ON MAY 10, Jason Giambi is hitting just .195. The Yankees, convinced that he can no longer contribute, ask him to accept a minor-league assignment. Giambi appears to have reached his end as a productive player. He cannot catch up with a major league fastball. The scouts say he cheats badly in the batters box, that he swings so early that he is missing breaking balls by a good foot. Knowing that if he accepts a demotion to the minors the Yankees will be obligated to pay him, but not obliged to return him to the big club, Giambi refuses the assignment.
Just as his cautionary tale appears to have reached its inevitable end, John Hoberman’s prediction is realized. Giambi is, indeed, the canary in the coalmine. Barry Bonds’s September return will be met with an uneven response. Palmeiro and Sosa disintegrate completely, but Giambi soars. He hits .310 in June, then explodes with a .355 average, 14 home runs, and a .974 slugging percentage in July. The former MVP is feared again. In seven games sandwiched around the All-Star break, Giambi hits six home runs. In late August, as the Yankees begin their surge to the division title, he has back-to-back multi-home run games for the second time in little over a month, becoming the first Yankee ever to have consecutive multi-homer games twice in a single season. He finishes the season with 32 home runs and a league-leading .440 on-base percentage and leads the Yankees with a .421 average as they fall to the Angels in the American League Division Series. During the Series’s first off-day, it is announced that the fans have selected Giambi as the American League Comeback Player of the Year via an online poll. There is some dissent that Giambi is being credited for proving he can play baseball without steroids, but the dissent is quiet. One month later, John Lynch, the vice president of sports marketing for the sneaker giant Reebok, announces that Giambi, who was dropped as a pitchman by Pepsi and Arm & Hammer in the wake of his steroid revelations, has accepted lucrative shoe contract.
IN THE end, baseball rides on parallel tracks, and the American fan has become particularly adept at parsing the two. With as much unrest as the game has fostered, perhaps it is a survival mechanism. The business of the game and the overall image of baseball is not unlike the current state of presidential politics. People still care. They still believe in the country, and they still vote. But they do all of these things at an increased distance due to a decreasing belief in the institution and in the individuals who inhabit those positions that have always possessed an understood moral power. The result is not an abandoning of the civic exercise, but a diminishing of the institution’s moral authority, that crucial intangible that gives any institution its vitality and respect. Similarly, baseball has not been deserted. The fans still watch, but they believe less in the ideal, the daily operation, and the players, whose import to a large degree relies on the belief that they are more than simply athletically gifted, but leaders, people who deserve to be followed.
That belief, despite record attendance, is in decline. That is what scandal does. During the critical March 17 hearings, baseball’s top leaders respond angrily to being singled out. Hollywood stars, every bit as powerful in shaping the images of the young, are not being called to testify, they complain. Where, they ask bitterly, are Britney Spears or 50 Cent? They say this failing to recognize the disastrous nature of this attitude. Baseball was being asked to testify precisely because of its elevated position of leadership. It is, after all, the national pastime. This seemed to be a responsibility the sport’s hierarchy was oddly all too willing to relinquish. The result is an ebb, one that will occur not in attendance, interest in the home run, or the size of the next television package, but in the imagination and the heart where the belief in the deeds is diminished. It is a loss that does not necessarily reveal itself on the balance sheet.
On the other track, the wonders on the field resuscitate the spirit. Pennant races in every time zone soften the hard questions, such as why Rafael Palmeiro was afforded an appeal processes that did not exist for Alex Sanchez, or why so many of the players who are suspended for violating the league’s drug policy are Latino (in addition to the language barrier, the easy access to drugs in Mexico and the Dominican Republic and a different cultural mind-set are realities that had vexed Sandy Alderson during his final years in the commissioner’s office). The demands for answers fall a distant second to the excitement of watching a young Cleveland Indians club make a spirited run at the White Sox that falls short in the final week, or the defending champion Red Sox, primed to end the eight years of Yankees dominance in the AL East, cough up a five-game lead and lose the division once again to their rivals, who clinch this time by defeating the Red Sox at Fenway on the season’s penultimate day.
In the postseason, the miraculous Orlando Hernandez and a revived Jose Contreras lead the White Sox, who play the kind of quick and daring, yet muscular baseball that makes even the gruffest scouts smile, to Chicago’s first World Series Championship in eighty-eight years, an inspiring echo of the Red Sox victory the year before.
In spite of the commissioner, the union, the owners, players, media, and fans, all of whom embraced the steroid era to varying degrees for their own, disparate purposes, the sport remains. In times of crisis, the shopworn wisdom throughout the decades has been that it was the individual personalities of baseball that provided its salvation. Babe Ruth and Judge Landis had saved it from the gamblers. Branch Rickey and Jackie Robinson began the modern-day civil-rights movement and lent the sport a moral legitimacy worthy of its title of national pastime after the horrors of World War II. More recently, the scars of the 1994 strike were healed by the will of Ripken and the power of Sosa and McGwire.
This time around, however, the players did not save baseball, and neither did the owners or the fans. It was not any sudden discovery of leadership on the part of the Commissioner, in created cooperation from the union, or in renewed belief in the leadership on the part of the fans. This time, it was the game that saved players from themselves, from their owners and from their own union. It was the sport, however inexplicably, doing what it does best, locating what David Halberstam once called “the American vein” and injecting it with a special energy that only baseball can provide when played at its best. This is what saved them. This is why it is always forgiven.
“Hey, this is baseball,” Greg Maddux says one hot Arizona day in spring training. “You can’t screw it up.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The professional roots of this project began on a typically perfect San Diego day in 2002 when Reggie Jackson, the great Mr. October, was convinced of two things. The first was that there was something about the remarkable offensive production of the poststrike decade, and that this was not necessarily a good thing. The second was that he was sure that while baseball enjoyed immediate profits and unprecedented attendance, he was also of the belief that the sport that made him famous would suffer in the long term for its record-breaking home run years.
Reggie is never easy. He can employ numerous tactics designed to prove one thing: that he’s somebody and you’re not. During my first months covering the Yankees for The Record of Bergen County, New Jersey, he could be funny or condescending. A favorite Jackson ploy was to read my credential, notice I worked for a Jersey paper, and comment, “Hey, how come you don’t work for one of the New York papers?”
That said, despite peer pressure and a gag order from the baseball leadership not to talk about steroids, Jackson was a source of both inspiration and insight. He sought an explanation for this unprecedented era and wanted to know what it meant for the men who came before, and our conversations over the past two and half years deepened my conviction that he was right: Baseball 1994-2004 did represent a seminal era, but one growing increasingly infamous. It is my hope that this project is representative of those conversations.
Ideas are basically worthless without the ability to apply them, and the Boston Herald gave me the chance to explore the depths of this subject. The five-part series “A Tainted Era: Major League Baseball 1994-2002” that appeared in June 2003 contained the theme
s that constituted the template of this book. I’ve always said that I have the best job in Boston, and I am eternally grateful to Patrick Purcell, Andrew Costello, Andrew Gully, Mark Torpey, Hank Hryniewicz, and Ken Chandler for the opportunity to explore dense subjects. This is especially important in a time when there seems to be less emphasis on writing and a retreat from the serious subjects that are largely being overlooked by the press.
GAIL MALMGREEN, the associate head of archival collections at the Tamiment Library, Robert F. Wagner Labor Archives at New York University, was very knowledgeable and professional in helping me sift through the volumes of their Marvin Miller collection. For anyone who cares about the history of baseball, an afternoon with the Miller archives is the equivalent not only of Game Seven of the World Series, but (since there is no charge) of getting a free ticket, too.
My thanks go to Lauren Kata, archivist for the W. J. Usery collection at Georgia State University. The Usery collection provided a glimpse into the bitter climate of the 1994 strike Usery had been asked to mediate by President Clinton.
Membership in the Society for American Baseball Research is a valuable commodity, but no service is of more use to a researcher than their access to ProQuest, an online database to the New York Times, Washington Post, and a host of other periodicals.
There are two websites that stand out beyond the rest in terms of baseball research. They are www.baseball-reference.com and www.retrosheet.org. Both were invaluable resources.
Covering baseball is its own soap opera, but there is nothing better than sitting in the dugout at three-thirty at the Oakland Coliseum and listening to Ron Washington talk baseball. My gratitude goes out to the entire Oakland A’s organization, most notably Ken Macha, Billy Beane, Steve Vucinich, Brad Fischer, and Mickey Morabito. I add Oakland alumni J. P. Ricciardi, Paul DePodesta, and Art Howe to the list.
THE SUBJECT matter was never easy for them to discuss, but Bud Selig, Sandy Alderson, Rob Manfred, and Donald Fehr were very insightful and gracious with their time in explaining their positions about the baseball business and their views of a complicated decade.
THE PERSPECTIVE of dozens of players and former players shaped this book, but my thanks go out especially to Mike Stanton, A. J. Hinch, - David Ortiz, Willie Randolph, Frank Menechino, Tony Gwynn, Joe Torre, Gary Sheffield, Bob Watson, David Justice, Ellis Burks, David Wells, and Mike Mussina. It is clear, especially in the case of Tony Gwynn, that these players have been thinking about the changes in their game for some time. Their conclusions shaped much of this book’s discussion.
My thanks go to Phyllis Merhige, Rich Levin, and Pat Courtney at Major League Baseball and Greg Bouris at the Players Association for always being available and helpful despite very busy schedules. Thanks go out to Charles Steinberg and Larry Lucchino at the Boston Red Sox, and Joe Torre, Brian Cashman, and Jean Afterman with the New York Yankees.
Karen Lightfoot at Representative Henry Waxman’s office was extremely helpful in pointing me in the right direction late in the process.
The Crusaders, John Hoberman, Richard Melloni, Richard Pound, Gary Wadler, and Charles Yesalis, were the most special and important element of this project. They don’t like the nickname, but it is my contention that they should wear it with pride. I’m sure the Garibaldis, the Hootons, the Marreros, and every other family whose lives have been forever changed by anabolic steroids are grateful for their vigilance. Speaking with Rich Melloni and Chuck Yesalis especially was both an education and an honor. Their expertise and patience were certainly tested over a dozen conversations. It is my belief that though the sports federations may not like it, without their constant prodding reinforced by unimpeachable knowledge on the subject, very little progress in steroid education could be made. Their dedication to their fields is just as worthy of praise as that of any ballplayer.
To the members of the baseball medical staffs who aided this project with their candor in the face of retribution from their superiors, I thank you for sharing your knowledge and experiences. You know who you are.
DAVID HALBERSTAM is always unfailingly generous with his time. Most people would not be so gracious when being harassed for advice, but he provided me with a succinct road map and the proper mind-set. “Think about three or four moments you believe to be the most important during your time frame,” he said. “Then think about what the leadership did about it. It doesn’t have to be complicated. What happened, and what did the leaders do about it? That’s your book.”
At the expense of his own wonderful writing, David Kutzmann spent tireless hours editing the manuscript and brainstorming various concepts of the project. He provided a much-needed second set of eyes and I owe him my deepest gratitude.
As always, the Inner Circle spends more time helping me through my projects than doing their own, and Glenn Stout and Christopher Sauceda provided guidance and friendship throughout, reading each chapter and playing amateur psychiatrist. I can only hope my support and friendship is half as helpful to them.
Steve Kettmann was a constant source of vital information, overloading my e-mail inbox with the latest breaks and commentary on an unrelenting story.
I say thank-you in no particular order to Lisa Davis, David Muchnick, Jonathan Krim, Bob Klapisch, Mark Leibovich, David Pollak, Stephanie Vardavas, Bobby Alejo, Bob Costas, Brian Cashman, Fay Vincent, Murray Chass, Annie Russell, George King, Dan Graziano, Jeff Horrigan, Monte Poole, Deacon Jones, Buster Olney, Pedro Gomez, Michelle Sauer, and Tisa Bryant.
Much gratitude goes to my agent, Deirdre Mullane. Her belief in this project and ability to shape a proposal were invaluable.
There was no more dedicated or meticulous editor than Cliff Corcoran. His energy powered this book and there is no better feeling than that of having an editor who shares the passion and investment in a project. It is a rare luxury I was fortunate to enjoy.
Wendy Wolf, Nancy Sheppard, and Paul Slovak at Viking made this entire project an enjoyable one.
The final thank-you is for my wife, Véronique, without whom the page is still blank.
Howard Bryant Provincetown, MA
Boston, MA March 2005
NOTES
CHAPTER ONE
“They thought that if they got rid of me . . .” Interview with Fay Vincent. “You knew that it was trouble . . .” Interview with Mike Mussina. To Fay Vincent, there could be . . . Interview with Fay Vincent. He often bragged about a Dutch uncle . . . Fay Vincent, The Last Commissioner: A Baseball Valentine (New York: Simon and Schuster, 2002). “his scorecard since shows more errors . . .” Marvin J. Miller Papers, Tamiment Library/Robert F. Wagner Labor Archives, New York University. “He told me I wasn’t interested . . .” Vincent, The Last Commissioner. “Think of it,” wrote Newsday’s Tom Verducci . . . Marvin J. Miller Papers. In the spirit of taking . . . ;“Fay sowed the seeds of his own destruction . . .” Interview with Rob Manfred. “I hate all commissioners . . .”; “That’s really what happened . . .” Interview with Fay Vincent. “What is remarkable is that, since Landis . . .” Marvin Miller, A Whole Different Ball Game: The Inside Story of Baseball’s New Deal (New York: Fireside, 1991). “I thought he had the potential . . .”; “Judge Kenesaw Mountain Landis . . .” Marvin J. Miller Papers. Larry Lucchino, then the president of the Baltimore . . . Interview with Larry Lucchino. “You buy in New York, you know what you’re buying . . .”; “Okay,” he said, “we’ll just form another league . . .”; In 1984, Edward Bennett Williams . . . John Helyar, Lords of the Realm: The Real History of Baseball (New York: Villard, 1994), p. 542. Werner shrank from public view . . . Interview with Tom Werner. “Revenue sharing then was inconceivable . . .” Interview with Bud Selig. “In the past, we’ve made decisions . . .” Andrew Zimbalist, Baseball and Billions: A Probing Look Inside the Big Business of our National Pastime (New York: Basic Books, 1994). “Someone back in Econ 101 told me . . .” Interview with Irv Grousbeck.
CHAPTER TWO
When the games were canceled . . . Interview with
Richard Griffin. “Stick around, fellas,” Malone said . . . ;“All they told us . . .” Interview with Pedro Martinez. “They had everything . . .” Interview with David Justice. “Whatever they told each other . . .” Interview with Pedro Martinez. He would never forget the opener . . . Interview with Geoff Baker. “They were allowed to believe . . .” Interview with Richard Griffin. “You know that clip . . .” Interview with Joe Torre. “Did you ever see the way . . .” Interview with Monte Poole. When Williams made an out . . . Interview with Terry Francona. “He cared. He wanted it so badly . . .” Interview with Alan Embree. When Williams tired of talking . . . Interview with Mark Gonzales. Gammons also loved Montreal’s ability . . . Interview with Peter Gammons. “I was on the field for the first time . . .” Interview with Willie Randolph. Cronin, the first former player . . . Miller, A Whole Different Ball Game. When not throwing haymakers . . . ; Once, a Houston Astros player . . . ; Miller responded with a letter . . . ; “Finally,” Moss wrote . . . ; “If you have a desire . . .” Marvin J.
Miller Papers. “He took the time to educate . . .” Interview with Murray Chass. “You have to remember . . .” Interview with Rob Manfred. “People said I sided with the union . . .” Interview with Murray Chass. “Donald Fehr told his players . . .”; “If they stick with a salary cap . . .”; “The shadow of Marvin Miller is there . . .” Marvin J. Miller Papers. “At noon, we will have a moment of silence . . .” New York Times, “Pleading the Ballplayers’ Cause,” by Claire Smith, August 11, 1994. “They literally hated one another . . .” Interview with Peter Gammons. “The bottom line . . .” Interview with Fay Vincent. “I had problems . . .” Interview with Tony Gwynn. “What’s going to make me look bad?” Marvin J. Miller Papers. “It is not that wars are always wrong . . . ,” The New Yorker,“The Big One,” by Adam Gopnik, August 23, 2004. “Marvin, you asked: ‘How goes the unilateral quest . . .’” Marvin J. Miller Papers.
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