Shame Isn’t Working

It’s the morning after the Manny Ramirez fiasco, and I’ve already had enough. Suspended 49 more games because he used a banned substance, Ramirez has become a pariah. Even the normally level-headed Bill Simmons has called Ramirez a “cheater” with impunity. Translation: the Red Sox 2004 World Championship is tainted.

He’s not the only one, though. His espn.com stablemate Jayson Stark nails Ramirez to the cross, calling him words like scoundrel.” It’s a vicious takedown of a man who one day ago was considered one of baseball’s most likeable if difficult characters.

What a difference 24 hours makes.

He’s the thing: all this outrage, all this manufactured anger, is bullshit. No one cares who used steroids anymore. They just lie to themselves and think they do. They’ll get apoplectic when they hear about Manny or A-Rod’s juicing exploits, but happily tune in to watch nine hours a day of football in the fall. In the NFL, a 300-pound lineman is considered small. There’s only so much weight a person can gain from lifting, supplements, and eating a chicken farm every day. They’re all juicing as far as I concerned, and I don’t care.

It’s weird: we get angry when these multi-million dollar earning athletes do whatever it takes to win, but we love it when they do win. We also complain about the money they make, but don’t understand why some would juice to make that money. We say things like, “He’s good enough without steroids” to do X and Y and Z. Really? How do we know?

On Thursday, Manny said that the drugs were given to him by a doctor who didn’t know they were banned. This is a lie. If you want to get mad at Manny, do so for that. But don’t put much stock in it. Manny’s being coached by his agent, who wants to manage future paydays and keep his current contract valid. To get mad about players acting on advice on their agents NOW is like finally getting upset with wrestling being fake.

Stark writes: “We’d all love to believe that Manny’s intent, in taking this drug, was pure and well-intentioned.” Really? Who’s “we?”

We’re way, way, past that point. Ironically, we’re also closer to a new era of athlete openness, with more sportsmen than ever blogging and Twittering and the like. Maybe athletes in a new era will feel that they don’t have to juice because they have a closer connection to fans, and that ruining that connection would not be worth the potential side effects. But don’t count Manny, or any of baseball’s current stars, among that group. They’re all firmly in the steroid era, moody and offputting and guilty by association—depending on your definition of “guilty.”

Baseball is a closed society, like it or not. We don’t exist in its ranks, as much as we would like to. We are all one person to them: “the fans.” There’s also “the press” and “management.” And then there are the actual people who live in the society, the players. They do what they know how to do, and follow the rules they set for themselves. So when one of them is taking steroids, why wouldn’t all or most of them? The idea that baseball is some sort of open system where the minor leagues provide a simple in and out for players who are better or worse is an illusion. Baseball is an oligarchy of the sport’s best players, who do not change from one year to the next, with rare exception.

It’s that society into which steroids entered, and it’s that society that will continue taking them until something better takes its place. Whether it’s a closer connection with fans, stricter penalties, shame that actually works, something has to tell this close-knit group of people that steroids are no good for them if they’re going to stop. If that hasn’t happened yet, whose fault is it? And is it anyone’s fault? We think steroids are bad for them and they disagree, and we undermine our arguments by continuing to watch them play.

So Jayson Starks of the world, please dismount your high horses. Manny did what everyone else did and continues to do. You loved watching the results and if you didn’t realize that this was a possibility, you were fooling yourself. You’re not on the inside of baseball any more than I am. We are not them, and all we know about them is this is the way they’ve chosen to be successful. If you really want them to stop using steroids, offer them something other than shame. It’s not working. And I don’t really care.

UPDATE: I think a yearlong suspension should be given for the first offense, to answer those who have asked. I think that would be a proper first step.