Drugs And the New Age of Presumed Guilt

I read with both interest and disappointment the recent developments in the story of Jordan Schafer, a top minor leaguer for the Atlanta Braves.

For those who are unaware, Schafer was the No. 1 prospect in the Atlanta Braves system when he was hit last year with a 50-game suspension for the suspected use of human growth hormone.

Schafer recently broke his silence on the subject, saying that he never tested positive for HGH, but adding, “I know that I deserved what I got.”

Major League Baseball reportedly levied the suspension based on “anecdotal evidence” discovered by its new Department of Investigations.

When the suspension was handed down last year, Schafer told the Atlanta Journal-Constitution, “I’m stuck in a spot where I have to say 'no comment' and move on…It’s more complicated than people think.”

The case was noteworthy because it was the first suspension handed down as a result of the Department of Investigations.

Since Schafer was the Braves’ No. 1 prospect, he hadn’t tested positive, and his comments then and now have done nothing to shed any light on the circumstances. The issue is certainly interesting.

Fan comments don’t show much sympathy for the 22-year-old Schafer. The consensus seems to be that if he believes the suspension was warranted, in the same breath that he says he never failed a drug test, then he must be guilty of something.

What’s disturbing, though, is a growing trend of doubt and disbelief for any player that jumps onto the scene like Schafer did.

In 2006, he batted .240 in Class A ball and was ranked No. 27 in the Braves’ system. He then led all minor league players in hits in 2007, batting .312 and rocketing to the top of the Braves’ prospect list.

In retrospect, fan comments imply that just to make that sort of climb, Schafer must have been on something. To go from player to prospect, or prospect to stud, is to invite suspicion nowadays. To make the transition rapidly is tantamount to a guilty verdict.

That is the most shameful result of BALCO, the Mitchell Report, and the Drug Era in general. Once upon a time, fans enjoyed the story of a player who worked hard, put in the extra practice time, demonstrated a passion for the game, and became a star.

Now, the presumption is that a player who rises quickly must be doping, blinded by money, casting a black mark on the game. After those who were found to have used drugs and so many more who have been implicated, it seems anyone who achieves some measure of success is guilty by association.

Don’t get me wrong, I am not a romantic who longs for the days of fairy tales, role models, and players who spent their entire career with one team. I’m a realist; I’ve worked in baseball for the better part of 16 years, and I run a team now.

I know players have used drugs for years, and some continue to do so today. But when a player hit a home run years ago, we used to marvel at how far it went. Now, we wonder what he took to make it go so far.

And that is more damaging to the game than any news story or any broken record. We’ve allowed our collective thinking to shift to presumed guilt, and we’ve allowed success (especially rapidly achieved success) to become the equivalent of a positive drug test.