Fear & Loathing In the Steroid Era

Jesus Christ, those aren't bats, they're goddamn SYRINGES! (SawxBlog Illustration - Z.Trainor)

The year was 2003, and me and a terror called Manny Ramirez were causing a raucous muck in the Boston Red Sox clubhouse. These were high times in all sense of the pun, and we were prowling the lions den enjoying the view as we ascended to the top. I had seized control of the clubhouse radio sometime around three, and a steady stream of salsa and merengue had been blaring from the Bose speakers as a result. Trot Nixon was not thrilled with these facts, but they were facts he soon accepted. Manny was sitting in his back corner with a gravity bong and collection of colored pills that would make a package of skittles appear bland in hue. He had been giggling a lot over the past two hours mumbling absolute gibberish and saying "man" with every other word. I was discovering at an accelerated rate that Ramirez was like no other Dominican I've ever met. He was my Gehrig, and I his Ruth, a dynamic duo to be revered and remembered through all ages.

We were truculent in a magnanimous way with our attack at the plate, and we often left the opposing pitchers soiled and trembling on the mound, with tears swelling in their sullen eyes. For September 5th, the air still felt a whole lot like August, however the mugginess worked as a shot in the arm, and I was expecting good things for both Manny and I on that NY night. I was turgid in my dress per usual and my bedazzled blazer was giving me a pure feeling of invincibility. Well, maybe the pills had something to do with it, or even the HGH I took in a bit ago, but either way, I was fairly certain that walking atop of water was an overrated skill.

Often times the clubhouse can feel like a menagerie as you wait to please the throngs of cranks waiting in the stands. Through my entire career there’s been constant pressure to throw harder, run faster, and hit farther. If you don’t appease the bosses then you swiftly fall into obscurity and manual labor, or even worse, a nine-to-five office job, that awaits you from here to eternity. And if you’re from the Dominican, forget about it, your life can be over by seventeen. It’s not like you’re one of these rich blond-haired California boys who can go to college and then work their way to middle management. You’re lucky if you make it to the eighth grade before the academies come calling and pull you out of school. All sponsored by Major League Baseball of course.

Then when you finally make it to the big show the pressure to perform gains a lazer-like intensity that bores on your soul like a greedy off-shore drilling outfit. The Roman gladiators had it easy though man, they’d only have two minutes of pure terror before being eaten alive, with a pain that was finite. The modern day ballplayer has to deal with bull shit like bloggers, sports writers and washed-up talking heads. If we don’t do well in contract years a career’s worth of money flames up in the pyre, as you watch your grandchildren's future drift solemnly into the Atlantic. I mean, after the year I’m having I see a treasure trove of fortune now lying in front of me. Simply put my kids are all set, and their kids won’t ever have to worry about food like I did when younger. I equate my story to that of Trimalchio, the freedman who through hard work and perseverance attained both power and wealth. Money, Power, and Respect. That’s what it’s all about right?

So what if I’m taking some shots and pills to secure the future of my family. I didn’t create me, the bosses did. There’s always going to be crazy characters like Manny, who by the way was doing bangers at Centerfolds with Tim Kurkjian until 4am last night. But I’m seriously one of the good guys, it’s as plain as a white T-Shirt. Shit, every other dude I know in this league is pumping himself full of some sort of crap to gain an edge. I know for a fact that Hillenbrand, Garciaparra, Walker, and Damon use the juice, so why not me? That’s my competition man, and I don’t want to work no office job that’s for damn sure. Basically what it comes down to is there’s no repercussions. The owners don’t give a shit. Fill them stands. The managers could give a crap. Win those games. And the fans may be the dumbest of all. Hit them homers. Plus no-one’s ever gonna find out about any of this, it’s anonymous after-all. Unless you’re a NY lawyer, then all bets are off, can’t trust those dudes. Oh shit, Manny’s giving Merloni another swirly, I better go.

Comments

[Dogzilla]

Derek, I've been a fan of this site for a while. And I'm not an apologist for Ortiz. I'm not sure what he did or didn't do, and until the full list is actually released, it's difficult to pass much judgement. But this last post caps a long string of posts that have driven me to the point where I'm just bailing on the Sawxblog. It just seems like you're always desperately looking for some doom and gloom scenario.

Maybe it's just the typical Sox fan dysfunction - only happy when things are going wrong. Let's face facts here - how many juicers are and were on the winning Yankees teams? Do you think that the taking of illicit substances began somewhere in the late 90s? Baseball players have been injecting and consuming steroids, testosterone, amphetamines, cocaine and "elixirs" to enhance their on-field performance since the 1800s. Do I think it's lame? Yes. Do I think it's also incredibly naive? Yes. Yes I do.

I'd always hoped for a media outlet following the Red Sox that a) had self respect unlike the rest of the Boston sports media and b) spoke realistically about a sport I love yet see with open eyes. Reading the posts this season, I've realized Sawxblog ain't it. For crying out loud, you began worrying about our playoff chances in May!

It's not that I disagree with your viewpoints - I can deal with that. It's that Sawxblog is just plain irrelevant now.

Sadly, I say "See ya"

[Derek Hixon]

Hey Dog, appreciate your thoughts, words, and time spent here man. I'm just not so certain it was hard to search and find the doom and gloom in this scenario. Ortiz is one of the most popular Red Sox players in the teams history, and it appears now that he's a direct result of the steroid era. His statistics don’t lie (unlike himself). I wrote the post in the style of Hunter Thompson, one of my favorite authors, which I thought was pretty plain to see, and I guarantee it’s one of the more unique views on this whole scenario, and not just one giant echo like other sites.

If you read the post it's actually not negative towards Papi at all, it's basically saying that he was a product of his environment (the baseball world) along with the rest of baseball. That said, Ortiz is still his own man, and it looks like he still lied in the public's face for years now, so yeah, I can't have respect him for that.

In the end this was a post not about Ortiz but the steroid era, look at the title. Heck, I didn't even mention his name once in the entire post. And yes, ballplayers have looked for an edge consistently through it's history, however it's never been to an extent where records were being broken like cheap Wal-Mart furniture like they were in the 90's & 00's, and the steroid era will always be one of the darker times in baseball history. I'm not re-writing history here, just trying to comment on it from a unique view.

Again thanks for your comments and all, I'll still be doing my thing here. I'll "see ya" around.

[Neil]

Brilliant article IMO.Keep up the great work bud!

[Don Imogen]

What do Ted Williams and David Ortiz have in common?

Answer: The same number of legit Championships.

[Derek Hixon]

Don, that means you can't consider ANY championships legit from about 1988 until now so yeah...not so much.

@ Neil, thanks man!

[Callie Durbrow]

I'm still trying to figure out how I feel about this whole scenario. I guess we all wanted to believe that Papi would be the one who didn't use, so it's a little bit too bad to find out that he did. When in reality we all probably assumed he did anyway, just didn't want to believe it!