Bleacher Seats Splinters

By: Rob Tanenbaum

As my passion and occupation, sports has been a dominant element in my life. Yet the transformation of sports from live entertainment to big business evaporates much of the joy.

Every sport has been affected by dollar signs. Every level of every sport suffers. It’s not just professional sports anymore. College sports are cancerous. International soccer is a shameful example of how money tarnishes athletics. The Olympics are a sham of individual and national cheating and have been since Hitler and Avery Brundage poisoned them in 1936. And high school and youth sports are being corrupted by money as well as overzealous parents looking to produce superstar kids and live off them.

As a fan, I remain seduced by the often-compelling human drama that often evolves. This spring’s Masters golf tournament is an example. I’m still hooked on baseball, European soccer and golf. But I rarely watch basketball, tennis and hockey anymore and I really hope to cast aside football.

My biggest gripe is with baseball. My attitude is that baseball should know better. It’s the team game that led the sports revolution in the 1920s when boxing and horse racing were the major competitions. Baseball gave us the World Series so America could always think it was best. Baseball gave us Jackie Robinson so America could always think it wasn’t racist. Baseball gave us numbers like 56 and 60 and 511 and 714 that became ingrained in Americana and set metrics for our lives well before we knew the word “metrics.”

Now what does baseball give us? Mostly cheaters. Yes, there were cheaters 100 years ago too. The pitchers threw spitballs. The batters altered their bats. The runners sharpened their metal spikes. But those were insider deceptions and the players governed themselves — mostly by pitchers throwing beanballs or an occasional free-for-all fracas on the field.

Today’s cheaters alter their bodies and dishonor the game, its numbers and themselves. And, of course, they could care less. They still get more money each year than most of us see in a lifetime.

The most recent cheater to be unmasked is Dee Gordon. South Florida baseball fans, no matter whom they root for, know him well. He plays second base for the Miami Marlins. We all were so proud of him on the last day of last season when he beat out bad-boy superstar Bryce Harper for the National League batting championship, Yes, Dee, the son of major league pitcher Tom Gordon from Avon Park, FL, which is about two hours away by car, took performance enhancing drugs (PEDs) so that his 170-pound body was strong enough to win a batting title. Then he signed a $50 million contract during the off-season and, having scored the big money, foolishly continued to cheat, thinking he couldn’t get caught.

Gordon, in reality, ain’t so stupid. He’ll be docked a pittance for the standard 80-game suspension. Current major leaguers Nelson Cruz, Jhonny Peralta, Melky Cabrera and Bartolo Colon also signed enormous contracts after being outed as PED-users. When Gordon returns to the Marlins lineup on or after July 28, he’ll be greeted as a hero as were Alex Rodriguez, Barry Bonds, Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa, all among the large group of superstar cheaters.

The baseball owners and the union talk a good game about stamping out cheating but, in fact, they condone it, allowing these players in the game and a path to the Baseball Hall of Fame. Baseball also offers a convenient excuse for the players to cheat. Did you realize that baseball squeezes each team’s 162-game schedule into a 183-day date range? And the scheduling also includes many multiple-time-zone road trips without a day off. Man, doesn’t your heart bleed for these entitled brats – especially considering that the average baseball salary today is above $4 million?

This situation of cheating-pays is going to get far worse in sports. In fact, it’s already a disaster in pro football. Who’s going to do something about it? The players and owners? No way. They’re making too much easy money. The government? Well, Congress has stuck its nose in big business sports in the past but just enough so be repelled by the hideous odor and duck into a dark corner.

There’s only one group that can save sports from itself and it’s you and me. Enough fans have to be a Howard Beale and raise the window and shout, “I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take it anymore.” Enough fans have to stop going to games, watching games on cable or buying licensed gear so the money- grabbing Ivy-educated MBAs and lawyers in the Commissioner’s office and the sports networks get the message.

The odds of that happening are greater than me taking PEDs and winning a batting title. Yet, if such a grassroots movement of angry, aware fans was started, I promise you I’d be the first to join. Passion be damned.

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