Mike Nadel: Beyond juicy names, do fans really care about steroids?
How about those names, folks? Barry Bonds (of course). Miguel Tejada. Andy Pettitte. Lenny Dykstra. Gary Sheffield.
Chuck Knoblauch. Mo Vaughn. Eric Gagne. Kevin Brown.
Roger Freakin' Clemens.
Just look at the names named in the eagerly awaited Mitchell Report on performance-enhancing drugs in baseball, which was made public Thursday. Big names. HUGE names.
Fans haven't reacted negatively toward the Steroids Era in the only way that matters: by withholding their their love and money. In fact, the opposite is true.
Major League Baseball revenues have quadrupled over the past dozen years. Attendance is at an all-time high.
Internationally, popularity is off the hook and growing.
A well-known Steroids Era television commercial theorized that "chicks dig the longball." You know what? Chicks and dudes of all ages, creeds and colors dig baseball, period.
They dig winners in Boston and New York. They dig arriving late and leaving early in L.A. They dig steamy St. Louis nights and domed Milwaukee days. They even dig the biggest losers in sports; the Cubs haven't won a lick since before Babe Ruth was ingesting his drug of choice (beer, and mass quantities of it), yet Wrigley Field is packed at prices requiring second mortgages to pay.
As a columnist who cares about baseball and society, I'm supposed to be angry right now. But it's hard to whip up a heaping helping of outrage knowing that most fans don't care if their heroes use drugs -- as Clemens, Bonds, Tejada and numerous other superstars have been accused of doing.
The names? Fans care about those. Call it morbid curiosity, the craning of necks to check out the car ablaze in the highway median. And the report, provided by former U.S. Senator George Mitchell after a 20-month investigation requested by baseball commissioner Bud Selig, comes through big-time.
Not counting Bonds, who has more serious problems these days, the biggest name is Roger Clemens.
For years there have been whispers about the generation's greatest pitcher. The Rocket had an almost miraculous renaissance after injuries nearly ruined his career. His body changed noticeably, just as those of Steroids Era poster boys Bonds, Mark McGwire and Jose Canseco did. And he continued performing at a high level into his mid-40s.
Clemens fit the classic juicer profile. Not until the Mitchell Report, however, had anybody made any real charges.
And what charges they are: Former personal trainer Brian McNamee said he personally injected the big right-hander in the rump with steroids on multiple occasions.
Through his attorney, Clemens ripped what he called unsubstantiated, slanderous charges of a "troubled man."
It's fair to question some of the report's information, much having been provided by McNamee or former Mets clubhouse attendant Kirk Radomski, a convicted felon who is cooperating with authorities as part of a plea bargain. There is plenty of hearsay and innuendo.
Then again, many of those named were foolish enough to write large checks to Radomski, who made photocopies available to Mitchell's team. Steroid rule No. 1, people: Cash is king.
Sorry, I don't mean to make light of this. Certainly, those named aren't laughing today.
Todd Hundley? Oh, that explains his one big year. Rondell White? No wonder he's still playing at 74 years old. Kent Mercker? Maybe 'roid rage made him attack Cubs broadcasters. Jim Parque? Really? That skinny, little guy? Paul Lo Duca? The report characterized him as both a user and a go-between for Radomski and other clients.
The names include pitchers galore, putting to rest the common belief that performance-enhancers mostly are used by massive sluggers. There are sinewy leadoff hitters and squat catchers, old-timers hoping for one last contract and kids looking for a first fat paycheck.
There are Jack Cust and Rick Ankiel, who had authored two of the 2007 season's feel-good stories. There are Jerry Hairston Jr. and Gary Matthews Jr., whose fathers must be so proud. There are Phil Hiatt and Adam Piatt; until now, who knew they weren't the same person?
Sammy Sosa? Not named. Maybe the massive body he built during the 1997-98 offseason was the result of Flintstones Vitamins, as he claimed. And if you believe that, Sammy has some leftover "special batting-practice bats" to sell you.
See, that's one of the problems with this report. While some of those named probably were guilty of little more than looking the other way while the Steroids Era swirled around them, hundreds (thousands?) of juicing ballplayers who weren't implicated wear relieved smiles today.
Though the report tried to provide answers, it mostly led to questions.
Should Selig punish alleged offenders or let them slide while looking toward the future, as Mitchell recommended?
Will the powerful players' union let Selig discipline anybody who didn't actually fail a drug test?
Will asterisks accompany some of the game's most cherished records and statistics? Will Hall of Fame voters (including yours truly) ignore the candidacy of Clemens, Bonds and others, just as most of us shunned McGwire?
Will MLB ever have a chance against undetectable drugs such as Human Growth Hormone, not to mention steroids that haven't even been invented yet? What do we tell our kids? (How about the truth?)
Will any of this hurt baseball's bottom line?
If history is any indication, the answer to that last question is a resounding, "No!"
Come spring training, the talk will be of pitching and hitting and of potential and hope, not of Winstrol and Deca-Durabolin.
That's the way most fans like it. Now that they've had a chance to see the names, they just want to play ball.
Mike Nadel (mikenadel@sbcglobal.net) is the Chicago sports columnist for GateHouse News Service. Read his blog, The Baldest Truth, at www.thebaldesttruth.com <http://www.thebaldesttruth.com> .