. Dare we go for the superfecta of greatness? Sure, why not? But in the meantime let’s just take a moment to sit back and reflect on what we had.


Gretzky (1978-1999): “The Great One”, four Stanley Cups, several all time records

Rice (1985-2005): “World”, “Flash 80”, “G.O.A.T.”, three Super Bowls, 13 Pro Bowls, 11 time All Pro, 1985 ROY, 1980s All Decade Team, 1990s All Decade Team, 75th Anniversary All Time Team, 1988 NFL MVP, Super Bowl MVP, 7 All Time career records

Jordan (1984-1993, 1995-1998, 2001-2003): “Air Jordan”, “His Airness”, six NBA titles, 5 NBA MVPs, 14 All Star selections, 6 NBA Finals MVPs, 1988 Defensive Player of the Year, 10 All-NBA selections, 1985 ROY, 2 Olympic Golds, 50th Anniversary NBA All Time Team.

Jim Brown: (1957-1965): 9 Pro Bowls, 8 time All Pro, 1960s All Decade Team, 75th Anniversary All Time Team, 6 NFL MVPs

*Sorry Bonds fans, Barry wasn’t even the greatest ever at his position (Ted Williams, Rickey Henderson) or the greatest ever Giant (Willie Mays), Barry was just a ‘roided up freak show.

A Matter of Perspective?

(Note: This column has been delayed by a few weeks due to computer problems that persisted throughout December and the Mark McGwire news that required more immediate analysis. I can’t believe it’s been two months since my last post. Oi.)

Here we are in the midst of January 2010. The past month has inundated us with various “of the Decade” lists. Best this, worst that, most memorable etc. I will not bore you dear reader with any long reminiscence of the last ten years. In part because I don’t have a coherent perspective on it all and thus would ramble on even more than usual and in part because the last thing we all need is another damn list. I will say that on new year’s eve 1999/2000 was the first time I kissed the woman I would someday marry and on new year’s eve 2009/2010 I found myself kissing my beautiful wife who is in fact a completely different person than the one in the previous sentence. And that pretty much sums up the ‘00s. Besides, we all know that we’ve all changed in the last ten years. We’ve all had struggles and triumphs. You don’t need me to rehash it here.

Instead I want to focus on something that has been either an unqualified success or a semi-dismal failure depending on how you look at it. I am turning to you oh readers to help me decide which it is. I want us to examine my career in fantasy football. If you don’t know what fantasy football is click here for the full explanation or just know that it is a drawn out form of sports gambling that is tied to individual player performances collected into disparate groupings involving several “owners” trying to win money in a league type format. If you want to see what a league looks like you can click here to view our league from this year. The bottom line is fantasy football, like most forms of sports betting exists to enhance the fun of watching sports. It is not supposed to a viable means to earn money.

The intangible aspects of playing are numerous and rewarding. Tracking “your” players lets you feel involved and excited while watching games that might otherwise be boring due to lack of a rooting interest in the teams involved. For example, as a 49er fan I would be pretty bored watching the woeful Chiefs play the horrific Raiders except that I need the Chiefs’ wideout to score at least one touchdown so I can win my fantasy game this week. Fantasy football also provides camaraderie and fellowship by connecting friends both near and far to get together or make an extra phone call to talk smack to other owners in your league.

My two favorite fantasy football memories both involve games that I lost. The first was a game between me and my wife (the current one) that came down to players we each had on Monday night. The game went back and forth all night both in real life and in our little fantasy game. The missus and I had been running smack all night and in the end it came down to a 50 yard field goal with :01 left on the clock. The field goal was good and I lost, but man it was a fun night. Anything that can get your significant other invested in watching Monday Night Football is a good thing. The second memory also involved my wife. It was the last week of the regular season and it was down to me and her for our division crown and a playoff spot. (The playoffs are where you win money in fantasy football.) Five of our league’s 12 owners got together (including two who drove to DC from New Jersey) and it was on. My wife ran so much good smack while kicking my team’s ass she instantly became a legend among our friends and family.

While the intangible benefits of fantasy football are wide-ranging and immeasurable, the tangible benefits are narrow and ultimately quantifiable. It starts with your buy in. In our league the buy in is $25.00 in a twelve team league for a starting pot of $300.00. Over the course of the season most owners spend between $35.00 and $55.00 additional dollars on transactions like adding players and making trades. In the end the prize pot is usually around $700.00 which is divided among teams that make the playoffs with the champion getting the lion’s share. If you win games you win money. If you win money you get a tangible benefit along with all the fun of playing.

Of course as with all gambling how much you win is offset by how much you spend. So while bored at “work” I decided to see what my tangible return on investment has been. Below is my year-by-year result: money spent -> money won and [initial analysis ROI].

2009 1st: $110.00 -> $400.00 [3.61]
2008 8th: $85.00 -> $50.00 [0.59]*
2007 3rd: $80.00 -> $89.00 [1.11]
2006 6th: $95.00 -> $47.00 [0.50]
200513th: $59.00 -> $0.00 [0.00]*
2004 1st: $65.00 -> $300.00 [4.62]
Total: $494.00 -> $886.00 [1.79]

(* represents non-playoff years)

On the surface it looks pretty good. I spent $494.00 on fantasy football (an average of $82.33/year) and won $886.00 (an average of $147.67/year). Not bad. If I’m reading that right I’ve made 179% more than I’ve spent. You tell me another investment that’s going to return 179%. Go ahead I dare ya!

So I was feeling pretty good about myself until a thought dawned on me. In a way I didn’t really win the money I had invested. It may be a more realistic and grounded analysis to factor out my original investment. It is more instructive to see not how I did when I gambled, but how I did compared to holding my money not having played at all. So lets check that out:

2009 1st: $110.00 -> $290.00 [2.64]
2008 8th: $85.00 -> -$35.00 [-0.41]*
2007 3rd: $80.00 -> $9.00 [0.11]
2006 6th: $95.00 -> -$48.00 [-0.51]
2005 13th: $59.00 -> -$59.00 [-1.00]*
2004 1st: $65.00 -> $235.00 [3.62]
Total: $494.00 -> $392.00 [0.79]

These numbers feel more real to me. Dismal, depressing, but real. It makes sense, if you factor out the money I put in that I would never have lost in the years I lost money I haven’t really made all that much. I paid $494.00 to play fantasy football over the last six years and got only $392.00 back. Which means I only got .79¢ for every dollar which is a negative return right?

“Plus your original investment.”

Huh? Who’s that?

“It’s Other Berto. Dude, you did get your original money back. So all your worry is just worry. No matter how you slice it you’re still up .79¢ on the dollar. Sure the profit margin is slim compared to the gross margin but it’s really the same number. You brought in more than you spent. Period. Get over it.”

Um, OK, I think I believe you Other Berto but I’m still not sure.

“Then let the readers weigh in.”

OK readers help me out. Has fantasy football been a good tangible investment or not?

Mark

So Mark McGwire has finally come out and admitted what many of us already believed, he was a steroid user and he used them during his run at the single season home run record in 1998. Why now? Well McGwire was recently hired as a coach for the St Louis Cardinals and he knew he was going to have to come clean all at once or face questions all season. This was an opportunity for a personal and national catharsis but though McGwire showed emotion he did not give his fans or the public what they needed most from a fallen star, he did not fully reveal himself. Rather than give in fully to the reality of his actions McGwire continued to hide throughout his admission.

McGwire claims that he never discussed steroid use with anyone. Not with other players, not with his family, not with his friends or his agent or anyone else. He says none of the people in his life ever asked. As hard as that is to believe I guess it could be true. However according to former teammate Jose Canseco, and ESPN analyst T.J. Quinn several players have said that McGwire was very open about his use of steroids and human growth hormone. Canseco went as far as to write in his book that he and McGwire would shoot up together in the Oakland clubhouse. McGwire’s claims that no one knew about his steroid use seem dubious at best.

Another of McGwire’s assertions that does not sit well is his claim that his steroid use did not contribute to his ability to hit home runs at a rate never seen in baseball history up to that point. McGwire claims that his production was due to shortening his swing and improving his concentration. During his interview with Bob Costas on MLB Network McGwire mentioned that he had always been a good home run hitter. He claims that his first little league at bat resulted in a home run. He mentions that he led the country in home runs while in college. Then he says something that hasn’t been focused on in much of the commentary I’ve seen so far. He talks about how as a rookie he hit a lot of “wall scrapers,” home runs that just barely get over the fence. As either a testament to his delusion or slip up that exposes his lies he first acknowledges that he hit a lot of homeruns prior to his PED use that were just barely out but then attributes his increase in production to swing adjustments and concentration, not the added strength he got from juicing. While his claim that “There is no pill that can give you the hand eye coordination to hit a baseball” may be correct it falls way short completing the steroid equation. First, if steroid make you stronger and faster and thereby increase your bat speed you are able to wait longer to identify a pitch. A lot of hitting involves being able to wait as long as possible and bat speed and reaction time determine how well a batter sees a pitch. But even if we allow that making contact with the ball relies solely on talent we must continue on and look at the result of that contact. It is insane to deny the possibility that due to steroid use some of those wall scrapers became towering shots, and balls that would have died on the warning track became wall scrapers. For that matter a little velocity can be the difference between a routine ball to second base and a hit that just gets through the infield. Here’s a look at McGwire’s numbers before and after he says his steroid use really picked up.

Year, Average, AB/HR, Slugging%, Most HR in a Season
1986-1993, .249, 14 , .509 , 49,
1994-2001, .277, 8.4 , .674 , 70,

So here’s a guy who by his own admission ramped up his steroid use and added roughly 30 points to his batting average, 70 points to his slugging percentage, doubled his home run rate and hit 20 more home runs than he ever had before (nine more than anyone had ever hit in a single season) but doesn’t acknowledge a connection. The only question here is if he’s really that stupid, or if he thinks we are.

Finally McGwire really lost any sympathy we may have had for him when he refused to take full responsibility for his actions. Yes, he said several times that he had done a stupid thing, a “dumb act” in his words. But he never allowed himself to shoulder his full burden. Instead he says he wishes he hadn’t played in the steroid era. That if he “hadn’t played in that era we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” McGwire also says he wishes there had been testing when he played. The implication seems to be that if there had been testing, or if steroids had been against the rules he wouldn’t have done it. Here’s a news flash Mark, the era didn’t make you do it. You chose to take steroids. You went out and purchased steroids. You injected them. You did it Mark, not the era. You. You are to blame. Besides, you claim you never discussed steroids with anyone else and you have no idea who else, if anyone, was taking steroids. If that’s true then there was no steroid culture, no pressure to perform. If you had no knowledge of any other steroid use then you didn’t play in the steroid era as far as you knew. According to your story you played in a bubble where you were the only one taking PEDs. And in a way that’s even worse.

It also doesn’t matter the rule book didn’t have a specific prohibition against it. You knew it was wrong. You knew you were doing something wrong. Otherwise why would you talk about the burden of keeping this secret? It wasn’t the lack of testing that caused this problem, it was your failings as a person. McGwire was asked, if the steroids didn’t help his performance then why are they banned? His answer, “I don’t know, that’s for the Olympics.” Mark, if they didn’t help you and you don’t know why you’re takning them ten why the cover up? If you don’t even know why you’re apologizing then why are you crying and carrying on? The fact is you know you’re stats are tainted. That’s why you hid it.

As a lifelong A’s fan growing up in the 1980s and ‘90s I was a huge McGwire fan. When they found the andro in his locker in 1998 and the steroid whispers started I was still a fan. As time went the little boy in me clung to the hope that Big Mac was clean. When it became clear that McGwire was a likely PED user I still maintained hope that he’d say or do something to redeem himself. Now that hope is gone also. McGwire admitted to taking steroids but in blaming others for his weakness and refusing to acknowledge their effect on his performance his admission and apology have hurt him more than they have helped him. I don’t care if this is hard for you Mark. I don’t care if you’re sorry. It was one thing to lie, it was one thing to clam up and disappear. But if you can’t be honest with us now when you are claiming to be coming clean and unburdening yourself then this is not an act of contrition, it’s a PR stunt. I am far more disappointed in Mac now than I ever have been. He lied to the fans, he lied to baseball, he lied to nine year old Berto. A part of my childhood was a lie and this guy did it. Maybe I should be more grown up and less hurt but I’m not. Thanks for nothing Mac. You had one final chance to be a stand up guy and you blew it. You’re a joke.