Bleacher Report - Articles by Tom R

Chicks Dig the Long Book: Another Canseco Memoir Hits Shelves

Tom R — Wed, 09 Apr 2008 09:28:38 -0400

This past February marked the three year anniversary of the release of Juiced: Wild Times, Rampant 'Roids, Smash Hits, and How Baseball Got Big, the seminal memoir of former MLB player turned author, José Canseco. For the cave dwellers out there who aren't familiar, in Juiced Canseco proclaims himself the "Godfather of Steroids" and discusses how, during a career that spanned three decades, he introduced some of Major League Baseball's biggest stars to steroids. From his old Oakland bash brother, former home run champ Mark McGwire, to everyone's favorite member of the lovable losers, Sammy Sosa, to the greatest pitcher of his generation, Roger Clemens, no name proves too sacred for mention in Canseco's tell all memoir.

Juiced became a New York Times bestseller, simultaneously rescuing Canseco from bankruptcy and hurling him into the national spotlight. At first the media discredited him, calling him out as an exaggerating opportunist, as he had recently been so broke that he sold his Rookie of the Year trophy and World Series ring for quick cash. It wasn't until one of the key players he named, Rafael Palmeiro, failed a drug test in August 2005 that people finally started to believe Canseco. They figured if he was right about Palmeiro,then maybe he was right about the others too. From that point on Major League Baseball focused all of its energies toward the still ongoing purge of steroids from the sport. The investigation culminated this past December with the release of the now infamous Mitchell Report, a convoluted, 310 page, he said, she said account of steroid use in baseball.

Now Canseco is peddling a new book called Vindicated: Big Names, Big Liars, and the Battle to Save Baseball. A continuation of Juiced, Vindicated is Canseco's attempt to clarify the names left out of the Mitchell Report, among them two more of America's favorite players, Ken Griffey Jr. and Álex Rodriguez.

Some might question the real motive behind Canseco's new publication. Does he genuinely want to help clean up the sport? Or is it all about keeping his name in the headlines and making more money? While some signs may point to the latter, given how after Juiced, Canseco's publisher told him he didn't have enough facts left for another book, we have to keep in mind that this is the same Canseco who once hit forty homers and stole forty bases in a single season. Any guy who sets a record like that, must truly care about his sport. Therefore, perhaps the title says it all for the book. Vindicated is more than another unapologetic memoir from José Canseco. It is his heartfelt attempt to use his newfound credibility to further aid in the cleansing, and thereby bettering of Major League Baseball.

Or so he claims. The fact is, for me at least, that I wonder if all this is really in the interest of the betterment of professional baseball. For starters, let me just say outright that I really don't care if the players took steroids. Yeah, they cheated. Yeah, it probably taints some of the records that were set. And yeah, it also made baseball pretty darn exciting in the process. Think about it. Where would Major League Baseball be today if it weren't for McGwire and Sosa's epic 1998 home run chase? I, for one, don't think I could stand to hear another story about 61 in '61. The chase revived the sport in the minds of the American public, and captured the hearts of a whole new generation of children. I know. I was one of them. We loved Slammin' Sammy and Big Mac. We wanted to be just like them. To be big, strong, baseball mashing, Brobdingnagian ballplayers. Steroids might be illegal, but come on, even a certain California governor endorses their use under the right circumstances.

So they took steroids. So what? I'll remember watching that low line drive sail over the green left field wall in Busch stadium for the rest of my life. That's all that really matters isn't it? That's why we watch sports, for the chance to see something happen that we'll always remember. I may have missed out on the aforementioned 61 in '61, Hank Aaron's 755th, the '1978 pennant, and Charlie Hustle's 4,192 base hit, but I'll always have the history I witnessed in 1998. No drug allegations (or admissions) should have the right to take that away .

The only thing that the steroid investigation has done for me is taint the future. In the years since they first came to light, I've been forced to doubt every major baseball accomplishment I've seen. Since 2001, Barry Bonds has bested some of the most hallowed records in baseball, and I'll be damned if half of America couldn't have been more ambivalent. No one cares anymore. Sure, baseball is doing the right thing in trying to cleanse itself now, but that doesn't mean it should ever have reached this point. A player as great as Barry Bonds doesn't deserve this kind of treatment. He should be loathed for his notoriously surly demeanor, not his questionable workout regimen.

What Major League Baseball should have done is taken a cue from the NFL, or for that matter itself, and brushed the whole issue under the rug from the start. Believe me, I wouldn't have been very hurt. Sure, there would have still been guys like José Canseco, who knew they could make a buck by spilling their guts in tell all memoirs. As long as the league continued calling him a liar and avoided putting its foot in its mouth, no one would have cared.

Just look at the players in the NFL. A blind monkey could safely assume, based on their body types, that more than a few of them are on steroids. Or look at the athletes from the 1980s. Everyone knows that half the players tried blow at least once (and you're kidding yourself if you don't believe that). Neither of those things is some big mystery. The American public, in general, has at least a vague idea of what was going on. But as long as the leagues keep as much of their business "in house" as possible, no one cares. José Canseco had absolutely zero credibility until the league stepped in and started suspending players left and right. Bud Selig should have stuck to his guns, and dealt with it behind closed doors the way his predecessor, Peter Ueberroth dealt with 1980s cocaine abuse in the league. As long as he kept witch hunters happy by suspending a few major users each season, everyone else was able to go about their business (as long as no one found out).

It truly is a sad day when I find myself equally expecting to see my favorite ballplayer on the dugout bench, or in front of a judge's bench. Yet, that seems to be the way things are going to be for the foreseeable future.

I know I can't wholly blame Major League Baseball, or José Canseco for my cynicism. Someday soon, the people who are really responsible for the current state of the sport must be held accountable. And with the release of Vindicated, that day moves closer. José Canseco is fighting for the integrity of the league. I just hope that all those long ball loving chicks are ready to bear the immense burden of blame that's coming to them.

Rocket Fuel: Embracing the Untarninshed Part of Roger Clemens' Legacy

Tom R — Fri, 14 Mar 2008 07:30:34 -0400

Remember, Roger?

Remember when you were "The Rocket"? Your name was etched into the palm of my first baseball glove. Number 20. The mitt was a hand-me-down from my cousin Will, and by the time I first felt its floppy rawhide over my sweaty palm, You were only a few years away from eating your way out of Boston. But I didn't care. You were The Rocket, the fearless, guiltless Texan who once struck out twenty batters in a single game. No one could touch you. Every time you took the mound, my heart hung on each strike, waiting and hoping to see the next "K," the next small proof of the greatness I was witnessing.

When Dan Duquette let Roger leave for the Toronto Blue Jays after the 1996 season, the Boston public was torn. Half, angrily hung onto nostalgia, and cited the second to last game he pitched for Boston, when he struck out 20 batters for the second time in his career, as cause to believe he would have turned it around. The other half, content to see him leave, chose to believe Duquette, who notoriously suggested Clemens was entering the twilight of his career.

I was devastated. As soon as I read the headline in The Boston Globe that Roger had signed with the Blue Jays, I threw my Roger Clemens glove into the deepest recesses of the garage. Roger had been a Red Sox since the day I was born. And now he was a Blue Jay? It just wasn't possible. See, the thing in Boston is that the Red Sox aren't just a team, they are an integral part of life. We live and die with them. When they won the World Series in 2004, never before have so many people in Massachusetts simultaneously proclaimed, "Now I Can Die In Peace!" and truly meant it.

The loyalty of the fan base is both a blessing and a bane for the athletes who play here. When they succeed for us, they are worshiped (see Tom Brady). And when they leave, there is a deep hurt, that festers as an eternal feeling of both scorn and resentment. Just ask Johnny Damon, who until 2005 was one of the most beloved players in Red Sox history. Then he left under similar circumstances to Roger and the fan base turned on him quicker than the last pitch he saw in a Red Sox uniform.

We are spiteful because we put our heart and soul into these men on this field, and we expect them to do the same for us. The late Will McDonough of the Boston Globe may have summed the feeling up best when he famously called Roger "The Texas Con Man." Roger had earned the love of the Boston fans. All he had to do was stay and he never would have lost it.

Watching Roger after he left was painful. He was the ex-girlfriend who lost twenty-five pounds right after the break-up, and then found someone who was better than we were. Every chance he got to make us regret dumping him, he took full advantage.

Spurned by Boston and resentful toward all those who doubted him here, Roger focused all of his anger on rebuilding his career. He adopted the intense workout regimen he's since become famous for, developed a split-fingered fastball to counter the loss in velocity, and went on to win four more Cy Youngs and two World Series rings. Worse yet, he won both rings and one of the Cy Youngs as a member of the New York Yankees.

Of course the pain was eased in 1997 when Pedro Martinez arrived in Boston, bringing with him a dazzling changeup, blazing fastball, and the kind of media friendly persona so rarely seen in Boston. And the pain was further eased in 2004 and 2007 when we won the World Series. But no matter what happened, one needs only to realize that no player has worn number 21 since Clemens left to see that we could never truly move on from Roger. Even as he piled up record after record, and Cy Young after Cy Young for other teams, each accolade was only a reminder of what could have been.

Until now.

The recent steroid allegations have cast a new light on Roger, one that potentially burns a scarlet asterisk next to every one of his accomplishments since he left Boston. All the guilt and regret we felt as we watched him become the greatest right handed pitcher of the modern era while wearing a non Red Sox uniform has been washed away.

His former trainer, Brian McNamee says that he cheated. And to be honest, it's really so good to hear that. Even if it turns out to be false in the end (which seems not to be the case at this point), it feels so good, like I just found out that the ex-girlfriend who was so much better off without me, actually lost the weight through liposuction and a tummy tuck paid for by the new boyfriend. I hope they have a great life together, but no matter what happens now, I can take comfort in the the knowledge that I had her first, back when she was still her real, unaltered self.

The same goes with Clemens. We had him first. He won three unquestioned Cy Youngs and an MVP here. The steroid allegations, for what they're worth to me, simply cast doubt upon everything he has done since.

It's Not Your Fault: An Open Letter to Arlen Specter

Tom R — Sun, 09 Mar 2008 06:17:23 -0400

Dear Senator Specter,

It must be hard to be a sports fan in the city that booed Santa Claus. Trust me, I understand your pain.

Boston may not be a loser city anymore, but up until 2001 the only playoff taste I'd ever known was futility. My Celtics were the joke of the NBA. My Patriots were called "the Patsies." My Red Sox were mired in an eighty-some-odd year World Series drought that I'm sure you've heard too much about already. Even my high school teams were terrible.

So trust me, I know your pain. And trust me when I say this, it will get better. You might feel like all hope is lost, and you might feel bitter enough to lead a witch hunt against the Patriots, neglecting all your political duties in the process. But like Mick Jagger said, "you can't always get what you want."

The only thing you can do is accept your teams' failures and move on. Try to stay optimistic. It's the only way. Say it with me now. "It's not your fault."

Feels better, doesn't it? "It's not your fault." I don't know where I first heard that phrase, but it has helped me get through the three biggest disappointments of my life.

The first time had nothing to do with sports. It was Christmas of 1996. I was ten. Vacation had started too late that year, with school going right up to December 23.

I woke up Christmas morning, greeted by the webbed frost hanging in the corners of my windows, the whistling, high-pitched whine from the radiator, and the last red link from my construction paper Christmas countdown chain.

Finally, I'm getting a Nintendo 64, I thought, eagerly, about the video game console that I'd pined over during the many, many sleepless nights since Halloween.

I got some shirts, some baseball cards, some candy, and a book of scratch tickets. But no Nintendo 64. I wanted to cry until my tears filled my bedroom and drowned me in my misery. Life just wasn't worth living without a Nintendo 64.

Now I know that the memory of Donovan McNabb hunched over in the huddle, exhausted, trying to hold back the nervous regurgitate, as he prepares to mount a game winning drive must make you sick to your stomach. But "take a tip from me," as Brad Nowell said, "It all comes back to you, you bound to get what you deserve."

Karma is a funny thing. That Christmas day, when I didn't get what I wanted, did I complain to my parents, and act ungrateful for everything else they got me? Of course not. If I had done that, I never would've gotten what I wanted. Besides, I knew they tried. It just wasn't in the cards for me to get a Nintendo 64 that day.

And you know what? None of my friends got one either. There was nothing any of us could do. I said it then. "It's not your fault," and in doing so I embraced that truth, realizing that I wasn't alone in my misery. By the time spring came around, the rush on Nintendo 64s was over, and I finally got one.

The second great let-down was Game Seven of the 2003 ALCS. As you may recall, the Red Sox led heading into the eighth inning, with the greatest pitcher of his generation going on the mound. This was it. We were going to win the World Series. It all seemed inevitable.

My 80-year-old grandmother beamed, grinning from ear to ear like she might actually live to see them win one. My father and his uncles gripped the necks of their beers so tightly that the glass should have shattered into their palms. My mother paced in the dining room, itching to watch the game—but we wouldn't let her, because the powers that be had determined that she was bad luck whenever she entered the kitchen.

Then Grady Little decided to leave his balls in the dugout. Three innings and a walk-off Aaron #*%$ Boone home run later later, I was on the floor of my room, elbows hooked around my knees, telling myself, "It's not your fault."

I felt cheated. I wanted to strangle Grady Little, and then call the league and ask them to replay the game, this time without Pedro Martinez finishing the inning. The Yankees weren't supposed to win. 2003 was supposed to be the year that Nomar, Pedro, and Manny ended the drought.

Still, I knew there was nothing I could do. The game was over. We lost. Just like the Eagles lost in 2003.

There's no way you can change that, Senator. Sure, you can neglect your duty to the people of Pennsylvania and to the US senate, and pursue a witch hunt against the Patriots.

But what's the best case scenario you can hope for? Perhaps Roger Goodell sides with you, and takes away the Patriots' Super Bowl XXXIX Lombardi trophy in a noon press conference. He's still not going to give it to the Eagles. The game would simply be null and void, and the only thing you would have accomplished is making all of New England just as bitter as Philadelphia.

Either way, the Eagles didn't win. The only thing you can do is let it go. That's what we all did here in 2003. The Red Sox fired Grady Little, and we let it go. Because it wasn't our fault. The next year is now history.

The third great disappointment was a mere month ago. Call it karma for Spygate (by the way, the link included is absolutely hilarious in its ridiculousness), or for running up the score if you will. Or call it a choke. The Patriots missed out on the chance to be called the one of the greatest teams in the history of sports. And while it's still too soon for me to reminisce much about it, I can tell you that the result of the game was me nursing a bottle of Jim Beam, while trying to convince myself and my buddy Matt that it wasn't our fault, as he lay curled on the couch, sobbing both over the loss of perfection and over the subsequent 2,000 dollars worth of damage he caused to his apartment complex.

It's obviously too soon for me to tell how this one will work out. All I can say is that at least it was a good ride while it lasted.

I really don't have any parallels here for your situation, Senator. Instead, in closing, I'd just like thank you for distracting the Patriots the day before the Super Bowl.

You really didn't have to do that. You could easily have waited. What you did went above and beyond the senatorial call of duty. I commend you. Never again will we as sports fans ever have to worry about our teams losing games. Anytime our team is cheated, we know we can go to our sports senator and he will make it all better.

Whether it's Roger Clemens' steroid use before the 2003 ALCS, or the Eagles illegally discussing a contract with Asante Samuel before the NFL free agency began, we can write to our sports senator—and he will drop whatever he's doing, whether it has to do with the men and women dying in Iraq, the American housing crisis, or the stumbling US economy, and he will fight for us.

Oh yeah, and I can't forget to thank you Senator Specter, for giving me someone to blame for the Patriots' loss. I can finally say it now. "It's not your fault."

Sincerely,
8 AM Sports

The Hope for Banner 17: Gauging the Celtics Chances in 2008

Tom R — Wed, 20 Feb 2008 16:15:09 -0500

This time last year, the Boston Celtics were coming off the worst losing streak in franchise history.

For 18 consecutive games, as Paul Pierce sat on the bench, injured and disgruntled, a hodgepodge of could-bes, might-bes and never-will-bes had found new heights for futility. Doc Rivers and Danny Ainge were lampooned by local and national media, which almost unanimously called for their dismissals.

And just when season that was supposed to be dedicated to the late Red Auerbach couldn't seem to get much worse, another Celtic legend, the man Magic Johnson once called "the greatest back court defender of all time," Dennis Johnson, passed away suddenly at the age of 52.

It was the lowest of the low for the team synonymous with good luck, and for all of the fans that suffered alongside them. Then, a few unlucky ping pong ball bounces later, everything changed.

Realizing he wasn't going to get either of the stars he wanted in the draft, Danny Ainge acted quickly, trading first for Ray Allen, one of the best shooters in league history. Then, without giving up his prized young point guard, Rajon Rondo, he traded for future NBA Hall of Fame megastar, Kevin Garnett. Overnight the Celtics were back to being relevant.

The media dubbed the trio of stars headlining for the Celtics "The Big Three," and since then, the Celtics have exploded to the best record in the NBA, and the best Celtics' start since the last time a "Big Three" was in Boston. But while the Celtics' hot start is obviously the toast of the town in Boston right now, especially in lieu of the Patriots' recent collapse, it's hard not to wonder about the Celtics' actual chances come playoff time.

In order to find this out, I decided to search the blogosphere. In my travels, I came across two posts that address the chances for the Celtics to win a championship.

The first, on I've Made a Huge Tiny Mistake, is a post called "The Western Conference is a Tad Better Than Its Eastern Brethren ." The poster discusses the current and future superiority of the Western Conference in the NBA. In my response I mostly agree with his post, choosing only to elaborate more specifically on how the Celtics stack up against the West.

The second post I found, addresses whether the Celtics will be able to handle the rigors of the second half of their season. The post, by Andy Miller on Bleacher Report, is entitled, "Boston Celtics: Can They Survive the Second Half?" In my response to his post, I also agree with most of Miller's observations, and choose only to dispute his suggestion of the Celtics' need to earn the number one seed in the East. My responses to the comments can be found by clicking on the aforementioned links, but for your convenience I have also included them below.

I've Made a Huge Tiny Mistake: "The Western Conference is a Tad Better Than Its Easter Brethren"

I agree with you that the parity in the West shows its current superiority as a conference. Look no further than the Mark Stein’s NBA Power Rankings, and you can see that eight of his top ten teams in the league are Western Conference teams. John Hollinger’s Power Rankings are a little less Western biased, but I have trouble accepting them, because he stubbornly uses a formula so complicated Einstein might struggle to grasp it.

Still, I wonder how the two dominant teams in the East, Detroit and Boston, would stack up against the West. Detroit is obviously the more experienced of the two, having won the Championship in 2004, while the trio leading Boston has a combined zero Finals appearance.

That being said, I feel like this year Boston may have the better pieces to make it through the East (it’s hard to argue against three perennial superstars in the playoffs after all). Once they get to the Finals, however, it’s a different story.

As if the West weren’t already strong enough, the recent flurry of trades has only made it stronger. I would like nothing more than to see the Celtics fight their way through the East and win a Championship, so that all Boston fans can forget about the Patriots.

But, assuming the Celtics prove to be the best of the east and make it to the NBA Finals, I wonder how they will handle one of the Western teams with a dominant big man, teams such as Phoenix, Dallas, San Antonio, or Los Angeles.

It seems, from watching the Celtics play, that unless Kendrick Perkins can somehow stay out of foul trouble, they really have no one with the size to match up. Kevin Garnett is obviously a great defensive player, all time great even, and while he could probably stay with Dirk Nowitzki, or maybe Tim Duncan (with whom he has not had historical success), I have a hard time picturing him handling someone as strong as Shaquille O’Neal, Amare Stoudemire or Andrew Bynum.

You may recall the game earlier this season, when Dwight Howard pushed Garnett all over the floor, and Garnett was helpless to do much more than watch Howard dunk time and time again. I’m not saying that the Celtics can’t beat a team from the West.

After watching the Super Bowl, I’ll assume anything is possible. Moreover, given the absolute dogfight that’s sure to ensue in the Western Conference playoffs, the Celtics might even have a small advantage going in to the Finals.

Still, the Celtics certainly will have their work cut out for them against any of the elite Western Conference teams. And if they are truly the best of the East, then that means the rest of the East has an even tougher road ahead.

Bleacher Report: "Boston Celtics: Can They Survive the Second Half?"

If by trading the future, you mean trading away another ten years of mediocrity (assuming Al Jefferson continues to be Zach Randolph 2.0 and doesn't develop any sort of good low post defense), then yes the Celtics have mortgaged a lot for the current roster.

With that said, it's impossible for the Celtics to have much regret. The Celtics are as good, if not better than most of us could have imagined before this season started, and there is obviously a new buzz and atmosphere surrounding this team not seen since the original Big Three of Bird, Parish and McHale donned Celtic green.

Will they make it to the Championship? Maybe. But they'll have to go through a Detroit team that is just as good as they are, and either an Orlando team that presents obvious problems (Dwight Howard) for the Celtics, or a Cleveland team that LeBron James seems to will to win night in and night out. And that's not even addressing the Western Conference team they would face in the Finals.

Because in order to get there, most of your observations will need to prove true. Foremost they need some sort of veteran point guard. While Eddie House is a nice player, and provides scoring spark off the bench, I really can't stand to see him handle the point went Rajon Rondo goes out.

The Celtics need to bring in a veteran point guard like Sam Cassel or Jason Williams (I can't believe I'm calling "White Chocolate" a veteran point guard now, by the way). Kyle Lowry, as another responder already stated, is even younger (in NBA years) than Rondo, which means he is likely not the answer. After Danny (hopefully) finds a back up for Rondo, I believe the next two important things they need to do are stay healthy, which means limiting the Big Trio's minutes to under 38 per game, and keeping Brian "Veal" Scalabrine off the floor.

I don't know how much I can stress the need to keep Scal off the floor. He is flat out terrible, and as long as Leon Powe, Glen Davis, Kendrick Perkins, James Posey and Kevin Garnett still have air in their lungs, Scal should never, repeat never, step on the parquet.

The final point you make, which I have to dispute, is that the Celtics' need to capture the number one seed. Being the number one would definitely be beneficial, but I feel the risks outweigh the benefits. Sure, they'll get four games at home against Detroit instead of three, but as the two meetings between the teams this season have already shown, the Celtics can just as easily win in the Palace as the Pistons can win in the Garden.

So assuming they don't blow their ten game lead over Orlando, the only team the Celtics may not have home court advantage against is the Pistons. And the idea of them playing in the Palace does not worry me.

What does worry me, however, is the thought of them making a big push for the top seed, and wearing out Kevin Garnett and Ray Allen in the process. I'm sure both players will give everything they have come playoff time, but two things you can't change are age and injuries, and as of right now neither is on those players' side.

Therefore, unless the Celtics plan to unleash the Paul Pierce show, and fizzle out in the Conference finals ala 2002, it's in their best interest to keep the Big Trio healthy until playoff time.