Most players like McGwire who get on the ballot for the Hall of Fame and are not inducted during their first year of eligibility (unlike the Tony Gwynns and Cal Ripkens of the world) tend to follow a fairly similar pattern. They start off with a relatively low percentage of the vote, generally in the 10 to 20 percent range, then steadily gain a few percentage points each year. Every once in a while, a little jump comes, and then finally, some time after a decade or more on the ballot, the player finally garners enough support to be inducted. Look at the paths of guys like Bruce Sutter, or this year's inductee (non-Rickey division), Jim Rice.
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I think he was largely a one-dimensional player. And there is overwhelming evidence that his power was achieved, at least partially, through artificial and illegal enhancement. Now, I don't disagree with Mr. McAdam that McGwire was, in, all likelihood, an ingester of steroids.
But a one-dimensional player? McGwire actually played very good defense at first base, though later in his career his range in the field was hampered by leg injuries. That said, he won a Gold Glove in 1990, and was a solid fielder in his early years. He didn't steal bases, but his career on-base percentage was.394 (Gwynn's was.388). His batting average may have only been.263, but to characterize him as one-dimensional is to ignore both his on-base skills and solid glove work. We all know why McGwire isn't in the Hall of Fame. It begins and ends with the steroids.
What is kind of sad in all of this is that McGwire is being set up as the sacrifice for the steroid era. So many of the other heroes from that time have simply fallen off the map; only Bighead Barry Bonds, Roger Clemens and McGwire are still mentioned regularly. Clemens would probably be okay if he would have just shut up and gone away; now he has permanently damaged his reputation and legacy far worse than ever could have been done without his participation.
McGwire has disappeared from public life, yet he is still the man who stuttered 'Steroids is, is bad,' in front of Congress and refused to just tell us all that he was wrong, that they were all wrong, that the whole era was wrong. Barry Bonds, I think, will provide a fascinating test case in a few years. Bonds is probably the only player even more deeply identified with the steroid era than McGwire, yet I have the sneaking suspicion that he will get into the Hall anyway, and probably without a whole lot of trouble. I hear too many writers and analysts and just baseball people in general talking about how he was clearly a Hall of Fame player even before steroid use came along. Somehow the seemingly clear fact that he cheated just as blatantly and consistently as McGwire or anyone else doesn't matter; we're just going to sort of pretend it never happened.
I'm not a fan of moral relativism generally, but I simply can't look at the whole era and conclude that anyone deserves to be in any more or less than anyone else. I have no idea who was on the juice at the time; how do I interpret the numbers that any given individual put up? It has been suggested plenty of times that we just throw out all the numbers from a certain player because he was using steroids. What if the guy he was facing was juicing too and we just don't know it?
Technically, that puts them back on a level playing field. Of course, then they're both cheaters, so we could kick them both out and expunge their records. But then, what about all the other hitters or pitchers they faced? Well, those guys were maybe clean, but maybe dirty, so we should. It's complicated.The problem with the steroid question is this: When you have an era with so many variables as to who was and wasn't clean, it gets to the point where you can't trust any of the results.
It's the same argument that has been made since, well, ever about gambling. If it's possible that gambling is affecting the game, the argument goes, then how can you possibly believe in the results? To me, the steroid era is exactly the same way. I have no idea what results to trust and which to discount. So in the end I've come to the conclusion that either you let them all in based on their on-field performance, or none of them. No one from the steroid era, no matter how squeaky-clean they may appear, or everyone who had the numbers. There's no way of ever sorting through the morass and finding the truth, and believing that you really do know the truth is just a sad illusion.
Enter NYM, BARDOLPH, PISTOL, and Boy. On, on, on, on, on! To the breach, to the breach! Pray thee, corporal, stay: the knocks are too hot; and, for mine own part, I have not a case of lives: 1130 the humour of it is too hot, that is the very plain-song of it.
The plain-song is most just: for humours do abound: Knocks go and come; God's vassals drop and die; And sword and shield, 1135 In bloody field, Doth win immortal fame. Would I were in an alehouse in London! I would give all my fame for a pot of ale and safety. And I: 1140 If wishes would prevail with me, My purpose should not fail with me, But thither would I hie.
As duly, but not as truly, As bird doth sing on bough. 1145 Enter FLUELLEN.
Up to the breach, you dogs! Avaunt, you cullions! Driving them forward.
Be merciful, great duke, to men of mould. Abate thy rage, abate thy manly rage, 1150 Abate thy rage, great duke!
Good bawcock, bate thy rage; use lenity, sweet chuck! These be good humours! Your honour wins bad humours. Exeunt all but Boy.
As young as I am, I have observed these three 1155 swashers. I am boy to them all three: but all they three, though they would serve me, could not be man to me; for indeed three such antics do not amount to a man.
For Bardolph, he is white-livered and red-faced; by the means whereof a' faces it out, but 1160 fights not. For Pistol, he hath a killing tongue and a quiet sword; by the means whereof a' breaks words, and keeps whole weapons. For Nym, he hath heard that men of few words are the best men; and therefore he scorns to say his prayers, lest a' 1165 should be thought a coward: but his few bad words are matched with as few good deeds; for a' never broke any man's head but his own, and that was against a post when he was drunk. They will steal any thing, and call it purchase. Bardolph stole a 1170 lute-case, bore it twelve leagues, and sold it for three half pence. Nym and Bardolph are sworn brothers in filching, and in Calais they stole a fire-shovel: I knew by that piece of service the men would carry coals. They would have me as 1175 familiar with men's pockets as their gloves or their handkerchers: which makes much against my manhood, if I should take from another's pocket to put into mine; for it is plain pocketing up of wrongs.
I must leave them, and seek some better service: 1180 their villany goes against my weak stomach, and therefore I must cast it up. Exit Re-enter FLUELLEN, GOWER following. Captain Fluellen, you must come presently to the 1185 mines; the Duke of Gloucester would speak with you.
To the mines! Tell you the duke, it is not so good to come to the mines; for, look you, the mines is not according to the disciplines of the war: the concavities of it is not sufficient; for, look you, 1190 the athversary, you may discuss unto the duke, look you, is digt himself four yard under the countermines: by Cheshu, I think a' will plough up all, if there is not better directions. The Duke of Gloucester, to whom the order of the 1195 siege is given, is altogether directed by an Irishman, a very valiant gentleman, i' faith. It is Captain Macmorris, is it not? I think it be.
Word For Shame
By Cheshu, he is an ass, as in the world: I will 1200 verify as much in his beard: be has no more directions in the true disciplines of the wars, look you, of the Roman disciplines, than is a puppy-dog. Enter MACMORRIS and Captain JAMY. Here a' comes; and the Scots captain, Captain Jamy, with him. Captain Jamy is a marvellous falourous gentleman, that is certain; and of great expedition and knowledge in th' aunchient wars, upon my particular knowledge of his directions: by Cheshu, he will maintain his argument as well as any military man in 1210 the world, in the disciplines of the pristine wars of the Romans. I say gud-day, Captain Fluellen. God-den to your worship, good Captain James. How now, Captain Macmorris!
Have you quit the 1215 mines? Have the pioneers given o'er?
By Chrish, la! Tish ill done: the work ish give over, the trompet sound the retreat.
By my hand, I swear, and my father's soul, the work ish ill done; it ish give over: I would have blowed up the town, so 1220 Chrish save me, la! In an hour: O, tish ill done, tish ill done; by my hand, tish ill done! Captain Macmorris, I beseech you now, will you voutsafe me, look you, a few disputations with you, as partly touching or concerning the disciplines of 1225 the war, the Roman wars, in the way of argument, look you, and friendly communication; partly to satisfy my opinion, and partly for the satisfaction, look you, of my mind, as touching the direction of the military discipline; that is the point. It sall be vary gud, gud feith, gud captains bath: and I sall quit you with gud leve, as I may pick occasion; that sall I, marry. It is no time to discourse, so Chrish save me: the day is hot, and the weather, and the wars, and the 1235 king, and the dukes: it is no time to discourse. The town is beseeched, and the trumpet call us to the breach; and we talk, and, be Chrish, do nothing: 'tis shame for us all: so God sa' me, 'tis shame to stand still; it is shame, by my hand: and there is 1240 throats to be cut, and works to be done; and there ish nothing done, so Chrish sa' me, la!
By the mess, ere theise eyes of mine take themselves to slomber, ay'll de gud service, or ay'll lig i' the grund for it; ay, or go to death; and ay'll pay 1245 't as valourously as I may, that sall I suerly do, that is the breff and the long. Marry, I wad full fain hear some question 'tween you tway. Captain Macmorris, I think, look you, under your correction, there is not many of your nation— 1250. Of my nation!
What ish my nation? Ish a villain, and a bastard, and a knave, and a rascal. What ish my nation? Who talks of my nation? Look you, if you take the matter otherwise than is meant, Captain Macmorris, peradventure I shall think 1255 you do not use me with that affability as in discretion you ought to use me, look you: being as good a man as yourself, both in the disciplines of war, and in the derivation of my birth, and in other particularities. I do not know you so good a man as myself: so Chrish save me, I will cut off your head.
Gentlemen both, you will mistake each other. That's a foul fault. A parley sounded. The town sounds a parley. Captain Macmorris, when there is more better opportunity to be required, look you, I will be so bold as to tell you I know the disciplines of war; and there is an end.
Fame Or Shame Mission
1270 Exeunt.