Rick Ankiel was a young man in 2000 when he faced veteran Greg Maddux in Major League Baseball's playoffs. Ankiel was an up-and-coming pitcher at the time, considered by many a future superstar for the St. Louis Cardinals. Maddux? He was already a surefire Hall-of-Famer with the Atlanta Braves who made his name on the ability to control a baseball and throw it through a lifesaver time and time again.
Considering his control, what happened to Ankiel that night was one of the great ironies in baseball history, as Ankiel lost the ability to throw a strike during the third inning, walking four batters, throwing five wild pitches and allowing two hits before he was removed against the greatest puppet master baseball has ever known.
His playoff start a disaster, his career as a pitcher was effectively over: not because the St. Louis Cardinals gave up on him but because he couldn't get the curse of Greg Maddux out of his system, and was never again able to consistently throw strikes. He spent a small amount of time wandering in the wilderness until he decided to quit pitching and focus on becoming an outfielder; and he did just that, in time even managing to slug his way through the minor leagues of baseball. Eventually, he made his return to major league competition as an outfielder where he defied all odds by belting homerun after homerun, leading some to compare him to Robert Redford's Roy Hobbs in "The Natural," except that Ankiel was anything but - his use of Human Growth Hormone was revealed, shattering his image and breaking the hearts of those who followed his comeback over the years.
Let's get behind the ball before we throw it through the cut-off man, shall we? I love the game of baseball almost as much as I enjoy great conversation, good people, history and literature. While baseball is less than those loves, it is still a love, and love is love - although it has been a rather trying love.
See, I never fell into the spell that baseball fans fell into in 1998 or 2001, with regard to hulking monsters mashing. For one, I'm a man who prizes pitching above all; for another, I knew that something was wrong when people were doing what only Babe Ruth had ever done before as if it were an easy feat, but as every other fan pretended that it was all acceptable, I stewed until I began to view baseball's steroid era as a shameful microcosm of modern American society.
Barry Bonds, for instance, is a great tragic figure: he loathed steroid use, when they began to take over baseball, but after his excellent 1998 season was ignored because Sosa and McGwire had their drug-addled race, he felt the pressure to super-size himself and did, in much the same manner that many Americans believe they must super-size their meals or their cars. Bonds' tragedy raises questions about society's impact on human beings. How much do we owe to society and at what cost to ourselves? If the public relegates our achievements to the dustbin of modern unconsciousness, what do we do? And when we find ourselves mortified by the actions of those whom we hold dear, where do we go? Do we go?
Why do people allow their peers to dictate their lives? Their work? Why do people turn away from what they know is wrong because of the source - player on their favorite baseball team, their country, their God, their older brother? At what price does loyalty come?
In trying to understand these questions, I've spoken to old fans of the game and asked, "You've witnessed the lustful steroid era. The greedy, perverted cancellation of the World Series. And yet, you're still a fan of the game. What will it take to break your love?"
He said to me, "What will it take to break yours? To ruin your faith? To destroy the game for you?"
I told him that I don't know, and I still don't. I can't be the only one.
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