The Kid bows out of the picture

Ken Griffey Jr. may have been our generation's Mickey Mantle, the player who was admired and beloved beyond his home stadium, the kid who managed to do things on a baseball field that few other players of his time could do.

I have vivid memories of Griffey's career from start to finish, which came yesterday when he announced his retirement. His decision came 23 years to the day after he was drafted first overall by the Mariners and 75 years to the day that Babe Ruth ended his career. Griffey's will undoubtedly lead to the same place: a plaque on a wall in Cooperstown six years and one month from now.

My first Griffey memory comes not from a play or a home run, but from a card. Many of us had it, the 1989 Upper Deck, No. 1. Card No. 1 in set No. 1, it turns out. Griffey didn't just turn around a franchise in the Mariners and get a new ballpark built in Seattle, he launched a business when Upper Deck came onto the scene. (And Junior may have indirectly sunk an industry, because after Upper Deck's emergence on the scene, the baseball card market quickly became saturated and the bubble -- such as it was -- burst.) So here's the story of how I came to own my 1989 Upper Deck #1, Ken Griffey Jr.

In August 1989, my family was on its annual vacation to visit family in Maine, my mother's brother and his family. With my most recent issue of Beckett Baseball Card Monthly packed in my bag, I noticed that there was a pretty sizeable baseball card show about half an hour away. With an idle afternoon at our disposal, I convinced my dad to drive me up to Augusta, the state capital, and drop me off at the convention center where the show was. Uninterested in browsing, Dad went off to check out a bait-and-tackle shop or some similar fishing outpost with the understanding that he'd pick me up an hour later at the spot where I got out of the car.

I went inside and sauntered up and down the aisles, buying a few individual cards and packs here and there. I may have blown through my vacation budget in that hour, or I may have wisely left some cash back at my uncle's in order to limit how much I spent on baseball cards. Either way, I walked out of the card show with exactly $4 in my wallet.

Dad wasn't there yet, so I sat down on a bench to wait, looking through my new purchases. I don't remember a single thing I bought at that show, but I remember a collector stopping to chat with me as he headed inside with a briefcase of cards. I don't remember what we talked about to break the ice, but I do know that he asked where I was from and when I said I grew up near the Jersey Shore and Sandy Hook, he knew that area. At some point, the Griffey card came up and he opened his brief case and handed me one. I looked it over closely; I had never held one -- it was in a protective sleeve, but it was still the first time I'd been able to examine one so closely, on my own terms. As Darren Rovell wrote in that Slate piece (also linked above), this was a card that came to define a generation of collectors. At the time, we couldn't see it in that light, but we still knew it was a collecting status symbol, a benchmark, a cardboard holy grail to attain.

It was beautiful. The smiling kid -- I'm guessing he had to be 16 or 17 in that picture, likely taken in his high-school uniform -- in a navy-blue turtleneck with gold chains resting on it, a white jersey, an "S" airbrushed onto his cap, a bat resting on his left shoulder. In place of the team logo was a "Rookie" banner, so looking at the front of the card, the gold "S" on the blue cap is the only indication that the kid from Florida was the Mariners' -- and baseball's -- No. 1 prospect.

I handed the card back to the collector, who then went into his sales pitch. At the time, the card was valued at $10 -- to a kid a few weeks away from his 13th birthday, a pretty substantial price for a picture of a baseball player -- but the collector offered to sell it to me for half that, $5. Knowing he'd already cut the price in half, I didn't even try to negotiate it further. "I'm sorry," I said, "but I literally only have $4." He understood and put the card back into his briefcase.

We chatted for a few more minutes before he got up to go into the convention center to do business. But then he turned and put the briefcase down on the bench and opened it. "Here you go," he said, handing me a Griffey card. "You sound like a big fan and collector. You should have one." Stunned, I went for my wallet to give him my last $4. "Don't worry about it," he said. "Just take the card."

He wouldn't take my money, so I got the hottest card of the year for free. I still have it, in what I imagine is the same protective sleeve, kept in a narrow cardboard box -- pretty much exactly the width of a hard protective baseball card sleeve -- with my other most-prized cards.

My next lasting encounters with Griffey were on TV, watching him rob a disbelieving Jesse Barfield of a home run at Yankee Stadium and his dash home in Game 5 of the 1995 ALDS.

And then came the saga of 1999, leading up to The Kid ultimately being traded to the Reds for Mike Cameron, Brett Tomko, Antonio Perez and Minor Leaguer Jake Meyer. Sad day for the Mariners, but at least Cameron has had a productive Major League career -- and he once hit four home runs in a game, one more than Griffey ever did. I hoped Junior would be dealt to the Mets, but it was not to be. So my friends and I made a point to go to Griffey's first appearance at Shea Stadium, on April 25, 2000, and watch him go 0-for-3 with two walks and three strikeouts -- twice against Al Leiter and once against Armando Benitez to end the game, a 6-5 Mets win, with Sean Casey on first base as the tying run. We sat in the left-field mezzanine, in a box at the front of the section in fair territory. As the game went on, fans in that corner increased their razzing of Rickey Henderson. By the late innings, the field was littered with hot dogs, likely thrown from one of the suites below us, because I can't imagine anyone in the stands paying $5 for a hot dog only to throw it onto the field a dozen times over to make a statement at a player.

I saw Griffey again at Shea on June 19, 2006. He homered off of Orlando Hernandez that night, the 548th home run of his career, No. 12 of 27 that season. He hit just 82 more, the last coming in the final game of 2009. The third and final chance I got to see him came last summer, when my wife and I planned a visit to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland for a weekend when the Indians were home. The Mariners were in town and Griffey went 0-for-3 as the DH, walking once and scoring on Franklin Gutierrez's home run. Junior was batting .215 after that game, one point higher than he'd finish the season. At .184 through 98 at-bats this season, it was clear that the time had come.

I'm glad he decided to bow out now. The whole clubhouse nap flap was the beginning of the end, and once that controversy came to light, it really became a matter of whether he'd try to finish the season or hang 'em up before then. It was starting to become depressing to see him come to bat as a pinch-hitter and ground out or do little more than punch a soft single into the shallow outfield, then jog to the bench as a pinch-runner. As a fan, I like to see players go out on their own terms, but I don't want to see them hanging on for one last shot at glory. They can't all have Ted Williams endings, hitting a home run in the final at-bat, at home no less. In many ways, it's a shame Griffey didn't decide to retire after last season, when he homered in the final game of the season, in Seattle. Whether he announced it at the start of the homestand, the start of the series, before that final game or after, or even a week later, to know that that game was the last time he'd button up the jersey and tie on his cleats would have been a fitting finale.

Last night was nice as the highlight film rolled on MLB Network, ESPN and MLB.com and the Mariners broadcast became a 10-inning retrospective on his career. To me, the only thing that could've made it better was if Griffey had been there. If I were scripting it, Griffey would've made the announcement at a pregame press conference, then taken the lineup card out to the umpires before the game. As far as I know, there was no transaction made, so he was still on the active roster and could have been in uniform. He then could've spent the game the way Cal Ripken did when he stopped his consecutive-games played streak in September 1998 against the Yankees: watching from the bullpen, warming up the outfielders, shaking hands and chatting with fans between innings. Ripken did it because he'd never had a chance to do those things after playing in every game for 16 years. If Griffey had done it, it would've served as a reminder that he was once The Kid who took batting practice wearing his cap backward, loving the game. But at least, in the end, Junior went out when he wanted to go out, not when he kept looking for a team to sign him when none would. He may have left a little later than his ability allowed, but at least he chose when to go.

Well played, Kid.

And we're back

After a thoroughly enjoyable, active and at the same time relaxing vacation, I'm back at it. It will take me a bit to catch up on some of the stuff I missed, but I did ignore several developments, too. There's no point in rehashing what's a week or several days old.

But let's start off with the Ryan Howard-for-Albert Pujols rumor. I don't deny that there may have been some "internal discussions" by the Phillies. It is, after all, Buster Olney reporting, and his sources are as good as anybody's. Though, because it's the Phillies, it's surprising that writer-in-residence Jayson Stark didn't have this first.

As for the internal talks, someone could've said, "Hey! Let's trade Howard for Pujols!" in a drunken stupor at the team holiday party and it could be considered, technically, "internal discussions." (Incidentally, the well-known near-swap of Ted Williams for Joe DiMaggio that was referenced in that story allegedly was agreed upon after a night of drinking, tabled until the morning for further consideration in the sober light of day, and withdrawn after more clear-headed evaluation.)

Even if the Phillies may have thrown out those two names in the same sentence, and though the Howard-in-St. Louis angle has some merit, not only do I not see the Cardinals dealing Pujols, I don't see him getting away. For various reasons, the Cardinals might not have the revenue of the Yankees or Red Sox or the ability to stretch their payroll as far as the top-paying teams in each league, but I have to believe that none of that applies to the contract discussions with Pujols. Of course, they won't let Pujols and his agent know that, but -- ahem -- internally, they'd better be saying if there's one player for whom they can be creative to sign on his terms, it has to be King Albert.

The Cardinals draw well. They probably sell a lot of merchandise in the Midwest. They contend every year -- especially with Pujols. On the surface, the chances of them hamstringing themselves because of what they pay Pujols are minimal; obviously, we don't know what their financial ledgers look like. But you have to believe that they wouldn't have signed Matt Holliday to $120 million over the next seven years if they felt that would prevent them from signing Pujols.

The last paragraph of that story mentions the blockbuster deal in December 1990 when Blue Jays GM Pat Gillick (now an adviser in the Phillies front office) traded Tony Fernandez and Fred McGriff to the Padres for Roberto Alomar and Joe Carter. It's amazing that that was nearly 20 years ago, and I was curious to see which players were active during the 1990 season and in 2009.

It's a short list:

Ken Griffey Jr.

Tom Gordon

Randy Johnson

Jamie Moyer

Gary Sheffield

John Smoltz

Omar Vizquel

That kind of puts into perspective how often these kinds of deals happen, and the Phillies just made a pair involving Cliff Lee and Roy Halladay, so should this one have any legs, it would be two once-in-a-generation deals going off within about a year.

Hall of Fame electioneering

Sixty-three-point-four.

That's the magic number, 63.4 percent. Top that, and your chances of gaining access to a club many of us could only dream of entering are greatly improved.

Seventy is even better. Seventy is a nice, round number, and seeing that crooked 7 at the beginning of the figure must send a jolt of euphoria through someone who is hoping for that immortal benchmark: the 75 percent of the vote needed to gain election to baseball's Hall of Fame, which Andre Dawson today learned he received. The Hawk has reached baseball's ultimate perch.

Now, while 70 percent doesn't get it done, every player to get 70 percent has been elected the following year. As for the 63.4, that's the percentage that Gil Hodges got in his final year of eligibility, 1983, and it remains the highest figure a player has received without eventually being elected. Gary Carter (64.9 in 2001), Bruce Sutter (66.6 in 2005), Jim Rice (64.8 in 2006), Goose Gossage (64.6 in 2006) and Andre Dawson (65.9 in 2008) have all topped 63.4 in the past 10 years and eventually received the call. And Gossage and Rice each found himself in that 70-74.9 percent purgatory in the year immediately before each finally got his call.

I agree that Dawson is a Hall of Famer, and he probably should've gotten in sooner. I remember the symmetry of Dawson hitting his 300th home run at Shea Stadium early in April 1989, after his former Expos teammate Carter had hit his 300th at Wrigley the previous August, after a nearly three-month drought following No. 299 (how great is Baseball-Reference's HR Log?) It might've been nice to see the two former Expos share the same stage (and hopefully Dawson becomes the second to go in wearing an Expos cap), but the gap in their inductions means one more January week and one more summer weekend when we can remember the team that used to play in Montreal.

I can't really get into the Bert Blyleven debate because I don't remember much of his career. I started following baseball only during his last couple of seasons, so all I have to go on are the stats -- and I'm not sure the stats hold up to Hall of Fame standards. Roberto Alomar, however, I do remember, and I think he's easily a Hall of Famer -- and should've been in on his first ballot. He was a Gold Glove second baseman who could switch-hit. Early in his career, he had 40-50-stolen-base speed. Later, when his legs lost a little juice, he became a 20-homer, 30-steal keystone. Penalizing him for the spitting incident is petty when you consider some of the transgressions by athletes that we overlook. And if John Hirschbeck, the umpire who was spit upon, can forgive him, what grudge do the rest of us have to hold? It's not as if Alomar harmed anyone peripherally.

Both Blyleven (74.2 percent this year, just five votes short of election) and Alomar (73.7) should be in next year, if the 70-percent trend holds. And both might've made it this year if not for the five blank ballots (particularly in Blyleven's case) or those voters who, on principle, don't vote for players on their first ballot. (If Rickey Henderson can't get 100 percent of the vote, no one ever will -- unless Ken Griffey Jr. somehow manages to capture Osama bin Laden between now and his first ballot, transports him to the U.S. and forces him to stand in the batter's box without a helmet and face Justin Verlander throwing inside heat.) Not voting for a player on the first ballot on principle is ridiculous. That's what the five-year waiting period is for, so that a player's career can be evaluated and put in perspective with those he played with and against.

The blank ballots actually bother me more than the token votes thrown at players like Robin Ventura, Ellis Burks, Eric Karros, etc. (Seriously, if you turn in a blank ballot -- or at least if you are a serial blank balloteer -- you should have your voting privileges revoked.) Writers are human and, despite what they claim or write, enjoy the drama and excitement of the games. If a player was a good, reliable source of quotations during his career or provided some truly memorable moments, why not honor him with a vote in what you're certain will be his only year of eligibility? I was a big fan of Robin Ventura when he was with the White Sox, I loved it when he came to the Mets, and in my mind, his "grand-slam single" -- in extra innings, in the rain, in the NLCS, in New York, against the dynastic Braves -- is worth one vote from one writer out of 539. One MLB.com writer and six others agreed. I don't know what the instructions on the ballot say, how they phrase what each writer's responsibility is with his or her vote, but with up to 10 slots to fill, a tip of the cap to a personal favorite doesn't bother me. Were there only three or five slots per ballot, it'd be a different story.

We'll have plenty to discuss in the coming years of Hall of Fame balloting, what with Rafael Palmeiro, Barry Bonds, Rogers Clemens and Sammy Sosa allowing us to really delve into how to treat the Steroid Era. I think as the years go by and I get older, I'll have more passionate opinions on Hall of Fame arguments, because with all the changes in the game, plus the steroids, comparing players to their eras will be more important than comparing them to other Hall of Famers. While I understand the thought, I don't get why it should matter who is joining the ballot in future years. It's not like Barry Bonds' arrival will take a spot away from where Jack Morris' name could go.

But Jay Mariotti had better not be giving Sammy Sosa a vote on the first ballot if he couldn't be bothered to find a Hall of Famer out of this year's group.

Griffey redux

Ah, you've just gotta love the anonymous hate comment.

As a sportswriter, one of the things that irked me the most was when I'd get an anonymous letter criticizing, insulting or threatening me for something I'd written in the paper -- something I'd written with my name and, sometimes, photo attached to it, but that prompted someone to write in with their own opinion and not have the courage to put his or her own name on it.

The internet, of course, is different. So many of us are posting anonymously, and replying anonymously is just much easier. But that's fine. I have to moderate my comments here because of spam, so I could have easily refused or ignored the response I got to yesterday's post about Ken Griffey Jr. skipping batting practice at Shea Stadium on Monday.

But I didn't. I didn't because I'd rather use the response to go further and to update what I initially wrote.

Perhaps "diva" was the wrong word. That term is often preceded by "demanding," so anyone tabbed a diva is assumed to be demanding. I don't think Griffey is too demanding, at least not anymore than most teams' highest paid players. So be it.

I should have also added that I've met Griffey, briefly, and I don't think he's a bad person -- and I never said he was. He's a nice family man, a player to admire for having hit 586 career home runs without any hint of suspicion that he did it on anything other than God-given ability and GNC-bought nutritional supplements. (Let's not kid ourselves -- in today's game, Babe Ruth would've been John Kruk.) I was at the press conference at the 2004 All-Star Game in which all the living members of the 500 home run club were present. To be in a small conference room at Minute Maid Park and to see Willie McCovey, Willie Mays, Barry Bonds, Frank Robinson, Mike Schmidt, Reggie Jackson and Harmon Killebrew all under one ceiling -- often scraping the ceiling, as Bonds and McCovey seemed to be -- was amazing. Griffey didn't have to be there; he'd been injured just days before and would miss the game and the Home Run Derby, but he was, and he -- like Sammy Sosa and Rafael Palmeiro -- had his children with him. It was sweet. But even then, just six years after the Great Maris Chase and three years after his retirement, I noticed that Mark McGwire seemed smaller than the last time I'd seen him in person, at Wrigley Field in May 1998. His skin -- remember how his face always seemed extremely pock-marked? -- seemed smoother. And that's when I thought hmmm...

But back to Griffey. Junior is also the face of the franchise; he has been ever since that winter day when the Mariners traded him to his hometown team. When the Reds travel the National League, fans in those cities want to see the superstars, the players they know, and Griffey is that guy on the Reds. There's a responsibility that comes with that. If he missed on-field batting practice to spend time with his father, that's nice, but I'd wager the cost of a flight from Cincinnati to New York that Griffey has it better than 99 percent of 30-something Americans who live and work hundreds or thousands of miles away from their parents. You don't think he sees his folks more often than most of us? With a private jet at his disposal, I'm sure he can have Mr. and Mrs. Griffey in the stands any night he chooses, with barely more notice than a morning phone call.

Ken Griffey Sr. was a ballplayer too, though. He should know the game. It's not like Junior had to be out there stretching with the team, but I'm sure fans would've appreciated seeing him come out from the clubhouse in time to take his round in the cage, then return to the cool comfort that is the bowels of Shea Stadium.

Monday was an historic night because Griffey tied Mike Schmidt for 11th on the all-time home run list. It wasn't a record; it wasn't even the top 10. Even if the Bonds' father-son home run record is tainted (which it certainly is), Junior's Monday homer didn't do anything more than put another notch on the family tally. Has Ken Sr. been at every game since Junior hit No. 585?

In the end, I don't think Griffey's a bad person. I never disparaged his personality or his family; I merely criticized his public profile, expressing my personal disappointment that I didn't get to see him pepper the scoreboard with home runs in batting practice before the game.

As for the comment, I'd hope most of my readers (the dozen or so that there are) will read the whole thing and not pick and choose the parts that fit their argument. Of course some New York fans -- and New Yorkers -- are mean. But broad generalizations are petty and dangerous. You don't think there are asshole fans in Boston, Philadelphia, Chicago, Oakland, Houston and -- yes -- Cincinnati? Does every fan in Great American Ball Park pick up his or her trash on the way out of the stadium?

Had Griffey come out for batting practice, he would've been greeted warmly by the fans who were there at that point. I spent the entire pregame period standing over the Reds dugout, and every player who emerged got a warm welcome from the dozens standing in that area. The truly boorish fans don't show up two hours before the game. Griffey didn't need to avoid the pregame fans.

As for those who come to a game to jeer the opposition, I find them to be the idiotic ones. It's a waste of money to pay ballpark prices simply to get on the case of an opposing player. Personally, I won't do it. In college, I cringed at the student section tradition of yelling, "SUCKS!" when the opposing team's starting lineup was announced at basketball games. I was at a hockey game on campus once when a fan of the visiting team berated our goalie by making comments about his mother, who had died a few years earlier. In a small arena, where everyone -- including the goalie himself and any family he did have there -- could hear, those of us near the fan in turn berated him. "Oh, I'm sorry," he said, cowardly. "I didn't know." Of course you didn't know, which is why you should keep your jeering to what happens on the ice -- or the field or the court.

So I never said anything about Griffey's family, or his role as a father and son. I was a bit shortsighted about his absence from on-field batting practice, and I regret that, but I'm not -- and you have to love the use of capitalization here (or rather, caps lock) -- "MEAN, SELFISH, RUDE."

But the two best things about anonymous hate comments are these: First, if you so choose, you can make fun of the poster all you want, because you're not hurting anyone with a public profile; it's just a faceless, nameless bloke at a keyboard, and the only one who will know it is the poster him- or herself. The second is that, by the end of their comments, they almost always turn out to be exactly what they accuse you of being.

MEAN, SELFISH, RUDE

Are the Shea fans too mean for Griffey?

My gut feeling is that Ken Griffey Jr. is a prima donna. A baseball diva -- a divo, if you want to masculinize it.

I went to Monday's Mets-Reds game early to take some pictures during batting practice. I arrived at 4:30, 10 minutes before the gates open to the fans, and took a spot above the Reds dugout, on the third-base side. I was there more for a view of the Mets during their hitting session, and to avoid what I expected would be a crush of fans on the home dugout side.

My position allowed me to watch David Wright warm up at third base and gave me a perfect view of the Reds as they emerged from the clubhouse. The first thing I noticed was that players on both teams tended to wear other warmup jackets or shirts, rather than their BP jerseys. My practical side figured this might be because the other options are cooler than jerseys on a hot, humid June day, as Monday was. My cynical side figured the thinking was that the more casual fans shouting from the stands wouldn't know who they were without the names or numbers on their backs.

The Mets' Paul Lo Duca (left) and the Reds' Austin Kearns
(on the ground, stretching) and Adam Dunn (center, in black)
and several other Cincinnati players chose not to wear their
batting practice jerseys.

It worked, in some cases. When Reds first-base coach Billy Hatcher came to the top step of the dugout, the uninformed in the stands thought he was a left-handed reliever who makes his living in Colorado this season: Ray King. Unfortunately, I didn't think to take a picture of Hatcher, because if I didn't know that King was in Colorado, I might've made the same mistake myself.

So while Austin Kearns, Adam Dunn, Ryan Freel and the rest of the Reds emerged to take their cuts in the cage and pickup grounders in the infield or shag flies in the outfield, one name never popped out of the dugout, one face and its well-known smile never gave the fans a nod of the head and tip of the cap.

That would be Griffey.

Adam Dunn stands out before the game.

Ryan Freel waves hello to the fans shouting his name.

I'm guessing Griffey either had some nagging injuries and, to protect himself, he opted out of batting practice. He also could've used the first-game-of-the-series out, though that holds less water when your previous game was a Sunday afternoon home game and your travel schedule didn't necessarily involve checking into the hotel at 4 a.m. The other option is that Griffey took his pregame swings in the cage beneath the stands, choosing that location to either keep out of the sun or away from the fans.

Dunn, however, made Griffey's absence minimal, because he put on a show during BP that probably hasn't been seen around baseball since the Mark & Sammy Show in 1998. Dunn's home runs were Home Runs, moon shots out to right that peppered Shea's huge scoreboard. He hit them off the big Budweiser ad and high up on the Mets' lineup listing, with one reaching as high as the No. 2 slot -- Paul Lo Duca's name. If you're going out to a game involving the Reds, don't miss Dunn during BP.

The National League East just looks weird. I'm a Mets fan, and I can't believe what I'm seeing. It was one thing in April and May, but we're at June 21 now, 10 days from July and 11 from the announcement of the All-Star teams.

And the Mets are 9 1/2 games up in first place, with the Braves mired in last and currently amid their longest losing streak in 17 years. The Mets are playing their 71st game tonight -- "it's still early" is just 10 games away from being halfway through the season.

But what stands out to me is the Marlins, in third place, with a 30-37 record. They've won nine in a row and may be the hottest team in baseball right now.

It won't last. A year ago, the Washington Nationals stood in first place at the All-Star break, and pretty much went nowhere but down from there. Even more so than those Nationals, these Marlins are young and inexperienced. They'll fade because they haven't played together in a long season like this. They'll tire in August, they'll stop winning close games.

At least they've shown some spark, and perhaps that, all along, Joe Girardi was the true managerial prospect on Joe Torre's bench, and not Lee Mazzilli. Perhaps they'll get their ballpark deal, move out of Miami and into the suburbs, and bring the fans back. But they won't finish in third place in the NL East.

And the Braves won't finish last.

I think.

Finally, on Sunday, Jon Stewart spent Father's Day at the Mets game and was interviewed on the local broadcast. It was a funny interview that can be seen via the link on Sunday's game story.

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.

Then and Now: The Springfield Nuclear Nine

Homer at the Bat
Today I watched "Homer at the Bat," the episode of The Simpsons in which Mr. Burns hires nine major league players to token jobs at the power plant so that they can play on the company softball team. When Smithers goes out to hired the first of the ringers, his first stop is a baseball card show at which Jose Canseco is signing autographs. "I get $50,000 to play one game?" Canseco asks, sounding excited. "Well, it's a pay cut, but what the hey, it sounds like fun."

Looking back on it now — the episode originally aired almost 13 years ago, Feb. 20, 1992 — it's amazing to see what players were chosen, and the subplots that were explored. For instance, today Canseco is still looking out for Jose, trying to make money however he can. So I thought I'd take a look at the Springfield Nuclear Nine, then and now.

JOSE CANSECO
Then: The 27-year-old was coming off a 44-home run, 122-RBI season with the A's, his sixth full season. He'd hit 209 homers to that point. The 1992 season: He was traded to Texas in August for Ruben Sierra, Jeff Russell, Bobby Witt and cash. It was a deal that seemed like it could be one of the biggest ever and an exchange of two certain Hall of Famers. Now: I hear he's got a book out, based loosely on his playing days.

MIKE SCIOSCIA
Then: At the age of 32, Scioscia batted .264 for the '91 Dodgers in 119 games. He had what would probably be considered his career year in 1990, when he also hit .264, but with 12 homers and 66 RBI, both career highs. He knew how to work a count, though: In each of his 13 big-league seasons, he walked more times than he struck out, despite a career .259 batting average. The 1992 season: It was his last as a player. In 117 games, he hit just .221 with a career-low .286 OBP (.344 lifetime mark nonetheless). He retired with just 68 career HRs. Now: He's about to enter his sixth season as manager of the Angels, coming off his first division title. The team's 75th win this season will be his 500th. Show quotation: [Explaining why he actually enjoys working in the power plant.] "It's such a relief from the pressures of playing big-league ball. I mean, there, you make any kind of mistake, and — BOOM! — the press is all over you." And now he's a manager. Go figure.

OZZIE SMITH
Then: At 37, The Wizard of Oz had just come off his third straight season with exactly 50 RBI. The 1992 season: He hit .295 and stole 43 bases, but would have only one more season with 500 at bats before retiring in after the '96 campaign. Now: He may be the last player to reach the Hall of Fame for his defense and solid consistency moreso than his offensive numbers. Show moment: During practice, Mr. Burns takes the bat from Oz to show him how to bunt. The pitch comes in, and Mr. Burns is knocked to the backstop by the force of the ball hitting the bat.

DON MATTINGLY
Then: He played 152 games for the Yankees at 30, but hit just 14 homers combined in 1990 and '91. The 1992 season: He overcame his back problems enough to hit 14 homers in '92 and 17 in '93, with 86 RBI in each. Now: He's in Tampa, about to start his second season as the Yankees' hitting coach. Show quotation: "I still like him better than Steinbrenner." Airing six months after George Steinbrenner criticized Mattingly for wearing his hair too long (and had him benched for one game because he didn't cut it), Mr. Burns insists Donnie Baseball shave his sideburns. Mattingly doesn't see the problem (he has no sideburns) and ends up shaving the sides of his head up and over the top. Burns still isn't satisfied and kicks him off the team, prompting the comment.

STEVE SAX
Then: "Saxie" hit .304 with a career-high 10 homers and 56 RBI in '91 for the Yankees. He also stole 31 bases at 31. The 1992 season: In the first of two seasons with the White Sox, his average plummeted to .236, though he still stole 30. He played just 57 games in '93 and seven in '94. Now: Sax appeared to be the leading candidate to land the color commentator's role for TV broadcasts of about 50 Dodgers road games (those for which Vin Scully does not make the trip), but the team hired Steve Lyons instead. Show quotation: "But there's hundreds of unsolved murders in New York City." The police pull him over as he's driving through Springfield and harass him because he's from NYC.

ROGER CLEMENS
Then: The Rocket, 29, went 18-10 with 13 complete games (four shutouts) for the Red Sox, striking out 241 batters. The 1992 season: Clemens was 18-11 with 11 complete games (five shutouts) and 208 Ks. Now: He's signed on for one last, final last season with the Astros. Show moment: The Rocket's grounded from the softball game because the hypnotist brought in to convince the team (ringers and true employees alike) that they were outstanding athletes has made Clemens think he's a chicken. He walks around the field clucking. Eight years later, he'd throw a bat at Mike Piazza and then claim he "thought it was the ball."

WADE BOGGS
Then: The 33-year-old third baseman hit .332 for the Sox in '91. The 1992 season: His worst average, by far: .259. Not great for a contract year. In '93, he was in the Bronx. Now: All the money he earned in the bigs bought him a new full head of hair. And, he's in the Hall of Fame. Show quotation: "Pitt the Elder!" At Moe's, in a debate with Barney over who was England's greatest prime minister, Boggs gets punched out for disagreeing with Barney.

KEN GRIFFEY JR.
Then: He played three seasons before turning 22 and reached 100 RBI (exactly) for the first time in '91, hitting .327. The 1992 season: Continuing his steady rise, he batted .308 with 27 HR and 103 RBI. Now: After the difficult offseason of 1999-2000, when he forced a trade to his hometown Reds, this is the fourth straight spring folks in Cincinnati are beginning sentences with "If Griffey stays healthy ..." Show quotation: When Mr. Burns forces everyone to drink Brain & Nerve Tonic to "promote robust health," despite causing gigantism in rare cases, Griffey gets hooked on the sauce and develops a huge head. Since then, he's missed at least 20 games in eight of 13 seasons.

DARRYL STRAWBERRY
Then: His first season with the Dodgers produced 28 home runs and 99 RBI at the age of 29. The 1992 season: This is where the signing officially went bust. He played just 43 games and would top 100 only once (1998 with the Yankees) before retiring after the '99 season. Now: Returning to his roots, Straw will be a spring-training instructor for the Mets in Port St. Lucie. Show moment: As the only ringer who wasn't kicked off the team or otherwise kept from playing, Strawberry starts the game in place of Homer in right field. Upset that their father isn't playing, Bart and Lisa start chanting "Daaaa-rryl! Daaaa-rryl!" Marge scolds them, but Lisa explains, "Mom, they're professional athletes, they're used to this sort of thing. It rolls right off their back." Strawberry sheds a tear.