Safe at Home

Major League Baseball has had no claim to the sacred for a very long time—certainly not after many of its big-name players began falling out of the pharmaceutical closet. And this year it truly descended to the profane when Barry Bonds, just months ahead of his federal indictment for lying to a grand jury about his use of performance-enhancing drugs, broke the game's most hallowed record as its all-time home run king.

So perhaps nobody should have been surprised—certainly not after some of the rare confessors, like Jose Canseco and the late Ken Caminiti, described steroid use in baseball as epidemic—by anything former senator George Mitchell revealed today as a result of his investigation into drug use in the game. Still, there had to be gasps throughout the nation as the greatest pitcher of the modern era, Roger Clemens, was fingered as a drug cheat right alongside Bonds. For his part, Clemens is denying everything. Late in the day Clemens's lawyer, Rusty Hardin, issued a statement calling the inclusion of his client's name "very unfair." Hardin said, "He is left with no meaningful way to combat what he strongly contends are totally false allegations. He has not been charged with anything, he will not be charged with anything, and yet he is being tried in the court of public opinion with no recourse."

Nobody, certainly not Mitchell, was pretending that the list of some six dozen names was comprehensive. Most of those named appear to be players unlucky enough to have procured steroids from one of two men: Kirk Radomski, a former New York Mets clubhouse assistant who cooperated as part of a federal plea agreement, and Brian McNamee, Clemens's former personal trainer who became a New York Yankees strength and conditioning coach. And the report owes a clear debt to "Game of Shadows," the book about Bonds's ties to the BALCO drug lab. Still, after a 21-month chase, with virtually no players cooperating with him and no special investigatory powers, Mitchell did name names that reflected a broad cross-section of the game, from a potential Hall of Famer to marginal big-leaguers, from bulked-up sluggers to scrawny infielders, and pitchers of all stripes—not just pin-.

The list included current big-name players—Andy Pettitte, Miguel Tejada, Eric Gagne, Paul Lo Duca, Gary Sheffield, and Brian Roberts—as well as former stars—Kevin Brown, Chuck Knoblauch, Lenny Dykstra, David Justice, Mo Vaughn, Matt Williams and Benito Santiago. (See a gallery of some of the biggest names among current players in the report). Except for Clemens, none of the players named in the report had immediate comment. Mitchell insisted that he didn't simply rely on the testimony of cooperating witnesses, but that he had corroborating evidence. Still, some of it, at least as produced in the report, seems rather sketchy, vague and possibly inconclusive.

By contrast, the report devotes more than eight pages to detailing Clemens's steroid use. According to McNamee it began in 1997, after the Rocket suffered the worst year of his career with the Red Sox and left Boston for the Toronto Blue Jays. McNamee indicated that he personally injected Clemens with steroids until the end of the 1998 season, Clemens's last in Toronto, and that the pitcher told him that they "had a pretty good effect on him." McNamee said that during Clemens's 2000 season with the Yankees he resumed giving Clemens injections—"four to six times with testosterone from a bottle labeled either Sustanon 250 or Deca-Durabolin." Clemens has not yet commented on the report. But it is a damning portrayal and, if true, every bit as asterisk-worthy as any of Bonds's transgressions. Indeed, Clemens and Bonds, pitcher and hitter who defied Father Time, may now stand together as the ultimate symbols of the game's recent disgrace.

Mitchell insisted he provided names only because his mandate was to report what he discovered. But without the names the report would have been totally predictable and not all that compelling, or even new. Mitchell spread the blame for the "widespread" use of illegal drugs in the past on both Major League Baseball, which he characterized as largely indifferent while focused on the game's economic well-being, and the players' union, which he says was obstructionist. And while he credited both sides with improving drug-testing policies, he pleaded with them for another upgrade, because "it still falls short of the current level of best practices in drug testing."

While Mitchell recognized the seriousness of the breach of law, baseball policy and the fans' trust, he urged MLB commissioner Bud Selig not to punish any of the players named in his report. He says a "fresh start" is the only way for baseball to move past this tarnished past. But there are a lot of different people and organizations that face decisions on this matter, from Major League Baseball to the Hall of Fame to, perhaps most important of all, the players' union. Mitchell offered up his report as a reflection on the past and a potential balm for the future. But the players' union is the toughest in all of sports. And it may not be as sanguine about sacrificing so many of its members' reputations to a vague future and a purported higher purpose.