Robservations: Daring to defend Sammy
There are 750 major league baseball players in the United States.
And now, there seem to be 750 million fingers being pointed at one of them.
Sammy Sosa was ejected from Tuesday night’s game against the Tampa Bay Devil Rays, after he was found to have used a corked bat.
Is it illegal to use a corked bat? Of course it is. Will it draw a suspension from the league offices? Most likely. Will it tarnish the reputation of one of the best sluggers playing today? Without a doubt.
Was it a mistake, as Sosa says it was, and does your friendly neighborhood sports columnist have the guts to defend him? Absolutely.
Two years ago, on opening day of the 2001 season, I had the chance to make my first trip to Wrigley Field. Since we wanted to experience as much of “The Friendly Confines” as possible, myself and my friends arrived at the park hours ahead of the scheduled game time.
Among the many aspects of pre-game at Wrigley we experienced was, naturally, a trip to Waveland Avenue to try and retrieve a batting practice home run ball.
While out on the street, you could sense the heightened excitement as Sosa came into the cage for his turn at bat. And although No. 21 sent several souvenirs into the front yards of the apartment buildings across the street from the left field bleachers, you could tell when he failed to leave the yard by the scattered boos cascading down from the bleachers.
Imagine the boost to your ego it must be to be listed as one of the game’s greatest power hitters. Then imagine the pressure it must heap on you when it is expected — almost demanded, in fact — that you hit the longball every time you step to the dish.
Wouldn’t you want to put on a show for the fans during BP? Wouldn’t you try to send balls out of that park like missiles headed for Lake Michigan? With all that pressure to perform, wouldn’t you consider taking a shortcut that might help you give the BP fans a thrill?
Well, that’s exactly what Sosa said he did. He freely admitted he had a corked bat, that he used for batting practice, and he accidentally grabbed it before heading to the plate Tuesday night.
On Wednesday, Major League Baseball officials had 76 of Sosa’s bats examined by X-ray, and found that not one of them — not one — contained any cork. The baseball Hall of Fame, which has several items of Sosa memorabilia including five bats, did the same, and also found “no evidence of cork or other materials banned by Major League Baseball.”
To this point, no evidence has been found that Sosa ever used a corked bat before Tuesday night. He admits he made a mistake Tuesday, and (to use some legalese I picked up on jury duty this spring) nothing has been introduced to impeach the credibility of his testimony.
Yes, Sosa broke the rules of the game. But before you go labeling him a career cheater, or screaming for bans from the game, the Hall of Fame, or anything else, ask yourself this.
What if it was you? What if you made one mistake, and suddenly thousands of “experts” were ready to nail you to the wall for it? What if you were one of the most respected members of your profession one minute, and its biggest laughing stock the next?
Would you stand up like a man and take your punishment, or would you look for a rock to climb under? Because Sosa, by all indications, is readily admitting he screwed up, and ready to accept whatever penance he has to pay to baseball, and to its fans.
And if he’s willing to do that, all those finger-pointers should be willing to accept that punishment, and put a cork in all these accusations.