Waiting for the Mitchell report
Wednesday morning, I started reading the story on the George Mitchell report due out Thursday on baseball’s steroids investigation. Then I stopped reading. I realized I didn’t care. Didn’t care what that story said, didn’t care what the report revealed.
Just don’t care. I’d like to care. I once cared. But I don’t care now. My sports editor called Wednesday and asked if I wanted to write about the Mitchell report when it was released. I said I would if he wanted me to, but I had no desire. I just don’t care.
I wonder if America cares. Barry Bonds is the all-time home run leader and he did it by juicing up. I know it, you know it, everyone knows it. And he was not alone. He wasn’t even in a small minority. Tons of guys did the same thing. The records have been compromised. The game has been compromised. But you can’t put the genie back in the bottle, and you can’t make me care.
Baseball history? Forget about it
Last night, at least I remembered the game was on. I flipped over somewhere around 10 p.m., after “The Wonder Years,” to get an update on Barry Bonds and the Giants, checking to see if Home Run 756 might be upcoming.
In previous days, I hadn’t even remembered the game was on. Bonds hit No. 755 Saturday night without me even turning on the TV. I’m not boycotting. I’m not protesting. I’m just not remembering.
I can remember spring 1974, when Henry Aaron bore down on Babe Ruth. The historic 715th came on a Monday night, with NBC cameras providing a rare live, mid-week telecast. We had a church function, and in 1974 there wasn’t a lot of discussion about whether to go. I missed the first half of the 1972 OU-Penn State Sugar Bowl and the 1973 season Notre Dame-Alabama national title game because of church stuff. No VCR. No TiVo. No debate.
And that night when Aaron hit 715, I was all aquiver, which I guess you get more of when you’re 13. While others at the church on North Findlay in Norman were praying for souls or rain or some other cause worthy of Jeremiah, I was praying that Aaron would delay his assault on history. I wanted to see it.
Fast forward 33 years, and I can watch history any time I want to. And apparently I don’t want to.
Is it the steroids? Baseball’s fallen status? Barry Bonds’ personality? All of the above, I suppose.
I don’t know. I just know I’d rather see a Conference USA football game than baseball history being made. I’d rather see the Orlando Magic play the Golden State Warriors in a November NBA game than Tom Glavine pitch for his 300th win, another milestone I flipped past over the weekend. I’d rather close my eyes and daydream about the soon arrival of the NFL than watch Baseball Tonight.
I love baseball history. If you want to keep up with me on baseball smarts, you’d better bone up on the Baseball Encyclopedia and fast. I like to study baseball history. I like to read baseball history. But apparently, I just don’t want to watch it. Not anymore.
Tell you what. Someone send me an email tonight when Bonds is about to bat. Maybe I’ll be online and can be reminded to flip over. Unless “The Wonder Years” is on.
