It started Monday afternoon when the tweets started pouring in: Mark McGwire was officially "coming clean" about his steroid use, particularly during his run at the record books in 1998. Yeah, that's when my blood started boiling.
I chose to skip the Bob Costas interview Monday night, knowing full well it was just an exercise in public relations -- a carefully crafted appearance for McGwire, who'd no doubt been thoroughly coached on what to say and how to say it (after all, exclusive interviews on the MLB Network with Costas don't just happen -- it was planned well in advance, I'd say). That said, things cooled off overnight.
But between my live shots at work Tuesday morning, as I listened to the story we ran from CBS during our Good Morning Show, my blood began to simmer again. McGwire's explanations of why he lied to Congress and why he took steroids in the first place were weak and flimsy to me. They reeked of selfishness and defiance. They sounded like the excuses of a man who knew the injuries he was fighting through could make him irrelevant. But he wanted fame and money; he wanted to stay relevant and worthy. So he decided to cheat to get what he wanted. He decided to lie to the nation and the sports world. He chose to profit off deceit. He chose to abuse his power and position as a role model. He gave people who delight in athletic achievement false hope for a hero. He hugged Roger Maris' family after he broke Maris' record -- a shameful embrace for a man who knew he'd cheated and stolen one of baseball's greatest benchmarks.
[Interlude: this video from ESPN's Jeremy Shaap is a must-see. Normally I disagree with most everything Shaap says. This time, his analysis is right on the money. My rant continues after the video.]
Here's the thing. I'm not even that much of a baseball fan to begin with, though I have an appreciation for great performances and record-setting efforts. I love the fact that we get a daily opportunity to witness history, although history in sports isn't made everyday. (That's why, even as a stern Jimmie Johnson hater, I marvel at how he and his team have won four Sprint Cups in a row. I look at that achievement with admiration and respect.) So why does this anger me so much?
First of all, for reasons that could be considered perhaps "social" or "socioeconomic," I have little sympathy for professional athletes when they get caught in scandal. People who make millions of dollars playing a game have little right to think they can pull the wool over the eyes of the country and knowingly commit wrongdoing for personal or financial gain. When you're busted, don't grovel and sob for my sympathy and support on national television. You're not getting it.
But what really chaps me is that it appears he's only "coming clean" now for personal benefit. He's hoping an admission will bolster his chances at forgiveness, and in turn a spot in the Hall Of Fame. And by getting everything out in the open, he appears to think his new job as hitting coach with the St. Louis Cardinals will be easier for us all to swallow. His "apology," much like his use of steroids, is self-serving.
I guess my anger just boils down to this: with SO many social and economic injustices that happen everyday, it bothers me that someone can profit so easily from dishonesty while countless hard-working, honest people struggle. Is Mark McGwire to blame for that? Absolutely not. Our culture's misplaced priorities are (and that's not a statement against pro sports -- I love pro sports, TV shows, music and movies and the entertainment industry as a whole). I guess I'm just dismayed when someone who already has so much decides to steal even more. And that's an issue that goes well beyond Mark McGwire.
I think my being upset is more of a judgment against a set of social standards than a judgment about McGwire. He just happens to be the "athlete/entertainer caught up in scandal" d'jour. So is there any benefit to my righteous indignation? Any resolution from my rant? Any profit from my pouting and shouting on my blog? No, not really. As someone just as unrighteous of the next guy (yes, even as unrighteous as Mark McGwire), there's nothing to gain from my commentary. I'm still going to watch sports. I'm still going to get swept up in the next pursuit of a mystical record. And I'm still going to get mad the next time something like this happens.
But pounding the keys for what amounts to nothing more than a few meaningless musings has lowered my blood pressure and my anger level. Hopefully it hasn't raised yours.
