Kuzul

The New York Yankees have no plans to celebrate Alex Rodriguez‘s 660th home run this season, though A-Rod is just five homers short of reaching the mark and tying Willie Mays on the all-time homers list. At least one former player, Barry Bonds, thinks that’s a bit ridiculous.   

Bonds spoke on the matter with Bob Nightengale of USA Today:

My godfather means the world to me. I love him to a T, but when Alex hits No. 660, I’ll be happy for him. Willie will be happy for him. Everybody should be happy for him. Any time anybody in the game does something that’s a great accomplishment, the game of baseball should celebrate that.

No matter what. Baseball is benefiting from that person’s hard work, so baseball should at least celebrate.

He added, “Why the hate? Why hate on something you’re paying to see? I don’t understand it. He’s entertaining us. I wish life wasn’t like that.”

There may be a bit of an ulterior motive in Bonds’ defense of Rodriguez, of course, as Bonds was wrapped up in baseball’s steroids era and hasn’t been voted into baseball’s Hall of Fame despite being the all-time leader in home runs. It would make sense that Bonds would implore baseball’s fans to support A-Rod’s accomplishments if he wants the Baseball Writers’ Association of America to recognize his own feats. 

Plus, Bonds and Rodriguez seem to be friendly. The two worked out together during the offseason, according to John Shea of the San Francisco Chronicle (via Israel Fehr of Yahoo Sports).

For the Yankees, the decision to ignore the milestone is at least partially financial in nature. As Nightengale noted, Rodriguez is due a $6 million bonus for reaching Mays’ mark, though the team has vowed not to pay it, claiming Rodriguez’s suspension for performance-enhancing drug use renders the accomplishment moot. 

Nobody can take away the fact that Rodriguez physically hit 660 home runs if he reaches the mark. That’s the stance Bonds would like fans to take. But given the way fans have responded to the steroids era, it seems likely the majority of folks will fall into the New York camp in this particular debate.

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This season brings the 40-year anniversary of the legendary Hank Aaron breaking fellow Hall of Famer Babe Ruth’s all-time home run record. In fact, April 8, 1974—40 years ago today—is the exact date on which Aaron hit No. 715 to pass The Babe.

Since that fateful day, only one other player has reached that lofty plateau: Barry Bonds, whose 762 career homers are the new mark, seven ahead of Aaron’s final tally. In other words, in the 100-plus years of Major League Baseball history, exactly three players have achieved a home run total that is three digits and begins with a “7.”

That got us wondering: Will there ever be another 700-home run career, especially now that performance-enhancing drug testing exists in baseball and the penalties continue to get harsher?

PED testing with penalties for positive results began in 2004. Incidentally, that’s the same year Bonds—who later was convicted in federal court on one count of obstruction of justice in a trial that focused on his alleged steroid use—hit the 700th long ball of his career, becoming that third (and perhaps final) player to get there.

Before we examine the role power has played in the sport over that period of time, let’s put this fantastical possibility into context with some actual names and their current home run totals (entering Tuesday games).

Here are the active home run leaders, along with the number of homers per season each would need to average in order to get to No. 700 by age 40.

First of all, it should be pointed out that Alex Rodriguez, the active leader and No. 5 all time with 654, stood a fighting chance of getting to 700 before the big 4-0. Within striking distance of the 500 club at age 30, Rodriguez already had Bonds’ vote of confidence, via Bob Nightengale of USA Today: “He’ll be there. And there’ll be others. It ain’t like I’ll be the last one.”

Of course, that was long before A-Rod was suspended for the entire 2014 season as a result of the Biogenesis investigation.

Secondly, it should be pretty obvious that the only two current players from this batch who might have any sort of teeny-tiny shot at pulling this off are Albert Pujols (492), who needs to average just under 30 homers per season, and Miguel Cabrera (366), who is the youngest in the top 10 but still needs to manage—get this—more than 33 a year for the next 10 years to reach 700.

Yes, even the dominant, uber-consistent Cabrera is only barely halfway there!

Now that we’ve laid out how all-but-impossible this feat is for the best sluggers of today, specifically, let’s widen the scope and take a look at how much power has been in decline in recent seasons in the entire sport, due in no small part to the policing of PEDs.

In trying to fathom what it might look like for an individual player to even approach the possibility of a 700-homer career, figure that it would require an average of 40 home runs a season for 17 seasons—and even that would leave the slugger short by 20, since 40 x 17 = 680.

Using that 40-homer campaign as a somewhat realistic standard, then, here’s how many of those have occurred per season since 2003, the year before testing began:

Notice the downward trend, right? And if you want to put the numbers into perspective, consider this: The past seven seasons’ worth of 40-homer campaigns (23 from 2007-13) are a little more than half of the total from the four seasons prior (39 from 2003-06).

That’s a clunky way of saying that fewer 40-home run seasons are happening every year.

But what about going even more macro? The graph below shows the number of home runs in all of MLB per season over the same time frame (since 2003):

Again, the decline is plain as day. Whereas a year with at least 5,200 total homers was once the norm (see: 2003, 2004, 2006), that total hasn’t been touched since 2006, and even 5,000 home runs has happened only once in the past seven years—and that was back in 2009.

Conclusion? Fewer and fewer home runs are being hit overall.

Beyond the home run figures, there’s the fact that players are showing much more typical aging and performance curves over the past decade, which to some immeasurable but certainly noticeable extent can be attributed to the ban on PEDs.

In other words, not only are players able to play less while getting older, they’re also simultaneously playing at a decreased rate of performance. None of this should be surprising, but seeing the numbers proves as much.

Here’s a table that breaks down the number of players ages 35 and older who reached the 300-plate appearance threshold—about half a full season—as well as a look at their isolated power (ISO) since 2003:

As you can see, back in 2007—only seven years ago—38 players managed to compile at least 300 plate appearances in their age-35 (or older) season. In the past two seasons, 36 players have done so—combined. What’s more, that total (36) is the lowest in back-to-back years since 1995-1996 (also 36), which is almost 20 years ago.

As for the ISO column, which essentially measures a hitter’s raw power, the story is similar. For players at least 35 years old, the metric peaked during this period of time at .170 in 2004 and remained north of .150 through 2008, keeping it right in line with—if not above—the league-wide average. From 2009 on, though, the 35-and-up ISO has settled in the .135-.140 range, which is slightly below the MLB average in recent years.

The point here? To even fathom coming close to 700 career home runs, a player must be able to play and hit for power into his late 30s and early 40s—Bonds, Aaron and Ruth all got to 7-0-0 in their age-39 seasons—and that’s just not happening as much in the past handful of seasons as it was in the previous decade now that PED testing has become a part of the game.

Above all else, there remains one simple, undeniable fact: Hitting 700 home runs is freaking difficult, darn near impossible even. In case you forgot while looking through all the graphs and tables above, only three—T-H-R-E-E!—players in 100-plus years of MLB have done so. You know them as Barry, Hank and The Babe.

Will someone get to 700 homers ever again? Never say never, because it’s not out of the question that one of Rodriguez, Pujols or Cabrera could get there given what they’ve accomplished to this point in their careers.

There’s also no way of knowing how or when things will change in baseball in the years and decades ahead, including advancements in medicine, technology and training (legal or otherwise). Heck, in the early 1900s, few would have expected a player to hit even 40 home runs in any season, and then Ruth smashed that “barrier” with 54 in 1920 on his way to totaling 714 for his career.

But factor in the aging and production curves, which we’re already seeing take a toll on Pujols, and it’s looking like baseball’s best—and perhaps last—chance to see 700 home runs again in the immediate future might be Rodriguez. 

We already know that would be tainted in more ways than one if it were to happen at all once—or is that if?—he returns from his season-long suspension in 2015. If not, well, 700 still could be reached again by someone at some point—for only the fourth time ever—but it’ll be a good, long while. After all, Ruth hit No. 700 in 1934, Aaron did so in 1973 and Bonds got there in 2004.

By that math, this comes along about every 30 to 40 years or so. If that holds true, then the next 700-home run hitter has already been born.

Statistics come from Baseball Reference and FanGraphs, except where otherwise noted.

To talk baseball or fantasy baseball, check in with me on Twitter: @JayCat11

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Barry Bonds made his triumphant return to baseball on Monday with an appearance at the San Francisco Giants spring training complex in Scottsdale. But one lingering question remains—is he welcome?

If you ask Giants’ skipper Bruce Bochy about it, he’ll tell you it was about timing.

“The timing was right on both sides. That’s why it’s happening now,” Bochy told the media in a report that first appeared on ESPN.com by Jim Caple. “We welcome all of our former players.”

According to Bochy, the answer is yes. Bonds is welcome. But this isn’t a game that belongs to spring, the managers or the media. It belongs to the fans. Do the fans take Bonds back?

Like an ex that’s resurfaced in one’s life, looking to make amends, the feeling with most fans is still one of bitterness and resentment. But is that Bonds’ intent? Is the man who shattered Hank Aaron’s all-time home run record and broke Mark McGwire’s single-season record really looking to make up with fans?

The words out of his mouth say no, but every action and warm smile he throws up for the cameras say otherwise. When asked if he was trying to boost his image, Bonds said, “I think you guys are all adults. I have no advice for you.”

Some words he’s certainly rehearsed over and over to himself, and couldn’t wait to let loose.

Without a doubt, Bonds is back with a mission. That mission is for people to not remember him as that arrogant guy who acted like he was above everything.

Let’s not forget that this is the same guy who would take his young son with him to practice during the middle of the steroid scandal, and hide behind him to avoid questioning. Bonds knew the tough questions were coming and used his own child as a smokescreen.

And you thought your dad put you in tough situations.

But it was never about the steroids. It was about his attitude. For most fans, it was like trying to cheer on Shredder to kill the Ninja Turtles. Bonds was the king of villains.

Regardless, that’s now the past. Today, Bonds stands in with his former team, and physically he looks great doing it. He’s lost his steroid chub, and his eyes almost seem like they’re capable of a beaming kindness that simply didn’t exist before. Is he even the same person?

So Bonds is back, and he’s ready to ask baseball fans back out. But are fans even going to respond to his text message?

They should. I will admit to being one of the biggest anti-Bonds guys on the planet. But after understanding Barry’s perspective a little more, it’s hard to look at him the same.

To Bonds, being accused of steroid use was almost silly.  How can all these players—many of whom were breaking records and having Hall of Fame careers—how can they all be taking steroids and not be getting grilled by the media? Why aren’t they being yelled at, threatened and heckled? All the owners, managers and most of the other players know they’re doing it.

Bonds is a baseball player, not a P.R. person. He grew up learning about how to play baseball in a Major League family as the son of Bobby Bonds. He’s not an actor who’s supposed to know how to handle the intense media pressure that represents the shift of an era of baseball.

But he did it anyway.

He didn’t know what to do, but he never batted an eye or thought twice about attempting to move forward on his own. While other Major League players timidly watched the steroid saga unfold, Bonds was thrown rocks while he was drowning in accusations. Amid all the pressure and the absurd ideology of being singled out as the ultimate sports villain ever, a new person surfaced. No one liked him, and from the looks of Bonds latest attempt to make things right, he may not have liked himself either.

No, Bonds’ comeback isn’t about helping the Giants; he himself admits that he’s not even sure if he can help the team. But he’s in Scottsdale for a reason and he’s hoping that his smile will do a lot of the talking.

Bonds is back and wants to see if he can change his image. If you’re hung up on the past, maybe you should think about what he’s been through. Forgiveness is a powerful human attribute, and Bonds is seeking it the best way he knows; with a passive, indirect, “I’m sorry.”

As far as this fan goes…apology accepted. Doing things like hiding behind your son was low, but coming back with a smile in the face of everything you messed up is something 99 percent of people wouldn’t be capable of doing.

Follow Dan Irwin on Twitter @danirwinsports or on Faceboook.

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There will be a familiar face with the San Francisco Giants this spring, as Barry Bonds is set to help out the squad as an instructor.  

Alex Pavlovic of the San Jose Mercury News provides the details:

Barry Bonds is scheduled to return to the organization in March, this newspaper has learned, serving as a special instructor for the Giants’ hitters. Bonds has long wanted to take on a more active role with the organization, but the two sides have not been connected in an official capacity since 2007, Bonds’ last season in Major League Baseball.

Manager Bruce Bochy explained the role Bonds will serve to Pavlovic:

“He’s part of what we’ll do here. He’s going to be part of the group of instructors, like (Will) Clark, (J.T.) Snow or (Jeff) Kent. He’s going to be like the other guys and help where he can.”

Bochy also discussed the controversy that Bonds’ presence might bring with the San Francisco Chronicle‘s Henry Schulman:

You understand there will be a lot of attention with Barry coming back, his first time coming back since he stopped playing. Our goal is not to let it be a distraction. He’s here to help the hitters. He might talk to you guys about things, but that’s not going to take away from what we’re doing.

Andrew Baggarly of CSN Bay Area had more on Bonds’ role:

Bonds finished his career as baseball’s all-time leader in home runs with 762, seven more than Hank Aaron. He also finished with the most walks in league history as well as an impressive .298 batting average and .444 on-base percentage.

Most impressively, he won seven National League Most Valuable Player awards throughout his time with the Giants and Pittsburgh Pirates.

It is clear he has plenty of knowledge that he can impart on the young squad, especially considering the team finished 21st in the majors in total runs last season and 29th in home runs.

On the other hand, Bonds’ career was filled with controversy surrounding his use of performance-enhancing drugs. For this reason, he has not been voted into the Hall of Fame in two attempts and has even lost votes in the most recent election, according to Mike Oz of Yahoo Sports.

This certainly creates some risk for the Giants to associate with their fallen star.

Still, the situation seems to be a positive one, as Bonds will try to do anything he can to help his former team. This addition of knowledge could be enough to help the club get back to the postseason after a disappointing 76-86 season in 2013.

Follow Rob Goldberg on Twitter for the latest breaking news and analysis.

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There are some hallowed numbers in baseball history, such as Joe DiMaggio’s 56 (his hitting streak), .406 (Ted Williams‘ batting average in 1941) and 762, which just so happens to be the number of home runs that Barry Bonds hit in his career, seven more than Hank Aaron for the most in the history of the game. Whatever you think about Bonds’ performance enhancing drug (PED) run to history, the fact is that his number is one that every ballplayer will be chasing if they want to be known as the greatest power hitter who ever lived.

One of the pretenders to the home run throne of Bonds is Alex Rodriguez. In unfortunate parallel with the two, “A-Roid,” as he is called by some, has admitted to using steroids in the past to aid his performance. Of course, he said that was in the past and that he was clean now, but that would seem to fly in the face of the report in the Miami New Times, which relays that Rodriguez was still receiving performance enhancing drugs (HGH) as recently as last year (others implicated in the report include Melky Cabrera, Bartolo Colon, Nelson Cruz and Yasmani Grandal).

The outcome of what yet another PED scandal will bring is uncertain—the players will obviously be suspended if they are found to be guilty—but it appears that Rodriguez might realize what anyone watching him has been worried about the past couple of years; his skills are on the decline. Given his once near-certain run at 762 homers, the question must be asked if the often injured 37-year-old can stay healthy long enough to make a run at history?

Rodriguez is currently working his way back from a hip injury that required surgery, and the belief is that he will be out until mid-season. Yankees‘ general manager Brian Cashman did say that it’s possible that Rodriguez could miss the entire 2013 season, but that statement seemed to be more about giving an honest answer to a question that was posed versus Cashman presenting any definitive information that suggested A-Rod missing the season was likely to occur.

“I think because (of) the serious nature of the surgery and the condition that he’s trying to recover from, you know, there is that chance [he could miss the season]… there’s no guarantees in this stuff.”

So assuming that Rodriguez is back at some point in 2013, and at full health moving forward, what are his odds of catching Bonds in the big fly category? Bill James—the noted sabermatrician—has placed the odds of Rodriguez catching Bonds at less than one percent in the 2013 Bill James Handbook. (In fact, Albert Pujols has a better shot at 10 percent followed by Miguel Cabrera who is listed as a seven percent contender.) Why has A-Rod fallen so far, so quickly? (As recently as the 2010 version of the book Rodriguez was given a 40 percent chance of reaching 762.)

• From 1998-2003 Rodriguez hit at least 41 home runs every season. No other player in baseball is in that group.
• From 1998-2010 Rodriguez his at least 30 home runs every season. No other player in baseball is in that group.
• From 1998-2010 A-Rod hit a total of 549 home runs, an average of 42 homers a season, which is 93 homers more than any other player in baseball (Jim Thome had 456).

Over the last two seasons, however, the 37-year-old Rodriguez has hit a total of 34 homers in 221 games as injuries have beaten him down. For the sake of context, per 150 games the past two seasons, he’s hit an average of 23 home runs; one-third lower than his established yearly pace.

Presently, Rodriguez has gone deep 647 times in his career, leaving him 115 home runs short of Bonds. At his current rate of 17 homers per season the past two seasons, he would have to play nearly seven full seasons to reach 762.

We know it’s likely that he will miss half of the 2013 season because of his hip issue, and though reports suggest that his hip should sufficiently recover, it’s growing increasingly unlikely that his skills and body will hold up long enough for him to hit the 115 home runs needed to catch Bonds.

The Yankees have Rodriguez under contract for at least $20 million each of the next four years, so barring something unforeseen happening—like A-Rod being able to hold off Father Time—it appears that he is set to earn a whole lot of money for the player he used to be but no longer the player that he is. Whether or not he misses half of the coming campaign or the whole season, it appears that Rodriguez simply doesn’t have enough left to reach that 762 mark.

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In an era where every player who has Hall of Fame-worthy numbers is scrutinized under the harshest of microscopes, Barry Bonds, Roger Clemens, Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa have become the steroid era figureheads, examples of what happens when your career is tainted with suspected or proven use of performance-enhancing drugs—but that shouldn’t deny them access to the hallowed grounds of Cooperstown, NY.

The MLB Hall of Fame is an exclusive club, and rightly so. For some fans, it’s the place they take their baseball loving son or daughter to show them the history and legends of the game they love. For others, it’s purpose is to determine the good players from the legends.

Hall of Fame voters shouldn’t punish presumably clean players (Craig Biggio, for one) for playing in an era where steroid use was rampant, simply for not knowing who was clean and who wasn’t. Players who have never failed a test now are often tossed in the category of “they didn’t get caught, but everyone was cheating so they probably were too,” which is a poor, lazy attempt to discard an entire generation of players and their records. 

What needs to be done, if the Hall of Fame is to achieve its former glory and respect for the process, is to find how to deal with the steroid era players. Clean or not, the players from that era obliterated records. Even with normal progression (players over generations have become more and more machine-like (Patrick Willis in the NFL, Albert Pujols in the MLB, etc) and as players become more naturally physically gifted, they will undoubtedly break the records of the players who played cards in the locker room instead of lifting and training. Its been long joked about how Babe Ruth, one of the ten best baseball players ever would down hot dogs during games. I doubt we’d see a player at his peak performance level sneaking a few ballpark dogs in the dugout anymore.

As times change, training, general skill level and a better understanding of the game put today’s players at a better starting point than they ever have had previously. 

To better make the case that players who are elite are just that much better today, look at Bonds’ first 13 seasons (up to the season prior to his 73 home run season). Clearly, Bonds was already a Hall of Famer if he retired mid-season.

1986-1999:
2,010 Hits, 400+ doubles, 445 Home Runs, 1299 RBI, 460 SB and a .288 AVG.

That’s a Hall of Fame résumé if I ever saw one. He went on a historical tear after, ripping 73 HRs into the stands, and breaking the single-season record set by McGwire in the magical 1998 season.

Which brings us to the next man left out of the Hall this year: 1998’s other half, Sosa. 

For all his ups (10 straight seasons of 35 HRs, 100+ RBI, a member of the 500 HR club, an NL MVP and HR Derby Champion in 2000) Sosa’s career has been marred by corked bat incidents, steroid allegations, testimony in front of congress denying his use of PEDs, and his slightly awkward change in skin color leaving some to think that he was trying to look more “white.” Considering the oddities in Sosa’s career, he might not have as strong a case as the other players in this article. His batting average was only .273 and that is including likely steroid influenced years. Bonds’ statistics were outstanding before his use. 

Clemens, too, famously appeared before congress, denying use of PED’s through his illustrious career with the Red Sox, Yankees, Blue Jays and Astros, which began a lengthy legal circus around his testimony. His career is almost unparalleled, and stands up well among the greats in baseball history: 354 Wins, 1.17 WHIP, 3.12 ERA, 4,672 Ks, seven Cy Young Awards and an MVP.

Career numbers like those will continue to be an inconvenient problem for the MLB and the Hall of Fame voters to say no to after a while, once context and perspective can frame the era. Too many pre-steroid era writers and voters refuse to consider the careers of the tainted players, though some were Hall of Fame worthy before their alleged or confirmed usage.

To fix the Hall of Fame’s steroid era problem, there isn’t one quick fix solution. Realistically, time may be the only thing to forward the conversation to a better solution than exclusion. Personally, I’d be OK with a ”steroid era wing” or at least a description of the allegations briefly stated on their plaques in the Hall. For example:

”BARRY LAMAR BONDS
HOME RUN KING, 762 HR
14-TIME ALL STAR
7-TIME MVP
SUSPECTED USE OF STEROIDS MAY HAVE INFLUENCED HIS CAREER NUMBERS.”

This makes a clear statement that while a great player, the integrity of his numbers is to be questioned and his career deserves a closer look than just a look at his stats. This statement could of course be amended per player, if they tested positively or were found to have cheated. 

No solution will be perfect, but much like when the NCAA sanctions a school, it’s not as if that team didn’t exist or no one saw the BCS game they won; and it’s certainly not as if steroid era players who hit more than 60 home runs and seven-time Cy Young award-winning pitchers never happened. They did, and baseball needs to recognize that. This era cannot be swept under the rug, and its records forgotten. If voters cannot agree to the candidacy of steroid tainted players, perhaps they should be replaced by veterans of the game, who may be a better judge to weigh the careers of the accused.

Who closer to the game, more knowledgeable, more trustworthy than former players, to be the key holders to the greatest club in all of sports? A jury of their peers.

When writers reflect back on this past era in baseball, they will note that several of its greats made the Hall of Fame. As for the list of lucky players, it will be up to time, and the voters, to tell us who they’ll be.

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For years, we all have known the day was coming when the stars from the steroids era would be on the Hall of Fame ballot. They all should get in. None of them should ever get in. Believing there is one answer that will resolve this problem in a way that makes complete sense is reserved for the Skip Baylesses of the world. The rest of us know this situation is far too complicated and that there is just no easy way to make it right.

There is no option that makes complete sense. More importantly, there is no option that will make anyone feel good about what is going on.

The question then becomes, what do we think is most important?  Preserving the history of the game? The dignity of the game? The respect for those who played before? Is there any way to do that? Will any option successfully address any of those questions?

Is it worse to keep out someone who might have been clean than it is to admit a cheater?

Are there players we think cheated but can say even without steroids, they would have been Hall of Famers? Should that matter?

Let’s take a step back. What happened in baseball? Marginal players took steroids to become good players. Good players to become great. And great to become legendary. We know about a few, there are many we suspect, and there are many, many more out there.

They each took something illegal that was not against the rules, that was not being tested, that those who ran the sport simply did not care about and that those who covered the game could not be bothered to care about (that is until someone un-likeable began to challenge sacred records).

I get why they cheated. It was a risk and to most players, it was worth the risk. Baseball players certainly are not the first group to see a risk/reward situation and decide the reward far outweighs the risk. Right now, if any of us were offered something that would make us better at our jobs and more money, wouldn’t we all take it? And wouldn’t most of us take it even if it were illegal if we thought there was little chance at repercussion?

I am not that far removed from college. How many people in college or grad school or med school or law school took something illegal to help stay awake, to help focus, to help study, in order to get a better grade on an exam?

So, I get it. But just because I get it, and the players are not the only ones to blame, does that mean what happened is ok? Does that mean there should be rewards as if nothing happened? I think no, but those are much more difficult questions to answer than most people that I see talking on TV want to admi

Baseball could have handled this much better. What if baseball several years ago gave its players a limited window to confess to what they did? A one-time get of jail-free card of sorts.

This could have been an attempt to put the steroid era behind us; to know who did what but to also stop the speculation. If a player was truthful, there would be no repercussions and it would not be used against them when it came time to vote for the Hall of Fame, an implicit acknowledgment by those who run baseball that they were as responsible for the steroids era as the players were.

Maybe that never could have worked, for no other reason than those who run baseball never wanted to truly accept any responsibility.

But should that let the players off the hook?

Just because I get why the players took steroids, and I get that we are all responsible for what took place, does that mean they should be in the Hall of Fame?

What if McGwire and Sosa and Bonds and Clemens had been voted in? What do they say during their induction speeches? Would we hear anything they had to say anyway?

I know those players were not the only ones and I know the reality is that most players were probably on something at one time or another.

I also know that steroids were not the first black mark on the history of baseball. For years, white players played only against white players. Had baseball not been segregated, would those same players from that era be in the Hall of Fame?

What about amphetamines? What about cocaine?

All good points.  This may be childish, but two wrongs don’t make a right. Right?

I have no vote (obviously) and will never have one. I don’t think there is a right answer and there definitely is not a good answer. For me though, I originally agreed with the idea expressed by Buster Olney and others, that we don’t know who did what, so we just have to vote everyone in who deserves it on their career alone.

I changed my mind though. I don’t know if I am right, but I don’t know if anyone can be right on this topic.  This isn‘t about either trying to feel superior, or about some notion of “what do I tell my kids?” 

But, being in the Hall of Fame is a tremendous individual accomplishment; there is no greater. Yes, the Hall of Fame is a museum, but the players inducted are inducted as a personal award. The Hall of Fame can have a section on the steroid era and explain it for history’s sake. But we don’t need the individual players being inducted to remember that history.

I understand, too, the argument that we don’t know everyone who was cheating, so it is unfair to punish the few we do know, when most players were likely on something. I don’t think that is reason to vote someone into the Hall of Fame.

Across the country, everyday in criminal courtrooms, people are convicted of crimes. We don’t know everyone who committed robbery, but that doesn’t stop us from convicting someone for robbery. There are even cases where multiple people are suspected of being involved in a single crime; we can convict one even when we don’t know everyone involved.

If I got caught cheating on a test while in college, could I have escaped punishment by telling the Dean I wasn’t the only one cheating? Or by saying, I only cheated that one time on one exam, but even without that exam, I still should pass? I’d probably have been laughed at.

There is no answer that makes me happy. But, I keep coming back to the idea of seeing someone we all know cheated being inducted into the Hall of Fame. Of giving a speech. Of getting a plaque to hang next to Ted Williams, and Hank Aaron, and Willie Mays. Those are images I am just not comfortable with.

Induction is an individual honor that comes with many perks, including financial ones. Those who cheated the game should not get the benefit of any of those perks.

It isn’t to single the few out or to think that keeping them out of the Hall will make me feel better about what happened. It won’t. I understand why they did what they did; I can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same. But they did it, they took the chance and they got exposed.

There are consequences.

Returning to the criminal law comparison, when judges sentence defendants, often times there is mitigation that explains why the crime happened, and many times, one might even understand why the person committed the crime in a given situation. But, there are still consequences.

We will never know the full truth. That is one of many shames of what happened in baseball. It doesn’t mean we pretend we know nothing.

Tests or no tests, those who vote for the Hall of Fame were around the game during the steroids era. They each have ideas; they each have eyes and ears.  They each saw things during that time that they likely either didn’t truly realize at the time or that they chose to ignore. They are complicit in what happened as well. But they can’t ignore what they know.

So, if I had a vote, if there was a player that, based on the best information I can put together, took steroids, I don’t think I would ever vote for that player. I get what and why they did it; I don’t even necessarily blame them. I don’t think anything should be taken away, but they should not be given the honor of being inducted into the Hall of Fame.

Will some mistakes be made?  Unfortunately, yes. But maybe that is the price to be paid for allowing steroids to have had such an impact on the game of baseball for so long, while all involved acted as if nothing was wrong. All we can do is make the best decisions with the best information we can gather.

The Hall of Fame is about individual achievement, and baseball more than any other sport is about compiling numbers throughout one’s career. Steroids, at their most basic, were about finding a way to add more numbers in one’s career—maybe that meant adding muscle and speed, but often it was just about being able to get on the field quicker and for a longer amount of time.

That is no different than what likely went on before steroids with other substances or what goes on in different sports. But everyone in baseball knew steroids were there and acted otherwise. They all benefited at the time, and now there is nothing that can really be done. However, just because we know why it happened, and just because we know nothing can change the past, does not mean we need to honor those who we believe were involved.

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Five years ago when I was still living in sunny San Diego, I once sat in a bar watching Josh Hamilton hit like 124 home runs in the All-Star Home Run Derby. It was a pretty awesome thing to see, and it ended up keeping me around well after I finished sipping my Vanilla Coke. 

Seated two stools next to me was a man who was unmistakably from Boston. The Patriots tattoo, the missing R’s in his sentences and his insistence that Pedro Martinez did nothing wrong by brawling with 104-year-old man—all easily identifiable characteristics. But the most distinguishable trait of all was his cynical outlook on sports fans in California, and for that matter, the entire west coast. Besides our mutual dislike of AJ Piersynzki and Jon Voight, there wasn‘t a single thing we could agree on, especially on the topic of Barry Bonds and his Hall of Fame candidacy. 

He sneered at my suggestion that Bonds should be a first ballot Hall of Famer, and then nearly round-kicked me when I pointed out his hypocrisy in supporting Bill Belichick all throughout Spygate. His reasoning: Bill’s a good guy who didn’t think there was anything wrong with videotaping the signals of the opposing team, while Barry was a world-class jackass who shot up three times a week so he could turn into a bull shark and steal a bunch of baseball records. 

Yes, that’s right. Bill was such a great guy that he ran up the score, refused to shake hands with coaches at the end of games and made his players play through their own concussions. But I digress.

Anyway, the electorate has apparently agreed with my bar pal (who I haven’t spoken to ever since I refilled his beer glass in the restroom), as Bonds’ and about 20 other guys were blacklisted from baseball’s holiest shrine.  

The only thing that surprised me about the vote was that for the first time, Barry wasn‘t singled out for cheating. 

Just so we’re clear, I’m not one of those sycophants who believes that Barry Bonds is innocent of using performance-enhancing drugs. I know the reason Bonds hit 73 home runs wasn‘t because he suddenly started seeing the ball better (well actually he did, since PEDs improve hand-eye coordination as well as muscle buildup). Barry took steroids. So did hundreds and hundreds of other players, several of whom were also on the same Hall of Fame Ballot. 

Some of them, like Mark McGwire, Sammy Sosa and Rafael Palmeiro, won’t EVER get into Cooperstown. 

So what’s the deal? What makes Bonds different from any of the other proven cheaters on this list? Personality? Please. Bonds was only slightly nicer (or more accurately, less loathsome) than most of the other ticks that he finds his name next to on this ballot. He was helluva a lot nicer than Roger Clemens (which is like being a better speaker than Rocky Balboa), a far greater teammate than Sam-Me Sosa and next to Curt Schilling, you could probably make him a star on his own reality charity show. Simply put, Barry was arrogant and unapproachable and believed the sport and the media was still stuck in a 1960s mindset.   

The only thing that set his attitude apart from everyone else was his honesty. If you weren‘t a Giants fan you hated Barry, and that made rooting for him even easier.  Some say he was a guilty pleasure, others say he was just fun to watch.  All I know is there’s something cool about having a guy on your team that could bring out the worst in every stadium across America. 

Barry said it once himself: They wouldn’t boo you if you weren’t any good.

And Barry was good. Very good. 

Good enough to be a first-ballot inductee. He actually punched his ticket to the Hall well before he started taking steroids, back when he was 150-pound leadoff hitter for the Pittsburgh Pirates. There he was a two-time MVP and indisputably the best player in the game. He stole 32 bases or more six times, led the league in walks, on-base percentage, slugging percentage and OPS+ in 1992, and finished with 30 home runs and 30 stolen bases twice in 1990 and 1992. 

Then Barry decided to “take his talents” to San Francisco where he won his second straight MVP (and third overall) and became the second player in baseball to hit 40 home runs and steal 40 bases (though he should have been the first because of a chump named Jose Canseco, more on him later). He led the league in walks four times from 1994 to 1997, and hit more than 34 home runs in seven straight seasons despite an injury-riddled campaign in 1999 where he blew out his elbow trying to pick Charlie Hayes off the ground. 

In 1998, Barry became the first player in the major leagues to hit 400 home runs and steal 400 bases, and no one outside of San Francisco noticed or cared. Thousands of miles away in the Midwest, two juiced-up sluggers were chasing the most sacred record in sports, and Bonds’ achievements became almost as irrelevant as an episode of House. 

Like so many before him (not just athletes, mind you), Barry decided nothing good came out of playing by the rules when no one else around him was doing the same. 

So he cheated. It was the wrong thing to do. 

But man it felt so right.

In 2000, Barry hit a career-high 49 home runs and finished second in MVP voting to teammate Jeff Kent. The next year he broke the single-season home run record and led the majors in on-base percentage, slugging and OPS from 2001-2004. He walked 232 times in 2004 (120 of which were intentional) and had an absurd on-base average of .609. He finished his career as the all-time home runs and walks leader, stole over 500 bases and won eight Gold Gloves. He was intentionally walked 43 times in his final season, sixth all-time behind Willie McCovey, Albert Pujols and himself three times. 

Barry Bonds was the second best player in baseball history, and it’s a safe bet that had he stayed clean, he would have finished somewhere in the top 20.

Not so with Mark McGwire, who began cheating during his early days with the Oakland Athletics when fellow bash brother (let’s call them the “rash brothers”), Jose Canseco, was injecting him with steroids in the bathroom stalls at the Oakland Coliseum. 

There was only one thing McGwire could do in his career, and that was hit home runs. Take away the one thing that was helping him do that (a sleazy Cro-magnon with a mullet and a syringe) and he becomes about as useful as a speedstick in Tony LaRussa’s locker. 

Then we have Sammy Sosa. What is there really to say? America fell for that phony smile until that fateful day in 2003 when his bat splintered and cork spilled out onto the grass. Everyone suddenly saw Sammy for what he was: a lying, sneaky muscle-headed fraud. His career was on the same trajectory as Shawon Dunston until 1998, when he arrived to spring camp looking like he had trained for the UFC. He won the MVP that year and went on to become the first player in major league history to hit 60 home runs in a season three times.  

The best thing you can say about Sosa is that, like Bonds, he managed to perform incredibly when he cheated. But, unlike Barry, who was a Hall of Fame player before he started taking steroids, Sammy wasn’t even good enough replace a squirrel in right field. 

It’s funny how many sportswriters are saying that Bonds and Roger Clemens should have been inducted into the Hall of Fame, but both candidates finished with under 38 percent of the vote. 

So who’s doing all the voting? Surprisingly, people who have absolutely no knowledge of the game. The BBWAA is comprised of writers who haven’t written a word about baseball since the Reagan administration. It wouldn’t surprise me if they thought Joe Theismann was supposed to be on the ballot. Seeing as how no single player reached the required 75 percent of votes for induction, it’s clear that the writers sought to make this less about achievement and more about justice.

Given that Barry Bonds is the chief supervillain in the modern steroid era, it’s likely he won’t make the Hall until the human race abandons currency. 

The Hall of Fame is not a place for activist voters. While integrity shouldn’t be ignored, the attempt to purge an entire generation of players to make a public statement to that effect is ludicrous. We’re not choosing anyone for sainthood here; the point is to celebrate individual glory and Bonds’ achievements (before and after Balco) speak louder to that than anyone over the last quarter century. 

If the voting was really based on character and integrity, Ty Cobb and all the rest of the racists and hooligans would have had their membership revoked 60 years ago. 

The prestige and importance of the game’s highest honor is immediately questioned every time the best players are filibustered because of character concerns, and it may take a big step from the Hall itself to insure that greatness is recognized in its full context. 

Bonds may have disgraced the game with his actions, but he was not the first, nor will he be the last flawed superstar to grace the walls of history. 

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The 2013 MLB Hall of Fame class has been all over the news lately.

The announcement comes Wednesday, Jan. 9., and this year marks the first time that the some of the game’s greatest but also most controversial players—Barry Bonds, Roger Clemens, Sammy Sosa, and Curt Schilling—are eligible to be elected.

MLB Network has brought in everybody and their mother to give their two cents on who should be elected and how the era should be evaluated based on the prevalence of performance enhancing drugs.

Opinions on the subject are widely varied.

Some experts and observers accept that it was just the era that these players played in and are willing to overlook cheating to include players like Bonds, who despite admitting to unknowingly using steroids, is still the all-time home run leader.

Another option was to induct them later and hold them off of the first ballot as protest. Some say that any player suspected should be kept from baseball immortality.

One final opinion that has been posed by former reliever Dan Plesac and others—one that I find completely absurd—is that it’s an all-or-nothing situation, where either everyone should be withheld or everyone should be considered as if they did nothing wrong.

Starting with allowing them in or postponing their admission: cheaters are cheaters. Bonds used a substance and he even admitted it. Inducting Bonds, who forever put a black mark on the entire league, into the same class as role models like Cal Ripken Jr. and Jackie Robinson goes against everything that the Hall of Fame should stand for.

I’m also of the belief that it withholding a vote until a certain amount of time has passed is silly. Either the player is a Hall of Famer or not. In the end, it’s not like there are different tiers of the Hall of Fame.

On the subject of penalizing anyone suspected, that goes against everything America stands for. As citizens, we are innocent until proven guilty and that should carry over to baseball.

It’s pretty easy to say who definitely took drugs. Positive tests and admissions of guilt are valid proof that players cheated. Therefore, they should never be Hall of Famers. It’s a much tougher call on players suspected of using performance enhancing drugs, such as Roger Clemens. I am a Clemens hater, mostly because I really dislike the Yankees and the World Series broken bat incident with Mike Piazza.

But he is, without a doubt, one of the greatest pitchers ever. Unfortunately, nobody could ever prove that he took steroids. Whether or not you believe that he was clean is your opinion, but just because you think he cheated doesn’t mean that he did. Clemens is a Hall of Fame pitcher, and if Ryan Braun stays clean and productive, he should make it too.

The all-or-nothing proposal is just silly. Making sweeping generalizations is usually not smart and that’s how stereotypes form. Penalizing players for just being in the steroid era, whether or not they had any link to steroids at all, is just wrong. Players should be judged on a case-by-case basis.

In summation, every player is different, so each should be evaluated individually. If they have been proven guilty, they are out. If they are not proven guilty, they can be considered. In my opinion, Bonds, Sosa and McGwire are out. When Alex Rodriguez, Manny Ramirez and Bartolo Colon become eligible, they are out too. Clemens, Bagwell and Piazza deserve to be in.

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Home-run king Barry Bonds is statistically one of the most coveted hitters to ever walk into a batter’s box, but it will be having given in to an era full of off-the-field temptations that will keep him out of the hallowed ground of Cooperstown.

In the courts, Bonds was never convicted of perjury, but on April 13, 2011, the MLB’s leader in home runs was convicted of obstruction of justice and apparently misleading testimony.

Thus, the name Barry Bonds will likely always be associated with felony rather than history, and his Hall of Fame status will remain in question.

The argument of whether or not the gates of Cooperstown should be opened to PED (Performance Enhancing Drugs) users has been a controversial one. A decade with such widespread cheating has never before been seen in sports.

In an article by Buster Olney of ESPN, he argues that Hall of Fame voters should admit PED users and put the steroid argument to rest. Olney claims that any success guys like Bonds and Mark McGwire had “was rooted in that culture.”

Olney, who’s one of the more well-known baseball analysts over at ESPN and a personal favorite of mine, is wrong.

If PEDs in the 1990s and 2000s were “rooted in that culture,” than what about the era of gambling in baseball’s early years?

Putting the infamous Black Sox scandal aside, gambling was rampant and a true epidemic in Major League Baseball prior to 1921. Like today, gambling by players, coaches and managers was illegal and considered a form of cheating.

Under Commissioner Kenesaw Mountain Landis, who was in office from 1920-1944, 14 players, managers and owners were banned from baseball and the Hall of Fame for betting and throwing games.

Landis, a former District Court judge, was a true pioneer in laying down the law to help fix a broken game. His vehicle for doing so was handing out harsh punishments that included exclusion from baseball and baseball’s Hall of Fame.

Gambling was certainly “rooted in the culture” of baseball during the beginning of the twentieth century, and players were banned from the game. Yet, Mr. Olney believes that steroids were simply a product of the times and all those convicted should be allowed a shot at a Hall of Fame Ballot. It just doesn’t make much sense to me.

While baseball undergoes a healing process as it exits the steroid era, the threat of cheating is far from over. Commissioner Bud Selig initiated tougher drug testing in 2006, but is it really enough?

Manny Ramirez tested positive for PEDs…twice. The first time he was convicted in 2009, Commissioner Selig suspended him for 50 games. The second time, Selig gave him a 100-game suspension that pushed the 40-year-old into retirement.

Manny Ramirez ended his career with 555 home runs, 2,574 hits, 1,831 RBI and a chance to still make his way onto a Hall of Fame ballot.

It’s time to fix this game. It’s time for Commissioner Selig to refrain from his passive legislation of the old and begin Landis-style judgment for convicted steroid users.

But even if the commissioner begins banning players, it still leaves the case of Barry Bonds, who was never formally convicted for steroid use.

“I went through the system. I was never convicted of steroid use,” said Bonds. While he’s quick to admit to being a felon, he continues to deny ever using steroids.

We’re living in a country where you’re innocent until proven guilty, and, hypothetically if Selig decided to start banning PED users, it would be difficult to lay the hammer down on Bonds.

That’s where the Hall of Fame voters have and will continue to provide a barrier for PED users.

“A survey by The Associate Press shows that Barry Bonds, Roger Clemens, as well as slugger Sammy Sosa don’t have enough votes to get into Cooperstown” when voting commences in January, The Huffington Post reports.

As sanctions for PED users get tougher, testing gets stricter and the steroid era dwindles down to a mere few instances, I believe we’ll see these prominent PED users of the steroid era begin to fade away from ballots and conversation entirely.

PED users will continue to receive votes, but it will never be enough. The debate has turned into an almost political argument of integrity vs. proportion, and right now integrity is winning.

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