<!--StartFragment-->

Do you remember the summer of ’98?

            Do you remember the home run race that made America’s favorite pastime, not justrelavent again, but the focal point of our culture?

            Remember watching in awe as the Mark McGwire’s 62^nd home run sail just barely over the left field fence of Busch Stadium?

            I do.

 

            I remember being eight, playing little league in Tribeca in the shadow of the World Trade Center.

            I remember going to the pizza place near the fields with my friends after our games and gathering around the TV, with two giants on the screen.

            I remember when Sammy Sosa and Mark McGwire chased the most vaunted record in all of sports.

            I remember when it still felt like it meant something.

 

            The home run is the most exciting play in all of sports. The sound of the ball hitting the bat, the sight of the ball exploding off into the horizion, thefeel you get when the crowd, at once, by instinct, stands and eruputs into sheer jubilation. 

            What’s more is that there’s no limit to how significant the feat can be. When we come together to watch the Home Run Derby, we all gather in wonder to see just how far our heros can launch the cowhide.

            For all the children around America, who went out in their backyards, and waited on that imaginary 3-2 pitch, in the bottom of the ninth inning, with two outs, and the bases loaded, 1998 was a year that inspired dreams. If those men on TV could do it, if they could bring a crowd to their feet with a single swing, surely they could too.

 

            Do you remember the first time you heard the word steroids associated with baseball?

            Do you remember how you felt when you found out that Rafael Palmero had lied to us as a nation, surrounded by the giants of ’98?

            Do you remember when Barry Bonds broke the single-season home run record again?

            I do.

 

            I remember feeling outraged, as my childhood dreams, however farfetched they may have been, seemed to become less and less valid.

            I remember turning on ESPN, and seeing the faces of the disgraced men, that were once so glorified.

            I remember watching the baseball games that summer, and the feeling that something had changed.

            I remember when I felt I couldn’t trust the game anymore.

  

            73 home runs boomed from the bat of Mr. Bonds in 2001, and yet, no one was happy. Sure, the sights and the sounds of those big flies were the same, but a realization was setting in.

            Steroids had affected the game to such a point that we could not even truly appreciate the grandest personal achievement in American sports. If we couldn’t enjoy this- if we couldn’t believe this- what was there left?

            Now, with the inconclusive and disturbing findings of the Mitchell Report, how canwe truly enjoy the game that most represents our history as a nation?

            How can fans of the game- especially the ones who grew up in the midst of that gloriously tainted steroid era- sincerely have faith in the motives of a business that seems to favor money over integrity?

 

It wasn’t like Bud Selig didn’t know that steroids were an issue. It’s not like the players are going to come forward if they’re going to make more money by breaking the trust of their fans.

 

There’s just one month left until that normally iconic day when pitchers and catchers report to Spring Training,and the promise of  a new drama that all of us baseball fans have come to love.

And yet, I don’t feel as though I really care.

 

I don’t remember anything like this ever happening.

I don’t remember being genuinely indifferent at the onset of another year of the boys of summer taking the field.

I don’t remember ever feeling so hurt by a sport that I’ve invested myself in.

 

And really, baseball as a whole doesn’t seem to be sorry. The players union will no doubt make it nearly impossible for proper testing of the atheletes. The administration of the game has ultimately been to wishy-washy and passive in their actions regarding punishment and enforcement regarding illegal perfomance-enhancers in their league.

No one’s apologizing, not sincerely anyways. Even when players implicated in recent investigations are brought into the public eye, they make statements strictly to cover their asses.

  

Until the tone of the game changes, until we see that true remorse, and until we, the fans, get that apology, I know I won’t support the MLB.

 

            Until then, all those memories will just be an afterthought.