Coming to terms with an incomplete Hall of Fame

I haven't commented on the Hall of Fame election results from last week, and I wasn't sure I would. But I've been reading about the vote totals, perusing others' opinions -- both those eligible to vote and those not -- and mulling it over in my head lately.

Today, I first had a thought that I might write something, but not about Roberto Alomar or Bert Blyleven. I'm happy for Alomar, who certainly was one of the best second basemen to ever play the game, and his humility in discussing the accomplishment was nice to see. I didn't see Blyleven in his prime, so I can't say whether he was the kind of pitcher you either wanted to see when he came to your city to see greatness (or the guy you hoped your hitters wouldn't have to face). I didn't have a strong opinion of his career one way or the other (though he certainly did).

After I read Mets Police's comments on steroids and the Hall of Fame, I felt I had found my starting point. I think what struck me with that post and what I had been formulating over the past few days is that we saw what happened. We watched with our own eyes the numbers put up by Mark McGwire and Rafael Palmeiro and Barry Bonds and all the others. But we also watched how their arms and torsos and legs -- and heads -- seemed to balloon to sometimes comical proportions. We may have suspected less-than-natural means for those changes, but we let them slide, because the home runs and strikeouts and feats of strength were so much fun to watch. As fans, we have some level of deniability. As for the writers ... those who covered the players, those who entered the clubhouses every day, they probably should've let us know something was up a bit sooner than they did. They chose to let it slide then, but now they choose the hard line.

In keeping these less-than-perfect players out of the Hall, the writers are doing more than punishing the players -- they're punishing those of us who watched these guys play. At the time, we thought, "We're watching a Hall of Famer in his prime." Now those feelings can't be validated. It's one thing to debate McGwire's stats or compare Palmeiro's numbers to his contemporaries' (for this argument, I'm speaking of all players as if they had the numbers that, otherwise, would represent a Hall of Fame career), but to cut off the discussion before it even begins just because you don't like the way he put up those numbers is cheating the game's history. The players' actions may have been unethical, but with the one exception of Palmeiro, whose one positive test came at the end of his long career, what they did -- or what we presume they did -- wasn't against the rules of the game at the time.

So now we're supposed to forget that managers were so afraid of what Bonds could do that they walked him twice as much as the next guy (Hank Aaron) in history and three times as much as nearly every other player ... ever. We're supposed to believe that pretty much anything that happened from the mid-'90s until 2005 -- no matter who did it -- can't be believed. We're never going to know how many players were unethical, but the writers have taken it upon themselves to make that decision for us.

I'm not completely against the writers. There was a time I wanted to be one of them, to be a beat reporter covering a Major League team, but along the way I chose to deviate from the path that might've made me one. There's still a part of me that would enjoy it, and I will probably take their side more than not, but as the years go by and McGwire's percentage falls and Palmeiro and even Jeff Bagwell -- a guy who was hardly suspected when he played and certainly has never been proven to be dirty -- have to start so far in the back of the pack on their first ballot, I think I'd rather they just cut down on some of the gray areas on the ballot instructions. There are plenty of unsavory characters already in the Hall. Sure, some of them may have managed to keep their indiscretions under wraps, but surely the antics of Babe Ruth and Mickey Mantle and others were known by some of the writers went ahead and voted for them anyway. It is here where I think Mets Police's suggestion (and I'm sure others have offered it as well) is the compromise to be made: Evaluate the players on their numbers, and if there is some clarification that needs to be noted -- McGwire's admission, Palmeiro's failed test, Sammy Sosa's corked bat -- then it should be engraved on the plaque. It's the Hall of Fame, not the Hall of the Pristine, the Hall of the Perfect. It's a museum, a place where the good is often presented along with the bad. Contrast -- context -- can help highlight the true greats.

But if there's one thing that bothers me more than anything else -- not just in baseball writers' Hall of Fame voting, but in all walks of life -- it's hypocrisy. In the past week, you've probably read about the ballot submitted by ESPN news editor Barry Stanton. Forget about his checking off the names of Jack Morris, Edgar Martinez, Don Mattingly, Tino Martinez and B.J. Surhoff (and no one else). That's another debate. My problem is with the fact that, in 2002, he resigned from his position as a sports columnist in Westchester, N.Y., after he was charged with plagiarising a Joe Posnanski column.

So the Baseball Writers' Association of America, which takes it upon itself to decide who has the character worthy of election into the Hall of Fame, cannot or will not judge the character of its own membership? What is the difference in Mark McGwire taking androstenedione or steroids to make his job easier and in a sports writer taking another's words to make his own job easier? There's an element of laziness in both acts -- and a character flaw in both of the men who committed the indiscretions.

The writers need to trim the fat on their electorate. This year, a record 581 ballots were cast, meaning a player needed to be named on 436 of them to gain the 75 percent needed for election. I'm not saying it needs to be a hard number, 100 or 200 or whatever. But why should those who no longer cover baseball or work as an editor for an outlet covering the sport -- such as the political cartoonist in Montreal or the college football writer mentioned in Craig Calcaterra's post -- still be asked to judge the merits of baseball players with regard to the Hall of Fame? And if the players are to be judged on their character, shouldn't those doing the judging have to abide by some standards of character? Or are they permitted to live in glass houses without any fear of repercussions?

Nobody's perfect -- not Hall of Famers, not writers, not fans. Yet we may be bearing a disproportionate amount of the burden for their mistakes.

Most valuable losers

When Chase Utley hit his second home run in Game 5 of the World Series, giving him five against the Yankees, the discussion began about who had been named Series MVP from the losing team. Since the award was first given (in 1955 to Johnny Podres), only one player had ever earned the honor but not a championship ring: the Yankees' Bobby Richardson in the 1960 Fall Classic.

Of course, that's the year that Bill Mazeroski ended the Series at Forbes Field with the only Game 7 walk-off homer in history. Mazeroski's numbers in the seven games were decent: .320 batting average, two homers, five RBIs, two doubles, four runs. But Richardson's topped that: .367, one homer, 12 RBIs, two doubles, two triples, eight runs. In fact, Maz's somewhat pedestrian numbers were the best across the board on a Pittsburgh team that lost the Series in pretty much every category other than games won.

The Bombers outhit the Bucs, .338 to .256; outscored them 55-27; outhomered them 10-4; outslugged them 27 extra-base hits to 15; outpitched them 3.54-7.11 in ERA; and outWHIPped them 1.18 to 1.76. The Pirates won their four games by scores of 6-4 (Game 1), 3-2 (Game 4), 5-2 (Game 5), and 10-9 (Game 7). The Yankees' winning scores were 16-3 (Game 2), 10-0 (Game 3) and 12-0 (Game 6).

Mazeroski's five RBIs led the Pirates alongside Bill Virdon, but his five came with just a .241 average on seven hits. For New York, Richardson wasn't a one-man show, and if anyone in the press box kept track of the voting that year, I'd have to think that Mickey Mantle lost by one vote. Mantle hit .400 with three homers, 11 RBIs, a double, eight runs and eight walks. One way or another, the MVP of the 1960 World Series was going to a Yankee.

The Pirates' best candidate for MVP would have to be right-hander Vern Law, who started and won Games 1 and 4 and allowed one run in five innings after starting Game 7. In 18 1/3 innings, he allowed seven earned runs for a 3.44 ERA. The only other mark below 4.00 for Pittsburgh was Harvey Haddix's 2.45 (two earned runs in 7 1/3) that he accumulated by starting and winning Game 5 (6 1/3 innings, both runs) and pitching the ninth to win Game 7. (He came in with runners on first and second and no outs, gave up a single to Mantle that allowed Richardson to score and move Dale Long to third, then blew the save and allowed Long to score the tying run on a groundout to first by Yogi Berra.)

The most dominant pitcher in the Series was Whitey Ford, who won Games 3 and 6 by pitching 18 scoreless innings, allowing just 11 hits and two walks and striking out eight -- certainly MVP-worthy numbers. It makes you wonder why Casey Stengel, whose Yankees won the AL by eight games over the Orioles, pitched Ford for two innings in relief in the season finale on Oct. 2 and didn't use Ford until Game 3 on Oct. 8. Ford's last start had been on Sept. 28, five days before Game 1 of the Series on Oct. 3. For the season, Ford was 12-9 with a 3.08 ERA and an 85-65 K:BB ratio in 192 2/3 innings. Stengel's Game 1 and 2 starters were Art Ditmar (15-9, 3.06, 65-56 in 200 IP) and Bob Turley (9-3, 3.27, 87-87 in 173 1/3 IP). Had Ford started Games 1 and 4 and been available had it gone to seven, it may have been a different story.

In this year's Series, I think any chance Utley had of winning the award hinged on the Phillies forcing Game 7 -- especially if Utley played into a Game 6 victory in even the smallest sense. I think even to consider a player from the losing team, the Series has to go seven games. The most common simple way to evaluate whether a player is the valuable to his team may be to consider the team's fortunes were that player removed from the lineup. Take away Utley's solo homers in the third and sixth innings of Game 1, and it's scoreless into the eighth -- maybe Cliff Lee changes his approach in some situations in a scoreless game as opposed to having a 1-0 and 2-0 lead. And in Game 5, Utley's three-run shot in the first inning kept the crowd at its fever pitch from the start and pretty much gave Lee the freedom to pitch his game. (And, of course, Lee's performance in the Series would've earned him consideration for MVP as well, especially since he almost certainly would've had some role in a Game 7.)

So Utley fits the definition of a player most valuable to his team, but with just a six-game Series, it's hard to seriously consider someone from the losing side. For one thing, the Phillies never found themselves one win away from the title. And though they won Game 1 on the road, once the Yankees took Game 2, it was clear the momentum had shifted and remained on the Yankees' side through Game 4 and their 3-1 Series lead. The Phillies got it back to an extent in Game 5, but only for the first seven innings. After Utley's second home run of the game to lead off that inning and Raul Ibanez's shot three batters later, the Yankees fought back with three runs in the eighth and another in the ninth and had the tying run at the plate in the form of Mark Teixeira before falling, 8-6. In my mind, any shot the Phillies had of forcing Game 7 hinged on their jumping out to a moderately comfortable lead (in Yankee Stadium against these Bombers, that would have to be at least three runs) with Pedro Martinez starting Game 6 for them. It didn't happen -- Hideki Matsui's two-run homer in the second put the Yankees ahead for good, and though the Phillies got one back in the third, Matsui essentially put the game away (and earned his MVP) in the bottom of the third with a two-run single.

Since the MVP was introduced in 1955, a total of 59 players have won the award in the 55 Series that have been played. Those numbers account for three Dodgers -- Ron Cey, Pedro Guerrero and Steve Yeager -- and two Diamondbacks -- Curt Schilling and Randy Johnson -- sharing the award in 1981 and 2001, respectively; they also account for the absence of a Fall Classic in 1994. Out of those 59 players, 23 have been starting pitchers, or 40 percent. Of those 55 Series, 23 have gone seven games, and in seven-game Series, the MVP has been a starting pitcher 14 times, or 58 percent. (Three relief pitchers have won -- Rollie Fingers in 1974, John Wetteland in 1996 and Mariano Rivera in 1999 -- but none of those Series went seven games.) So when the Series goes the distance, giving starting pitchers a chance to have an effect on three games instead of just two, they seem to have a greater chance of winning the MVP award.

Here's the list MVPs from World Series that went seven games:

Year	Player	Pos	Team
1955	Johnny Podres	SP	BRK
1956	Don Larsen	SP	NYY
1957	Lew Burdette	SP	MIL
1958	Bob Turley	SP	NYY
1960	Richardson	2B	NYY
1962	Ralph Terry	SP	NYY
1964	Bob Gibson	SP	STL
1965	Sandy Koufax	SP	LAD
1967	Bob Gibson	SP	STL
1968	Mickey Lolich	SP	DET
1971	Roberto Clemente	OF	PIT
1972	Gene Tenace	C	OAK
1973	Reggie Jackson	OF	OAK
1975	Pete Rose	3B	CIN
1979	Willie Stargell	1B	PIT
1982	Darrell Porter	C	STL
1985	Bret Saberhagen	SP	KC
1986	Ray Knight	3B	NYM
1987	Frank Viola	SP	MIN
1991	Jack Morris	SP	MIN
1997	Livan Hernandez	SP	FLA
2001	Randy Johnson & Curt Schilling	SP	ARI
2002	Troy Glaus	3B	ANA

But I think the other obvious choice for an MVP on a losing team was another slugger, and one who played in the last seven-game Series, in 2002. Glaus won the award for hitting .385 (I'm using batting average because it's likely that most -- if not all -- of the voters in the press looked at that instead of OPS) with three home runs, eight RBIs, three doubles and six runs scored. He doubled in the tying and go-ahead runs in the bottom of the eighth of Game 6, when the Angels were down to their final six outs of the season. He then went 0-for-2 with two walks and two strikeouts in Game 7.

Yet the most valuable player of that Series had to have been Barry Bonds. He hit .471 with four homers, six RBIs, eight runs and two doubles. Six of his eight hits were for extra bases (1.294 slugging percentage) and he was walked 13 times (vs. three strikeouts) for a .700 on-base percentage and a 1.994 OPS. He reached base via hit or walk in every game, and Game 4 was the only one in which he did not get a base hit. He went 0-for-1 with three walks, all intentional, and did not score in the game. The first two free passes worked; the Giants were held scoreless in those innings. But in the fifth, with the Angels leading 3-2 after two runs had scored in the frame, Mike Scioscia ordered John Lackey to walk Bonds with one out and Rich Aurilia on second. Benito Santiago then singled in Aurilia to tie the game. Anaheim got out of the inning, but San Francisco won, 4-3, with an unearned run in the eighth, an inning in which Bonds did not come to bat. (Bonds had batted in the seventh against Francisco Rodriguez and grounded out to first on a 2-2 count.)

That Series was at the height of Bonds' influence on how the game was played, evidenced by all of those walks -- he had an impact simply by forcing the opposing manager to take the bat out of his hands. Clearly, no one was more valuable. Had the Series ended in six games, he would've won the MVP (he went 1-for-3 with a walk, no runs or RBIs, in Game 7), and he probably should have anyway. No pitcher on either team was worthy.

We're overdue for a seven-game Series. There have been seven played since the last one went the distance, easily the longest drought in history. Compare that to 1955-1965, when eight of 11 Fall Classics went the distance. And maybe our next seven-game season finale will come with another MVP debate. Imagine the postgame trophy presentation on Fox if the winner played for the losing side.

Surely some not-so-free agents

If money were no object, some team in baseball could potentially add nine future Hall of Famers to its roster this offseason, including what is obviously a baseball first: available sluggers who have reached the 700, 600, 500, 400 and 300 home-run plateaus.

First, the possible -- not all probable -- Hall of Famers: Barry Bonds, Roger Clemens, Tom Glavine, Andruw Jones, Mike Piazza, Mariano Rivera, Alex Rodriguez, Curt Schilling and Sammy Sosa. I'm not going to go into here the debate about whether Jones and Schilling are Hall of Famers, just like I'm not bothering with the technicality that Clemens hasn't filed (and could very well retire) and that Sosa's election to the Hall is very much in doubt.

And the homers:

Bonds, 762
Sosa, 609
A-Rod, 518
Piazza, 427
Jones, 368

Even in such a weak free-agent class, some video-game roster finagling could still produce a pretty competitive team. Obviously age is a factor in the real world, but not on the Xbox -- particularly if you turn off the injuries. A rotation consisting of Clemens, Glavine, Schilling, Kenny Rogers and Livan Hernandez would pile up some wins. Todd Jones or Eric Gagne could close. First base would be a problem -- Doug Mientkiewicz and Ryan Klesko seem to be the only options, unless you count Julio Franco -- but Kaz Matsui is there at second, David Eckstein at shortstop and A-Rod, obviously, at third. Or go with A-Rod at short and Pedro Feliz at third. The outfield has options from Bonds, Jones, Sosa (left to right) to an all-center lineup of Jones, Torii Hunter and Aaron Rowand, or some other grouping. Mike Piazza, Paul Lo Duca and Jorge Posada are there to catch.

But the team would probably have a payroll of $300 million, a tenth of that spent on A-Rod alone.

Talkin' Barroid

I was impressed with the sampling of various columns I read following Bonds' milestone. Most acknowledged the record while putting it into the context of the rumors and suspicions.

MLB.com's Mike Bauman:

Barry Bonds' record may be a tribute to something else. Therein rests the problem. The vast weight of evidence, some of it admittedly circumstantial, suggests his usage of performance-enhancing substances. This is, of course, unfortunate. He was going to the Hall of Fame when he weighed 190 pounds, before his body underwent a transformation in what amounted to early middle age.

Michael Witte speculates that Bonds' elbow armor has helped him a great deal:

For years, sportswriters remarked that his massive "protective" gear – unequaled in all of baseball -- permits Bonds to lean over the plate without fear of being hit by a pitch. Thus situated, Bonds can handle the outside pitch (where most pitchers live) unusually well. This is unfair advantage enough, but no longer controversial. However, it is only one of at least seven (largely unexplored) advantages conferred by the apparatus.

ESPN.com's Gene Wojciechowski:

There was a time, regardless of how you felt about Bonds, when you couldn't ignore the width and breadth of his talent. Those were during his days with the Pittsburgh Pirates and early in his Giants career. Now you can't ignore the width and breadth of his cap size.

ESPN.com's Tim Kurkjian:

It is true that if Bonds were clean, but still a disagreeable or disrespectful guy, a lot of people still would have preferred that he hadn't broken Aaron's record. Rickey Henderson wasn't exactly embraced when he broke Lou Brock's record for career stolen bases, then held the third base bag above his head and exclaimed, "Today, I am the greatest."

Various ESPN analysts:

You can trust your eyes in baseball. An error is an error. A missed bunt attempt is just that. What you see is, well, what you see. A pitcher who is throwing 88 mph at the end of one season and is magically hitting 98 on the gun the next spring? That's just not humanly possible, at least not without some form of help. Same goes for home run hitters, and Bonds tops this list.

ESPN's Buster Olney:

After the game, Bonds was asked whether his home run record is tainted, and he answered bluntly. "This record is not tainted at all," he said. "At all. Period." That is what he believes. Either way, the word "steroids" is going to appear in the first two paragraphs of Bonds' obituary -- fairly or not, whether you like it or not.

SI.com's Jon Heyman, who has said he will vote for Bonds on his Hall of Fame ballot in five or six years:

Perhaps one day baseball or the feds will catch up to Bonds. But if they do, it won't be in time to save Aaron's record, or baseball from an all-time record that deserves an asterisk but will never get one.

SI.com's John Donovan:

And now, we are left to reflect on the man, the moment and the significance of it all. Bonds has millions of fans, as his selection to this year's All-Star game indicates. His supporters are vocal and relentless. But there are millions of fans today, too, that are completely, radically disgusted at baseball and at the idea of Bonds, of all people, holding this important record. They call him a cheat. They call him a disgrace. They call this whole thing a sham.

CBS Sportsline's Scott Miller, who punctuates each mention of Bonds:

What once was the most cherished record in all of sports lost its luster at 8:51 PT on Tuesday night, Aug. 7, when Bonds* blasted the home run that had never been hit in 100-plus years of major league history, career No. 756, on a full-count, fifth-inning fastball from Washington pitcher Mike Bacsik.

Sportsline's Gregg Doyel bashes all of baseball, so he's not that nice a guy, but you could tell that from his doofy headshot:

Bonds is an accused steroid user and convicted jerk whose record will be acknowledged warily by some and not at all by others, none of which seems right. He joined on Tuesday night a long list of perceived bad guys -- scumbags and racists, cheaters and gamblers -- atop baseball's most cherished individual lists. Bonds doesn't stick out. He fits in.

Fox Sports' Ken Rosenthal:

In the rush to revisionist history, some will try to sweeten this lemon of a moment. But with the notable exception of weepy Giants owner Peter Magowan, most were left feeling predictably ambivalent, cheering with the mute button on.

The steroids era reaches its climax

The fans of San Francisco can have their little moment. Good for them, being all cheery and adulatory when Barry Bonds sent his tainted home run into the AT&T Park bleachers. At least someone was happy.

I know there's supposed to be a presumption of innocence until proven guilty, but considering the facts as we know them and the glaring omission of any kind of evidence from Bonds to prove that he never took steroids -- simply rehashing, "I've never failed a drug test," only works for the last few years, not the "record" 73 season -- we certainly cannot simply dismiss any rumors or accusations regarding Bonds' mysterious marked improvement as he got older. Remember: Bonds admitted he took steroids, but he claimed he didn't know what they were. That's like believing George Bush started the war in Iraq without knowing there was oil there. Why would Bonds, who is supposedly so diligent with his training and workout schedule and so careful and controlling with his body and his health, take something he wasn't completely familiar with? That just doesn't make sense to me. And let's not forget that baseball still has no test for HGH, though it does ban the drug.

But all those suspicions aside, the fact that Bonds "broke" the record in front of his home fans is good for baseball. The record was going to be broken, so it certainly helps the sport's image to have it accomplished in front of the friendly home crowd, instead of in Atlanta, Dodger Stadium or New York, where the opposition would've surely been heard. I'm not happy it had to happen, but I'd resigned myself to it at the end of last season, when he put together a strong final two months and showed he was clearly healthy -- enough -- to get there. At least it happened in the middle of the night, when I was asleep, my phone off and the text message from MLB.com undelivered. I only found out this morning, when I turned on my computer.

I saw the photographs and watched the video clip, and it's a shame that Bonds has to be so brash and arrogant about it. Hank Aaron was humble, no doubt in part because of the threats and backlash he received, and while Bonds is clearly not anywhere near Aaron's stature in terms of class, reverence and humility, it would have been nice to see him hit the ball and watch it soar into the seats while he jogged around the bases. Instead, he stood at the plate, raised his arms, and upon touching home plate, gave an exaggerated two-fingered point to the sky. A salute to dad, no doubt, but a simple gesture still would've gotten the point across.

Baseball got what it deserved, too. "Commissioner" Bud Selig refused to be in attendance, sending two representatives instead and releasing a brief statement following the game. For a sport that ignored whatever evidence and warning signs it had while steroid use expanded out of control through the 90s, it deserves to have its most cherished record held under such suspicion. The commissioner and the owners could've taken action sooner, the players association could have policed itself sooner, so now whatever light they're perceived in is the result of their own inaction. They can clear themselves over time, but for now, that's the way it is.

With this home run comes relief. No more Bonds Watch, no more Pedro Gomez reports on the Giants' left fielder sitting out day games after night games. No more Giants games as circus, no more daily press conferences to avoid -- or at least they'll be less prevalent and easier to avoid. Each home run now is rather insignificant, another notch on a tainted record and merely one more added to the eventual benchmark that will be surpassed by Alex Rodriguez, then Albert Pujols and then Ryan Howard, Prince Fielder or some fresh-faced minor leaguer we've yet to realize is the heir to the home run king's crown.

Now we get to spend three weeks wondering if the Giants will try to get something for Bonds, to slide him through waivers and deal him to a contending team before the Sept. 1 postseason roster deadline. Surely no team will claim him to block the deal and risk assuming so much money for a controversial and aged slugger, so it's possible. It's just not likely. I don't see it happening, but it's fun to speculate nonetheless.

The ball Bonds hit landed in a crowded section of bleachers at AT&T Park, where it ended up in the hands of a Mets fan literally passing through town. That puts a smile on my face and some symmetry to the moment, considering the Giants' roots in New York City. I'm not quite sure why a Mets fan on his way to Australia who apparently went to the game on a whim during his layover was bringing his Jose Reyes jersey to the Southern Hemisphere in winter, but I guess that's part of his regular wardrobe. At least he has as much right to the ball as Bonds does hitting it.

But it's only just for now.

Barry and the Babe

We're nearly there. One more long ball, and for just the second time in 86 years, Babe Ruth will move on the list of the all-time home run rankings. He took over the top spot in 1921 and didn't relinquish it until 1974; since then, he's been at No. 2. Two weeks from today marks the 71st anniversary of the Babe's final home run, one of three he hit in a marvelous afternoon at Pittsburgh's Forbes Field.

If Barry Bonds is going to do it -- and it certainly seems inevitable at this point -- maybe he can wait two weeks and do it on the anniversary of Ruth's own 714th blast. Giants manager Felipe Alou said that Bonds will play every game of this homestand, which runs through Sunday, to give him a chance to hit one or two home runs at home. The Giants then head to Houston for three games, without a day off, which means Bonds will likely sit. They then have three games at Oakland -- where Bonds can DH all three games, if necessary -- before returning home for six games spanning Memorial Day weekend that include the May 25 anniversary of Ruth's last three home runs.

This whole controversy over Bonds is a shame, as many have written already (and I've loved all of Tom Verducci's stuff on the subject, particularly his appropriately terse responses to some inane mailbag questions this week), because we should be enjoying this, celebrating it, bringing up Babe and looking at this in the context of one slugger vs. another, with 70 years between them. The debate should be about which one was the greater hitter -- and perhaps the greatest hitter -- of all-time, not which one did more with his own ability vs. which one had more artificial help.

I find it hard to believe anyone can look at Bonds' career -- his statistics, his baseball cards, his choice of friends and trainers -- and not think that the evidence is overwhelming. Everyone still wants him caught red-handed with the smoking gun: a positive drug test. That's being a little naive. Bonds, of course, admitted to using steroids when he testified before the grand jury; he just claimed he thought what he was being given were natural products rather than artifically produced enhancers.

Much as Ruth never got what he wanted at the end of his career -- a chance to manage -- Bonds won't get what he wants, which is to be considered the greatest player ever, someone who is cheered at each stop around the National League when he makes his farewell tour. Mark McGwire left the game a beloved slugger, but if he were still playing today, he'd be under the same suspicion and the same scrutiny. Bonds will get a warm send-off in San Francisco in his final at-bat, but if he wants that to be his last on-field memory as a player, he'll have to make sure his final game comes at AT&T Park.

Just how much more can he take? Clearly, the scrutiny and pressure is affecting him. He hides from the media, never moving faster than after a game, when he showers and dresses and leaves the clubhouse before the media arrives. He reluctantly answers questions after games in which he hits a home run; then he refuses to sign the ball that became his 713th career homer when a fan from Philadelphia asks, as Verducci reported. The fact that this 25-year-old soldier might soon be deployed to Iraq might prompt some players to take the guy to dinner after the game, or fly him out to San Francisco for a game. The most Barry can do is pose for a photo with the guy.

What happens when Bonds gets 714 and 715 in the next week or so? This is a guy who looks horrible on the field, like the boss trying to squeeze in a few innings in the company softball game, just to appear young and virile to his employees. He aches with every step and leaves games early, when even a five-run lead is big enough to take him out after he bats in the seventh inning. He'll play more on this homestand -- including this afternoon, after a night game yesterday -- as Alou tries to give him the cocoon of the hometown fans for the backdrop of his historic homer, but what will that mean for the trip to Houston and Oakland? It's been protocol for Bonds to sit out a day game after a night game, but on Monday he sat out a night game after a night game, presumably because his knee did not respond well to an overnight cross-country flight home after Sunday night's game in Philadelphia.

When does it all become too much for him? I actually wondered this week if he might hang it up just days after he hits No. 715, if he's finally had enough. His agent came out this week and said he expects Bonds to play somewhere in 2007, but how realistic is that? If he finishes this season with 725 home runs, mimicking the number on his uniform, might he call it a career at that nice, round number? That would mean a total of 17 home runs this season, just barely half of the 30 he would need in 2007 to tie Aaron. He hasn't had a multiple-home run game since Aug. 29, 2004, a span of 72 games in which he's played.

If this is Bonds' final year, that gives us five more years to ponder and debate, ruminate and reconsider, because then all of this will come up again as he's placed on the Hall of Fame ballot. We'll get the first inkling of an indication as to how that might play out in January, when the Hall of Fame announces the Class of 2007 -- for which Mark McGwire is eligible for the first time.

Bonds has had a Hall of Fame career. The only question is how good was he on his own?

A hypothetical travesty

So Barry Bonds returns tonight.

He returns to an aging, veteran Giants team that, this morning sits seven games behind the Padres in the NL West. San Francisco is tied with the Diamondbacks and one game behind the Dodgers. They're 13 games under .500. A week ago, the earliest it was expected Bonds might play this month, they were 11 games below break-even and two games closer to first place.

The first question, of course, is, Why? Why is Bonds bothering? What's he trying to accomplish? He's not going significantly help the Giants this year, so why risk a career-ending injury for 20 meaningless games? (That's 20 team games. I doubt Bonds will play in each one.) Is it to bring the fans out for the final seven home games in a ballpark that already draws pretty well as it is? Is it to see if he can hit 11 home runs in those 17 games to tie Babe Ruth this season? Is it a selfish decision, either on his part or the part of the ballclub?

But the second question, in my mind, is tougher to answer, though much more hypothetical. I first thought of this a week ago, when his presence in the lineup for -- at the luckiest best -- six more games would have meant more. Say the Giants go on a tear of historic proportions. Say they win 17 of their last 20 against a schedule packed with NL West (and, by definition, weak) opponents, plus the Washington Nationals. Such a run would make the Giants 81-81. Is he that good? Some may say so.

Now say the three teams in front of San Francisco -- the Padres, Dodgers and Diamondbacks -- all play .500 ball the rest of the way. That puts the Padres at 81-81 as well, forcing a one-game playoff. Perhaps the Giants win that game with Noah Lowry going up against Jake Peavy, or perhaps Woody Williams, if Peavy's arm troubles turn out to be significant enough to affect him the rest of the way. Maybe Bonds plays a big part in that win, whether it's at Petco Park or by the Bay in San Fran.

Say all that happens. Say Barry Bonds plays as many as 17 of these 20 games, gets 70 plate apperances, give or take five or 10, and hits eight home runs while scoring 20 (owing to a dozen or two walks).

If all that happens, is Barry Bonds the NL MVP?

Unlike the Cy Young Award, which is intended for the best pitcher in the league for each season, the most valuable player award carries within it a definition of who should be eligible for the award. It doesn't say how that value should be measured, and while I would contend that the most valuable player in the league is the one whose numbers surpass -- or at least stack up with -- those of the best players in the league over the course of the entire season. A healthy player, to me, is more valuable than an injured one, no matter how well the injured one plays when he's in the lineup. There is virtually no situation, at least this year, in baseball in which an MVP-caliber player who misses significant time with an injury is replaced by a player of equal caliber.

Bonds is a great player, and he may have a significant impact during these past few weeks, but if he's still that good, wouldn't he have been more valuable to the Giants had he been healthier this year and given them more than 70 at bats? The team is 64-78 as of Monday morning; perhaps a full season of Bonds would have meant that they were 78-64 at this point. That record would be good enough for a seven-game lead today. I don't think a 30-game turnaround is that much of a stretch when we're talking about Bonds, at least not over 142 games.

But would he deserve the MVP? Clearly such a turnaround by the Giants would be attributed to his return. This is clearly an abnormal season in the NL when the entire East Division has a good chance of finishing at or above .500 while the West Division leader could earn that title with the same .500 mark. Had the Giants still gone 64-78 but the Padres managed to win just six more games than they have, it's doubtful the Giants would have a shot to make up 10 games over the last 20. My point there is that, yes, the Giants have an outside shot to win this division with Bonds back, but I think that has more to do with the ineptitude of the rest of the division to win games than it does with the Giants ability to stay in the race without their slugger. I believe that the Giants (and Diamondbacks, too, at 64-78) are "in the race" simply by default. First and foremost, it's de fault of the Padres.

To answer my own question, I agree that Bonds' return, if it does trigger a 17-3 run to close the season, would solidify him as one of the league's most valuable players this year. But no one disputes that. No one questions you when you say he's the Giants' MVP, or the most valuable player in the West Division. But is he the most valuable player in the National League for 2005? More valuable than Albert Pujols, who has helped the Cardinals to a 14-game lead and a magic number of 6 as of this morning despite injuries to just about every starting position on the field in St. Louis over the course of the season? Would Bonds be more valuable than Andruw Jones, who carried the Braves on his back when they were calling up players from Double-A to start in the place of veterans like Chipper Jones and Brian Jordan, or when they lost three starting pitchers to injury?

I don't think so. If I happen to be prescient enough to predict San Francisco's 17-3 season-ending tear, I think Bonds receives an alarming number of votes, but should fall behind Jones and Pujols (who has unfairly followed Bonds in this voting in previous years) in the final tally. What those two players did for their teams over the course of the full season have been more valuable than what Bonds could do in three weeks. In my mind, the five-and-a-half months he missed hurt the team more than the three weeks he'll provide.

Which part of Palmeiro's story do we believe?

I have to say I'm stunned. Shocked. Knock me over with a feather.

It's not so much that Rafael Palmeiro tested positive a banned substance under MLB's new drug policy, it's that so many people are being so damn quick to crucify him for it. To be clear, I agree that this is a blow to his career and his accomplishments. Furthermore, perhaps most importantly, he certainly could answer a lot of questions — and perhaps clear his name a little bit — if he elaborated on his comments that he "never knowingly took steroids" and that he would love to explain what he tested positive for and why he took whatever it was he took, but he won't by saying he can't.

To read Scott Miller's column, you'd think Miller himself walked in on Palmeiro holding the needle. Buster Olney calls for Palmeiro to explain himself and at least tosses in the conditional "might" before saying his Congressional testimony in March does not appear to have been truthful. The fact of the matter is, we don't know what Palmeiro tested positive for, and we don't know that he was telling anything but the truth before Congress. Apparently, such details were not passed on to Miller. It bothers me when journalists are so quick to get their opinion out there, eager to inflate their reputation with strong words and a definitive stance. It's a tired, repeated refrain (just take a look at any conservative site with regard to the war in Iraq) that the media is so quick to report on the negative and overlook the positive, but it seems not to be restricted to world politics. (And how much does the internet play a role? Would some of these columns look any different if they weren't rushed "to post" less than six hours after the announcement?)

In my opinion, I think MLB rushed into this policy because it wanted to save face. It had ignored the problem for so long, but now that Congress was getting involved, it had to do something. Almost as soon as the details were announced, they were criticized.

To this day, I wonder if the players have been provided with a definitive list of what will cause their urine sample to come back positive when tested under baseball's drug policy. Torii Hunter was initially scared to drink Red Bull and I wonder if he's received any assurances that it's OK. Senator Joe Biden (Democrat of Delaware) issued a statement in January saying, "The new testing system sounds better than the flimsy one they had before. But the penalties are weak and it is still unclear what substances will be banned under this new agreement." And in the NFL, they had already learned that some banned substances are not clear on the labels of the supplements they take.

Back to Palmeiro. If it weren't for Jose Canseco's book, I don't think Raffy would have been among the usual suspects with regard to steroids. To me, his career just doesn't scream "steroid user." His home run output never had the jump that, say, Barry Bonds' did when he suddenly hit 73 after never reaching 50 before (or since). He increased his 1992 total of 23 by 15 in 1993, an impressive bump, but not a suspicious one to me. He was 28 that season, too, and how many baseball men will tell you that strong arms and quick wrists that produce lots of line drives and doubles can turn into home runs with a minor adjustment that puts a little more loft on the ball? Sure, it doesn't help Raffy's case that the 37 home runs came in the year after Jose Canseco arrived (I'm not going to ignore a fact just to prove my point), but again, it's not like there were no other possible explanations for the power boost.

Palmeiro played five years in Baltimore — somewhat seen as a welcoming park for the left-handed hitters — and then returned to Texas and its new hitters haven. He was solid and consistent, as are the hitters on his comparable players list. Nothing but reliable Hall of Famers there.

I don't think Palmeiro's stupid. I don't think the combination of his lawyers, agent and wife are, either. Even if he had done something he shouldn't have in the past, before his appearance before Congress, how could he put himself in such a position to be caught like this? Seriously, do you think a man who has continued to work with Congress, participating in a conference call just a few weeks ago, would accept that invitation while knowingly breaking the rules at the same time?

Last summer in Houston, I stood in a conference room at Minute Maid Park with every living member of the 500 home run club. Steroids had again become a hot topic to the point where that night on Baseball Tonight, I watched Karl Ravech interview Mark McGwire, a conversation that must have happened either moments before or after the press conference I attended. Each hitter had a table to which he went after the initial introduction and camera crews and print reporters alike approached the players as they needed. Aside from the great Willie Mays and the outspoken Reggie Jackson, the players who drew the biggest crowds — and, in the instances I dropped in and heard bits of conversation as I made sure I stopped at each table, fielded the steroids questions — were Bonds, Sammy Sosa and McGwire, the players who then, as now, have drawn the most suspicion.

Among the most accessible tables were those of Ken Griffey Jr. and Palmeiro. In fact, some of Bonds' overflow spilled into Griffey's space. In my mind, I still tend to think of Palmeiro as part of that group, the one that included Mike Schmidt, Harmon Killebrew, Willie McCovey and Frank Robinson; not the group of Bonds, Sosa, McGwire. I'm sure Palmeiro is guilty of something; I don't think he's a patsy, I don't think he's being set up by MLB. There's no conspiracy. But I do wonder if we'll ever know the truth, if every suspended player who says he never took anything more than a supplement will be vindicated or exposed.

While I'm not going to go off half-cocked and absurdly say Palmeiro lied in front of Congress when there is absolutely no such proof to support that accusation, I do wonder just what part of his story I should believe. Unfortunately, I don't think Raffy will ever tell us, for sure.

Juicy

I've wanted to stay away from commenting on this whole steroids issue. I'm not trying to ignore it and think that it will go away, because it clearly won't. But I felt I didn't have much to say that wasn't already being thrown about, and that's still probably the case. But on the heels of last week's congressional hearing, it's taken a new turn.

First, there was the delicious sight of Bud Selig squirming and Donald Fehr sounding simply sleazy and heartless. "Progressive punishment?" God. The best thing that came out of the D.C. grandstanding was the exposure of the true wording of baseball's supposedly "tougher" steroid policy.

As for the players, it was shameful on both sides of the photographers' pit. The politicians fawned over the players and acted like they'd invited their athletic heroes into their homes and were amazed by their mere presence. For the athletes' part, they backtracked on everything they've said and done in the past few weeks or years. Jose Canseco backed off everything he's ever said or written about steroids and even Curt Schilling -- perhaps the biggest politician in the MLB players' association -- backtracked from what he's been saying for months about steroids.

But the saddest sights were Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa. As Tom Verducci said, here's a guy who felt free and comfortable talking in English since the 1998 home run chase, and now he doesn't even open his mouth in his own defense? I have yet to see a news clip since that shows Sosa saying anything. He looks like a mentally challenged hulk sitting there in his suit while his gray-haired lawyer serves as his mouthpiece. And, of course, everyone's already pointed out his use of the word "illegal" when saying he'd never used "illegal drugs."

As for McGwire, a player I once enjoyed to watch and marvel over, it was clearly a sad scene -- this once Paul Bunyan-esque slugger now appearing smaller, his face markedly clearer, dressed up (it seemed) in grandpa's reading glasses. All he had to do was come out and say it, say he never used steroids, and he'd be validated. But he didn't, probably because he couldn't, and now everyone -- Buster Olney, Jayson Stark, the news articles have jumped on the player everyone praised six summers ago.

Except one. Interestingly, Ben McGrath's "Talk of the Town" piece in The New Yorker is the one column I've seen that's portrayed McGwire in a positive light. But as Verducci said, hasn't McGwire learned the importance of history, of learning from the past? Clearly, we won't be learning from him.

* * *
Now what to make of Barry Bonds? Which is the act? His brash bravado during his press conference when he arrived in spring training? Or his quiet, humble, whimpering sob story yesterday? If not somewhere in between, I am going with history here and leaning toward the former. Will Bonds miss the entire season? Doubtful. Is he really done? Probably not. He's frustrated. True, he has been beaten down by allegations and accusations, but much of it he's brought upon himself. He berates the media, the sportswriters for bringing him to this point, but he had a choice in how he dealt with the reporters who, for the most part, were simply doing their jobs. He hasn't been cordial with any of them, or with many fans.

Blaming the writers for his woes, for his family's "pain," is weak. It's part of your job, your privileged career, that you have to live with. With McGwire's Hall of Fame resume clearly tarnished, in the minds of many, what will we make of Bonds'? Eddie Murray was known to be surly with the press, but he had little trouble getting to Cooperstown. Bonds shouldn't either, just because -- steroids or not -- his numbers are so eye-popping.

I, for one, won't be counting the days until Bonds is back on the field. I'll monitor his rehab, if only because of the fantasy baseball implications. But if he's hit his last home run, or if he comes back but still falls short of Hank Aaron's respectable 755, baseball will be better off. If not, if he gets healthy and passes Babe Ruth this year and Aaron in 2006, it will be a fitting mark on Selig's tenure -- perhaps his lasting impression. Baseball's greatest record, its home run crown, will be shrouded in a fog of suspicion, forever.

Wright on track

One of my few photos from the 2004 Futures Game BP session.
I don't know if it came from knowing his name when he was in the South Atlantic League in 2002, when I was covering the Lakewood BlueClaws, but starting last spring, I was anticipating David Wright's arrival at Shea Stadium throughout last season. I happened to be there the night he hit his first Shea homer, and if I were to buy another jersey with a name on it, a Mets No. 5 would be the one. So to read Jon Heyman's recent column was a great indication of what's in store for this kid. Hopefully third base will be his at Shea for a dozen or so years.

*****
Now, as for those new Mets spring training jerseys that I said I didn't like, I may have found another reason, in addition to the fact that they look like hockey sweaters.


A blue jersey with black stripes ...


I knew I saw that somewhere.
Is it me, or do black and blue just not look good on sports uniforms? I've never liked them together with the Mets.

*****
Newsday also has a hilarious Mets photo gallery that shows the guys having a little fun during drills.

*****
I have to agree with tiny Jayson Stark head that Barry Bonds doesn't know what he's talking about in a lot of areas. I'm sorry, Barry, but you can't say, unequivocally, that all the reporters are liars. You can't say that baseball is "the only business that allows you guys into our office." Yes, it's a business, but your part of it is a game. The business aspect is handled upstairs, in the front office. And the playing field is your office, but it's not an office. The reporters aren't allowed into the dugout during a game, where the decisions are made. They aren't allowed into the trainer's room, where players are treated. They aren't allowed into the bargaining sessions where you negotiate your contracts. You might have noticed, Barry, that there are a few other professions where reporters -- and the public -- are allowed into "the office."

Comedians.

Musicians.

Movie stars.

Politicians.

The president.

Sorry, Barry, but you're not the victim. I'm glad you enjoy the "Bonds sucks" chants, because there are a lot more people who feel that way than those who are looking forward to your potential 756th home run.

Postseason awards picks

In a few hours, we'll learn the first of this season's award winners, and since I've been lazy and couldn't come up with a real analysis, here's the quick version:

NL MVP
I think Barry Bonds will win, yet again. But I think it should be Adrian Beltre. The simple argument/formula is take the player away from his team, and where would they be? Yes, if you take Bonds off the Giants, they're not good at all. They might be lucky to win 75 games. But the same can be said of Beltre. In 2003, the Dodgers made an unexpected run at the postseason on the strength of their pitching. They couldn't hit for anything. They needed an offensive upgrade, and their only key offseason acquisition was Juan Encarnacion, until Milton Bradley came over at the end of spring training. But the key to the division title was Beltre, a young player whom the Dodgers expected to become a superstar at least three years ago. He's been drafted in so many fantasy leagues with those expectations and been dropped y Memorial Day every year. Not this time. Granted, fantasy is far from reality, but Beltre was the most valuable player this year. I'm convinced that if major league managers had some guts and pitched to him more, he wouldn't have such gaudy numbers. For one, he wouldn't have a .680 on base percentage. His numbers are tainted in so many ways.

NL Cy Young
For the most part, I'm not a fan of the guy, but how can Roger Clemens not win it? Randy Johnson just didn't have the won-loss record, Jason Schmidt faded over the season's final six weeks and Carl Pavano didn't do enough in the final stretch to seal the award. Clemens, on the other hand, looked like his classic, dominating self for much of the season and led the Astros to the postseason. But the best part, from my perspective, is that if he had remained with the Yankees, they almost certainly would have reached the World Series, probably even won it.

NL Rookie of the Year
This one seems like a two-horse race. Those who dig deeper argue for San Diego shortstop Khalil Greene, whose offensive numbers are solid, but far from spectacular. His defense, however, is stellar and he looks like a veteran already. The other half generally falls in the camp of Pirates outfielder Jason Bay, who has the flashier home run and power numbers that Greene lacks. Bay, however, doesn't have the advantage of playing on a contender and has less support overall in his lineup. My vote would be for Bay because he seemed, to me, like the most outstanding rookie; I think his offensive numbers were impressive enough to outrank Greene's defensive contributions, though there is something to be said for a complete, all-around player. I'm talking out of both sides of my mouth here. End of story: I'm picking Bay, but I could see Greene getting it easily and I think it will be this year's closest award.

NL Manager of the Year
Bobby Cox. Perhaps for the first time since 1991, most pundits expected someone other than the Braves to win the NL East. I'm sure some of the Braves themselves thought so too. But after the games were played, the same team could be found atop the division. Really though, next year is the year for someone else.

AL MVP
This one will probably be close as well, coming down to Vladimir Guerrero, Gary Sheffield and Manny Ramirez. I'm going with Vlad. While Anaheim got a lot of headlines for all its offseason pickups, the strong-armed right fielder became the heart of the team and performed better than what was expected of him. He was arguably the only Angels pickup to do so. Bartolo Colon was dreadful for a good stretch and while Jose Guillen certainly showed he can hit, his end-of-season benching showed he's also, clearly, a head case. It was Guerrero who performed consistently throughout the season and who picked up the slack for the injured Garret Anderson and Troy Glaus. It's always tough with the Yankees, because when you apply the "if you take him out of the team's lineup" test, they usually have enough to compensate for the loss of any one player. Sheffield certainly did a lot for the Yanks, but even without him, they still had Alex Rodriguez, Derek Jeter, Hideki Matsui and Jorge Posada. And for much of the season, their pitching wasn't as bad as it became in the postseason, so they had the arms to make up for a loss at the plate. As for Manny, he falls into the same predicament Sheffield's in: a lineup that's too good.

AL Cy Young
Curt Schilling will be second. Johan Santana had the better numbers overall, and this award is a bit more straightforward. It's not which pitcher was most valuable to his team, it's which pitcher was the best. I'm sure Schilling got the hardware he wanted anyway.

AL Rookie of the Year
I think it goes to Bobby Crosby. The A's let Miguel Tejada leave because they thought Crosby was ready to be a big-league shortstop. Turns out they knew what they were talking about. Whether or not that decision meant the difference between first place and second place is another matter. (I happen to think it wasn't; thinking Arthur Rhodes could be your closer was much worse.)

AL Manager of the Year
Buck Showalter. How good would the Yankees be next year if they traded Rodriguez this winter? Look at the history: the 2000 Mariners with A-Rod were 91-71 and won the wild card. In 2001 they went 116-46, setting the AL record for most wins in a season, and won the division. In 2003, the Rangers (with A-Rod) went 71-91. This year they wre 89-73 and in the AL West race until the final two weeks, even without anything resembling a competitive pitching rotation. Anyway, Showalter pulled off the managing feat of this millenium so far. And be sure to put those World Series bets down on the Rangers the year after Buck leaves. His previous two jobs ended in 1995 with the Yankees and in 2000 with the Diamondbacks.

It's amazing they still call it 'hardball'

Other than when I posted the All-Star stuff, I suspect this is my first double-entry day since starting this site. I'll admit I haven't updated this nearly as much as I would've liked, but I hope things change once I learn to organize my time more. And when I get my new computer and Casey and I are no longer sharing one in a house with wireless high-speed internet, her iPod and The Sims on her Mac.

---------------

I wonder what Bob Gibson would say today. Or Don Drysdale. Or any other tough pitcher from baseball's heyday who knew how to pitch inside, to intimidate and, when necessary, back up his teammates.

There was an incident in last night's Mets-Rockies game that started with a hard slide at second base and ended with Braden Looper's ejection. On a ball hit to the right of shortstop Wilson Delgado, Rockies rookie catcher J.D. Closser slid hard into second baseman Joe McEwing, taking out his legs, requiring McEwing to be helped off the field and taken to a hospital for X-rays. There was little chance McEwing would've even attempted a double play, but that's not Closser's concern. He has to go into second hard and make sure that he does what he can to help his team by turning a potential two-out grounder into a fielder's choice forceout.

But the Mets, too, have a right to their view of the play, and they felt Closser went a little too far -- too far past second base, for one thing. As Mets manager Art Howe said, "I don't think it was a clean play. He [Closser] was airborne and Joe was on the shortstop side of the bag. I don't know if he touched the ground till he touched Joe." The photo seems to back up that claim. Taken from the third-base photo box, it clearly shows Closser in mid-slide, already even with the bag. I watched several replays last night, and I don't remember seeing Closser even touch second base. At that, the umpires are allowed to use their discretion and call the batter-runner out at first, though they rarely do. It wouldn't have applied in this case, anyway, since McEwing didn't even attempt to get off a throw.

When Closser came to bat again in the eighth, Looper threw one behind him. It was low, and had Closser not hopped backwards into the pitch, it would have gone behind him. I don't think he was trying to get hit, but that's beside the point. Closser had barely turned to first base -- he hardly looked at Looper, showing no anger, as if to show he understood it was part of the game -- when home plate umpire Lance Barksdale ejected Looper from the game. Howe argued -- "He threw it behind him!" he yelled, sprinting from the dugout -- but, obviously, it didn't do anything. Barksdale, who maybe at this point understood, or realized something, didn't eject Howe. Whether or not Howe went far enough to warrant an ejection, I have no idea.

Looper's ejection was unwarranted. In today's soft game, a warning would've been appropriate, but who cares if the umpire felt Looper was throwing at Closser? Why does he need to eject him right there? The Mets should have the right to answer what they see as a dirty play that injures one of their players. If you have to issue a warning after that, fine, but at least let the Mets send their message, even the score. In my mind, Barksdale showed no awareness of the game situation. If he did it in an effort to "get control" of the game, that's ridiculous too. He hadn't lost control of it. But in the second game of a day-night doubleheader, when the pitching staffs of both teams are clearly going to be stretched (and the Mets had already lost Mike DeJean in the first game on a ball hit off his shin), Barksdale has to show more understanding of the situation.

What pissed me off from Closser's standpoint is his lame excuse and clear lie. "I know the guy got hurt," he said. "But I don't feel like I slid past the bag or anything like that. I just slid into second. I don't know if he's going to be able to turn a double play right there. I'm just trying to slide in and break up a double play. He's standing on the bag like he's going to take it, so I don't know."

What he should have said was, "I was just sliding hard into the bag. It's too bad he got hurt, but I'm just playing the game hard." If he didn't realize he slid way past the bag, it's amazing he can even find the base if his sense of direction is that messed up. Even the photo shows him, butt still an inch or so off the ground, already even with the bag, well on his way past it.

I think baseball's gotten too soft. Barry Bonds dresses up like a 12th Century knight every time he goes to bat, and then he complains when pitchers throw at him or a strike is called inside. Hey Barry, if your elbows are over the plate when you stand in the box, a pitch beneath your arms can still be a strike.

For the most part, umpires wait until a clear retalitory beanball before doling out warnings to either side. But why? Why is there a need for warnings? Ejections should clearly come if there are fights, but if the Red Sox plunk Jeter and the Yankees respond by hitting Manny Ramirez, the Red Sox should make the next decision on their own. If they throw a ball at A-Rod's head, they know they'll have to deal with the Yankees going after David Ortiz or someone. I don't think teams will go much farther than one intentional beanball each for fear of losing players to ejections or injuries.

Clearly, all this policing is the result of Bud Selig's Disney-fying baseball and the politically correct, anti-violence, baseball-as-a-product television era we're in. It's bullshit. There are inherent risks in any job, and one of the risks of being a professional athlete is the chance that you could get hurt playing the game. Roger Clemens may be an asshole for throwing at Mike Piazza's head, but the Mets were pansies for whining about it for two years and waiting for Clemens to come to bat in a regular season game at Shea Stadium and leaving it up to Shawn Estes to do the dirty work. The next inning, or whenever his next at bat was, Jeter should've been on his back and it all would've been over and done with. Maybe the gods would've been happy too, and maybe the Mets' karma would've changed. Maybe Piazza's bat never would have broken in Game 2 of the World Series, he would've homered, Clemens would've lost, and the Mets would've won the series in six games.

What?? It could've happened.

---------------

After watching the replays during tonight's Mets pregame (which disclosed that McEwing was placed on the DL with a fractured fibula), Closser did indeed touch the base. In fact, his slide consisted of a jump in the air (to block any throw or view of first) in which he came down directly on top of the bag and McEwing's legs. So his comments are even more bullshit. McEwing, too, may have indeed gotten a throw off toward first, but I don't remember exactly because I was focusing on Closser's positioning on the slide. I will correct myself, however, and say that the possibility that McEwing could've been making or prepared to make a throw to first was greater than I first thought. But still, it was a bad slide, a terrible slide, if not dirty.

On whining Yankees and intentional walks

Why does everything have to be a conspiracy for the Yankees? Derek Jeter has his shoulder separated in an accident in Toronto last year, and players -- even their upstanding manager Joe Torre -- question whether the Blue Jays catcher may have intentionally driven his shoulder into Jeter's.

Ridiculous.

Then Jorge Posada accidentally has his nose broken while sliding into second. The Angels' shortstop's relay throw to first in a double-play attempt is low, it ricochets off Posada's hand and hits him in the face, requiring surgery. And Torre questions why "he had to go so low" with the throw.

Ri-cock-ulous.

Joe was a catcher, maybe he doesn't realize that it's a bang-bang, split-second decision -- nay, a reaction -- in taking the toss from the second baseman, making the pivot, and firing to first in hopes of getting two outs on one pitch. Like there's any way the Angels middle infielders were thinking, "If we get a double-play ball, I'm going to try to sidearm the throw to first in hopes of embedding the ball in some guy's face."
I doubt that.

* * * * *

What to do about Barry Bonds? For some reason, this guy has become the most feared hitter since ... I don't know. Is it the Babe? Is it Ted Williams? Not even Ted Williams was walked this much in his career. There's talk here and there of whether or not the rules should be -- or could be -- changed to at least discourage intentional walks, if not outlaw them.

I think there's a simple solution, along the lines of those who say ban them outright. What MLB can do is make a rule prohibiting catchers from standing up before a pitch has crossed the plate (or at least before it has left the pitcher's hand). Sort of like making the the catcher's box (see the June 27, 2000 note) extend upward, rather than just horizontally on the ground. A catcher cannot stand up to call for four balls outside the strike zone. That way, an intentional walk has to start with the pitcher in his crouch. Managers won't order pitchers to throw three feet outside, because the catcher won't be able to get to it as easily and it increases the risk of a wild pitch. Because so many intentional walks happen with runners already on base -- often on second and/or third -- a wild pitch would be very dangerous.

Changing the rule to prevent catchers from standing could essentially do away with the standard intentional walk as we know it and force pitchers to pitch around a batter if they wish to walk him. In doing so, this would increase the chances of a potential mistake -- a change up hanging over the heart of the plate that could be crushed into the bleachers. Sure, many of the best control pitchers can fire one six inches outside that Bonds or any other hitter wouldn't think of touching, but there will still be enough who come close enough to induce swings or throw wild pitches outside or in the dirt. It'll make the game more exciting and intentional walks less obvious.

At least that's the way I see it.