The Boston Globe
March 18, 2005
FORT MYERS, Fla. -- Say it ain't so, Mark. Or say it is so. Just answer the question. And don't consult with your lawyer before answering.
At the end of baseball's dark day on Capitol Hill yesterday, Mark McGwire was forever tarnished in the eyes of the nation. He would not answer questions about his alleged involvement with steroids. We'll never look at him the same way.
We live in a wonderful country governed by perhaps the most perfect document in the history of mankind. One of our constitutional laws allows an individual to refuse to answer questions on the grounds he may incriminate himself. Lawyers often advise clients to take the Fifth and doing so is not an admission of guilt.
But the court of public opinion is another matter and yesterday, on a day when Sammy Sosa, Rafael Palmeiro, and Frank Thomas testified before Congress and emphatically denied using steriods, McGwire refused to answer the question.
In his opening statement, McGwire cried. He offered condolences to families who lost children to steroids. He offered to help the committee. He said he would dedicate himself to the problem. He said he would direct his foundation to educate children about the dangers of performance-enhancing drugs. He said all the right things and did what his lawyers wanted him to do.
He still looked dirty.
"My lawyers have advised me that I cannot answer any questions without jeopardizing my friends, my family, and myself," said McGwire. "I intend to follow their advice."
It sounded evasive. Transparently off topic. This wasn't about McGwire's friends, family, or teammates. It was about McGwire and his refusal to address the most fundamental question of the day -- Did you use steroids?
"Asking me or any other player to answer questions about who took steroids, in front of television cameras, will not solve the problem," McGwire said. "If a player answers `no,' he simply will not be believed. If he answers `yes,' he risks public scorn and endless government investigation."
Immediately after McGwire's opening statement, Palmeiro stared at the committee, pointed his finger, and said, "Let me start by telling you this: I have never used steroids. Period. I do not know how to say it any more clearly than that. Never."
The contrast was startling. And fair or unfair, many of us looked at the sequence and concluded, There you go. McGwire cheated. Palmeiro didn't.
Later, when committee members asked questions, McGwire evaded all direct queries with, "I'm here to talk about the positive and not the negative . . . I'm not here to talk about the past."
Wouldn't we all love that? . . . Bank robbers? . . . Enron executives? . . . Martha Stewart? Is McGwire going to want to talk about the past when he becomes eligible for the Hall of Fame? When we all talk about his 70-home run season in 1998? And why should young people listen to an ex-ballplayer who says he wants to help clean up baseball when that same ex-ballplayer won't answer questions about his involvement (or non-involvement) with steroids?
Sosa, like Palmeiro, flatly denied using steroids. Perhaps Sosa committed perjury and figures no one will ever be able to prove anything. Or maybe he's telling the truth. Either way, it doesn't help McGwire today. Seven years after their dramatic home run chase, Sosa and McGwire took their hits in the Rayburn Building. Sosa denied cheating. McGwire took the Fifth. You don't need to watch "Baseball Tonight" to conclude which slugger won yesterday's duel. Sosa, perhaps using the verbal equivalent of a corked bat, hit one out of the park. McGwire struck out.
Plenty of other things came out of yesterday's interminable proceeding. Curt Schilling delivered an impassioned opening statement that threatened to become the first fillibuster in the history of congressional hearings. Schilling became the go-to guy for the committee. Several congressmen noted Schilling was delivering answers that made him sound like a politician. Watching Schilling roll his eyes when Jose Canseco answered questions was also a treat. Schilling was particularly strong in his attack on Canseco. He referred to Canseco as a "so-called author," and a "disgrace." He called Canseco's book "an attempt to make money at the expense of others."
We could have done with a little less fawning by some committee members, who at times sounded like baseball groupies. They didn't get their claws out until Bud Selig, Donald Fehr, and friends answered questions as the hearing stretched past the dinner hour.
As expected, Canseco was predictably ridiculous. He said he hadn't slept in four days (though McGwire was the one who looked alarmingly sleepless). He said steroids were bad for young people. Attempting to appear thoughtful and sympathetic after his unconscionable literary effort, Canseco contradicted just about everything in his book. Kudos to South Boston Congressman Stephen Lynch (who sounds alarmingly like Al Pacino) for calling Canseco on his blatant hypocrisy. Canseco fell back on the old Rick Pitino "that's how I felt then" explanation.
But it was the lawyered-up McGwire who was the big loser yesterday. His resume is tarnished. His Hall of Fame candidacy is suddenly questionable. The 1998 home run chase has been reduced to some phony steel-cage match involving artificially inflated cartoon characters.
Feels like we were duped. Sure wish Barry Bonds had been up there with them.
Dan Shaughnessy is a Globe columnist. His e-mail address is dshaughnessy@globe.com.
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