David Ortiz: No Surprises, Only Disappointment

Apparently, Curt Schilling’s sock has company, as it no longer is the only famous entity to turn out bloody in Boston.  David Ortiz’s legacy and the Red Sox 2004 World Series title that meant so much to so many has suddenly cuddled up in the same red-stained bed of adulteration.

Chew on these highlights for a few minutes: five-time All Star; five top-five MVP finishes; four-time Silver Slugger Award winner; 2004 ALCS MVP; five straight seasons with at least 30 homers and 100 RBIs; first player ever in Red Sox history to hit 40 homers in three consecutive seasons; two-time World Series champion; one of three players ever to record 85 or more extra-base hits for four consecutive seasons (Lou Gehrig and Sammy Sosa are others).

Get a good long whiff of that nice list there?  Okay, now find the closest fire pit, douse that baby in kerosene, and set a match to it.  It no longer means anything.  That’s what happens after a storied slugger turns out to be just another sad name in a long line of steroid users.

With the New York Times reporting on Thursday that David Ortiz tested positive for steroids in 2003 with then-teammate Manny Ramirez, the cult that his sweet swing and gregarious personality built up so high in Boston has all but crumbled.  According to Michael Schmidt’s report in the Times , Ortiz’s name is on the list of the 100 or so players that tested positive for steroids in ’03, a list that was supposed to remain anonymous.

Surprising?  Not at all.  Not with the way the game has taken shape in the last 15 years, and not when it seems like a new potential Hall of Famer is coming up dirty every week now.  We have Roger, Barry, Sosa, A-Rod, Big Mac, Palmeiro, Manny, and now Ortiz.  Oh, I’m sure more will follow.

But this isn’t about steroids in baseball, because that topic has been beaten to death.  We know the drill, we know how muddy things have gotten, and now everybody has to deal with it a way that they deem fit.  You ask 100 different baseball fans how they feel about steroids and their current place in the game, and you will get 100 different answers.  That’s how this thing works.

Ortiz’s positive test is something a little bigger because it reflects on a part of history that is astronomically larger than his own name.  You can count his former teammate Ramirez in this group, too.  Ortiz not only tarnished his own name and legacy, but he also added his own sour flavor to the most beloved piece of Red Sox history: the ’04 title that officially broke the “Curse of the Bambino.”  It took 86 years for the Red Sox to win that damn thing, and it took one (two, if we count Manny) tests for me to see it differently.

The story is sad enough when it is only about Ortiz himself.  Here is a guy who was hard to dislike.  It was hard to dislike him because of his huge smile, happy-go-lucky ways of life, and his rags-to-riches story.  He became a larger-than-life hero to the people of Boston and a testament of hope to young players facing steep uphill climbs to big league success.  He became Big Papi.

If you don’t already know Ortiz’s full story, it’s a good one.  He was signed by the Seattle Mariners in 1992 as an amateur free agent out of the Dominican Republic.  Known as "David Arias" at the time, Ortiz was shipped to the Minnesota Twins as the player to be named later in a deal that brought Dave Hollins to the Northwest.

He made his big league debut in September ’97, but bounced back and forth between the big leagues and the minors.  His best season with the Twins was in 2002 when Ortiz hit .272 with 20 homers, but much of his time in Minneapolis was spent battling injuries.  Wrist injuries in ’98 and ’01 haunted him, and knee problems began early in the ’02 season, and that was that.  The Twins brass gave up on Ortiz’s career and future, and released him in December 2002.

The Red Sox jumped at the chance of signing him in January of the following year, and the legend of Big Papi was born.  After signing with Boston, Ortiz quickly saw his home run totals jump from 20 in ’02 to 31, 41, 47, 54, and 35 in the next five seasons.  In ’03, he just got his playoff feet wet, as Boston was bounced from the ALCS by the Yankees thanks to Aaron Boone and one hanging knuckleball from Tim Wakefield.

The following season was the coming out party, capped by the magnificent postseason run.  It was the peak for Ortiz and the Red Sox, a time when everyone got drunk on his late-night heroics and Boston’s October glory.  That October was a glorious one in Boston, and you know the story.  Down 3-0 to the hated Yankees in the ALCS, only to pull off the single greatest playoff series comeback in sports history.

That was the series that Ortiz etched his name in the annals of Red Sox lore and the same series that the air of invincibility surrounding Yankees’ closer Mariano Rivera was wiped out by the big slugger himself.  Ortiz had a walk-off hit against Rivera in Boston to go along with a walk-off homer in the same series, and was named the ALCS MVP after hitting .545 with a 1.688 OPS.

A swift sweep of the St. Louis Cardinals later, and life was different in Boston.  Life was different in the entire baseball world.  The Red Sox were no longer October’s stepchild.  If Luis Gonzalez’s Game 7 single to win the ’01 World Series was deemed a fluke, and Josh Beckett’s series-clinching complete game in Game 6 of the ’03 World Series didn’t officially end the Yankee dynasty, this October certainly did.  That’s how huge all of this was.

You had a sea change in New England.  You had the elderly kissing their grand children and telling them that the thought they would never, ever, ever see the Red Sox win a title in their life times.  You had adults with lots of life left to live proclaiming that they could now die and they would be in peace because their Sox won it all.  And Big Papi was at the epicenter of that madness and the transformation of Boston’s psyche from haunted losers to "there is a God" believers.

But, as we look back today, at what cost?  It was obvious that Ortiz felt his time with Boston was his last chance to make something of his big league career.  It all adds up perfectly.  Released from the Twins in ’02, signed with the Red Sox in January 2003, and then tests positive that same year.  He was a lost man fighting the burning urgency that is desperation.

"I know that if I test positive by using any kind of substance, I know that I'm going to disrespect my family, the game, the fans and everybody, and I don't want to be facing that situation,” Ortiz said earlier this year.  That situation is here, David.

I would like to think back to 2004 and remember Schilling, Pedro, and Keith Foulke gloving that comebacker that was one toss to first away from being the play in Red Sox history.  But now we have to fight a little bit harder—or a lot harder—to do that.

We could quickly write Ortiz off as just another cheater, which many fans will do.  And that’s fine.  But in the larger picture, it’s not that simple because it’s not just one man’s name on the line.  Ask any Bostonian, any Red Sox lifer, and they will probably tell you that this one means so much more.

You can reach Teddy Mitrosilis at [e-mail].