Monday, October 23, 2006
The Conflicting Legacies of Ken Caminiti and Rafael Palmeroid
Originally posted May 16, 2006
During the Great Homerun Race of 1998, Gary Smith of Sports Illustrated wrote a remarkable story about his journey through three cities in three days; three ballgames involving the three leaders in their historic quest for 62. It was kismet; late-July’s Game 1 featured Mark McGwire’s 43rd homerun of the season, as well as the unheralded Greg Vaughn’s 35th; Game 2 the next night in Tampa Bay was the setting for Ken Griffey Jr’s 40th, well ahead of the pack in the American League; but Sammy Sosa’s 37th in Chicago a night later was the cream of the crop: the article opens with a picture from this game of the author, smiling and pumping his fist from the stands of Wrigley Field as two of the Cubs faithful wrestle over their hometown-hero’s HR ball not three feet from him. A perfect story; the kind of story that becomes an instant highlight in a baseball-writer’s career. Years later, of course, when steroid allegations are leveled against two of the four participants (and probably, rightfully, a third), Smith wrote another article about the diminishing of his memories due to this rampant cheating, the disappointment of not being able to relive that time with the same sheer joy that he had as he covered it. Smith seemed angry, but more than that he seemed heartbroken.
It is that same way in which I remember Ken Caminiti. The former San Diego Padres MVP was the greatest Third Baseman I’ve ever seen to this day; the switch-hitter hit homeruns from each side of the plate in the same game 10 times, 3 of those in a four-game span; he once threw out a batter, FROM HIS BACK, after falling while making a stop at the hot corner; during his MVP year, battling dehydration, he famously pulled the IV out of his arm just before game-time, devoured a Snickers bar, and then bombed 2 HR against the Mets. He was also the first big-leaguer to speak out on steroids, confessing that that MVP season was directly attributable to the drugs. Though he died in 2004 at the age of 41, and he was, by all accounts, a degenerate drug and alcohol abuser by the time his playing career ended, those same accounts paint Caminiti as an extremely likable guy; I can’t find any even anecdotal evidence that his personal problems produced conflict with anyone other than himself.
Juxtapose that with the saga of Rafael Palmeroid: one of 4 players in Major League History to have garnered 3000 hits and 500 homeruns, "Raffy" was hung out to dry in 2005 by the greedheads at the MLB head-office, who already had a positive steroid sample from Palmeriod but waited to announce the results until after his 3000th hit, making an example of the man who famously testified with a pointed finger to congress that he had never taken drugs, "period." Sympathy poured in for the quiet, unassuming Palmeroid; excuses were made for him, as he had neither the build nor the gaudy numbers one associates with steroid-use...but then the wheels fell off. Palmeroid changed his statement so that it read that he never knowingly took steroids; he fingered the well-respected Miguel Tejada as the culprit for his positive test while attempting to wriggle out from under the thumb of MLB; the resultant boos he received upon his return from the mandatory (and laughable) 10-game suspension were met with ear-plugs duct-taped into his ear as some sort of misguided "I’m not listening" message to the jilted fans. This first-ballot Hall of Famer at the end of 2004 was sent home in disgrace before 2005 had ended, disappearing from the public eye since.
Watching Caminiti play was exciting, while watching Palmeroid was not, so I am biased...but so what? Though Caminiti’s story is most certainly a cautionary tale, as well as an horrifically tragic one, despite the entirety of the blame falling squarely on his own shoulders, he will be remembered as both a hero in San Diego and the man who first opened his mouth on what is now known as The Steroid Era; Palmeroid, the quiet "superstar" who amassed historic numbers in a respectful, headline-free manner will be remembered conversely as a cheat, a liar, and an all-around bad guy, deservedly or not. And though neither of these disgraced players are to emulated, obviously, Caminiti was the one-time hero who attempted, too late, to make up for his sins through confession, while Palmeroid was the rat who tried to save himself while blaming everyone else for his own doings; Caminiti’s peaks where every bit as high as his valleys, whereas Palmeroid only found the lights of fame by attempting to remain hidden.
Caminiti is still one of only two current or ex-ballplayers who has ever discussed steroid use with candor, and the only one who didn‘t look to capitalize financially on it (unlike a certain former MVP, who tried to parlay this information into another Major League job before writing his "tell-all" book); yes, he waited until he was no longer employable; yes, he was unapologetic about said steroid-use; yes, he was a cheat...but he did shatter the long-standing myth that ballplayers weren’t doing steroids, and he was straightforward and honest about it. Palmeroid, unfortunately for him, was not, and has paid the price for it; his near-invisible career has carried through to his retirement, and he will be remembered as a cheat with fictional-numbers; he might still speak up one day, but the belief here is that if he does, it will only be to dig himself a deeper hole while vying for his "spot" in the Hall of Fame.
So, out of this story comes two legacies, though only one, surprisingly, worth remembering.
¶ 2:34 PM
During the Great Homerun Race of 1998, Gary Smith of Sports Illustrated wrote a remarkable story about his journey through three cities in three days; three ballgames involving the three leaders in their historic quest for 62. It was kismet; late-July’s Game 1 featured Mark McGwire’s 43rd homerun of the season, as well as the unheralded Greg Vaughn’s 35th; Game 2 the next night in Tampa Bay was the setting for Ken Griffey Jr’s 40th, well ahead of the pack in the American League; but Sammy Sosa’s 37th in Chicago a night later was the cream of the crop: the article opens with a picture from this game of the author, smiling and pumping his fist from the stands of Wrigley Field as two of the Cubs faithful wrestle over their hometown-hero’s HR ball not three feet from him. A perfect story; the kind of story that becomes an instant highlight in a baseball-writer’s career. Years later, of course, when steroid allegations are leveled against two of the four participants (and probably, rightfully, a third), Smith wrote another article about the diminishing of his memories due to this rampant cheating, the disappointment of not being able to relive that time with the same sheer joy that he had as he covered it. Smith seemed angry, but more than that he seemed heartbroken.
It is that same way in which I remember Ken Caminiti. The former San Diego Padres MVP was the greatest Third Baseman I’ve ever seen to this day; the switch-hitter hit homeruns from each side of the plate in the same game 10 times, 3 of those in a four-game span; he once threw out a batter, FROM HIS BACK, after falling while making a stop at the hot corner; during his MVP year, battling dehydration, he famously pulled the IV out of his arm just before game-time, devoured a Snickers bar, and then bombed 2 HR against the Mets. He was also the first big-leaguer to speak out on steroids, confessing that that MVP season was directly attributable to the drugs. Though he died in 2004 at the age of 41, and he was, by all accounts, a degenerate drug and alcohol abuser by the time his playing career ended, those same accounts paint Caminiti as an extremely likable guy; I can’t find any even anecdotal evidence that his personal problems produced conflict with anyone other than himself.
Juxtapose that with the saga of Rafael Palmeroid: one of 4 players in Major League History to have garnered 3000 hits and 500 homeruns, "Raffy" was hung out to dry in 2005 by the greedheads at the MLB head-office, who already had a positive steroid sample from Palmeriod but waited to announce the results until after his 3000th hit, making an example of the man who famously testified with a pointed finger to congress that he had never taken drugs, "period." Sympathy poured in for the quiet, unassuming Palmeroid; excuses were made for him, as he had neither the build nor the gaudy numbers one associates with steroid-use...but then the wheels fell off. Palmeroid changed his statement so that it read that he never knowingly took steroids; he fingered the well-respected Miguel Tejada as the culprit for his positive test while attempting to wriggle out from under the thumb of MLB; the resultant boos he received upon his return from the mandatory (and laughable) 10-game suspension were met with ear-plugs duct-taped into his ear as some sort of misguided "I’m not listening" message to the jilted fans. This first-ballot Hall of Famer at the end of 2004 was sent home in disgrace before 2005 had ended, disappearing from the public eye since.
Watching Caminiti play was exciting, while watching Palmeroid was not, so I am biased...but so what? Though Caminiti’s story is most certainly a cautionary tale, as well as an horrifically tragic one, despite the entirety of the blame falling squarely on his own shoulders, he will be remembered as both a hero in San Diego and the man who first opened his mouth on what is now known as The Steroid Era; Palmeroid, the quiet "superstar" who amassed historic numbers in a respectful, headline-free manner will be remembered conversely as a cheat, a liar, and an all-around bad guy, deservedly or not. And though neither of these disgraced players are to emulated, obviously, Caminiti was the one-time hero who attempted, too late, to make up for his sins through confession, while Palmeroid was the rat who tried to save himself while blaming everyone else for his own doings; Caminiti’s peaks where every bit as high as his valleys, whereas Palmeroid only found the lights of fame by attempting to remain hidden.
Caminiti is still one of only two current or ex-ballplayers who has ever discussed steroid use with candor, and the only one who didn‘t look to capitalize financially on it (unlike a certain former MVP, who tried to parlay this information into another Major League job before writing his "tell-all" book); yes, he waited until he was no longer employable; yes, he was unapologetic about said steroid-use; yes, he was a cheat...but he did shatter the long-standing myth that ballplayers weren’t doing steroids, and he was straightforward and honest about it. Palmeroid, unfortunately for him, was not, and has paid the price for it; his near-invisible career has carried through to his retirement, and he will be remembered as a cheat with fictional-numbers; he might still speak up one day, but the belief here is that if he does, it will only be to dig himself a deeper hole while vying for his "spot" in the Hall of Fame.
So, out of this story comes two legacies, though only one, surprisingly, worth remembering.
¶ 2:34 PM
