PEORIA, Ariz. – Raised eyebrows are not evidence. Anonymous whispers are not sworn depositions. Allegations are not proof.
Baseball has made a fine mess of its steroids scandal, first through prolonged negligence, then through inadequate urgency, now through toothless testing. But when Tony La Russa admitted knowledge of Jose Canseco's illicit juicing, he blurred the crucial distinction between what baseball suspected and what it knew to be fact.
He has knocked management's plausible deniability right out of the park.
In an effort to defend Mark McGwire from Canseco's published aspersions, the attorney who manages the St. Louis Cardinals severely compromised the ignorance defense so popular among the game's executives. He incriminated himself as a conspirator in Canseco's steroids coverup and undermined public confidence that the industry can be trusted to face its problems without flinching.
He has succeeded in making sordid matters even worse.
On deck: Look for more congressional hearings.
Up now: Listen for many embarrassing questions.
For one, just exactly what was the point of Jason Giambi's comically vague apology the other day? For another, why did the New York Yankees consent to have steroid clauses removed from Giambi's contract? For another, why was the commissioner's office so quick to issue a blanket denial about an FBI steroids warning – a warning officials were subsequently compelled to acknowledge?
Answers: Wish you wouldn't ask.
"I think we've all realized that steroids has been a problem in the game for several years now, probably the last decade," Padres General Manager Kevin Towers said yesterday. "The tough thing is you never see it. You can assume or speculate, but you really don't know."
No major league club has been more aggressive in combating steroids than the Padres. In 1998 they became the first baseball franchise to implement random steroid testing in the minor leagues – an initiative Towers says influenced later trades.
Despite the Padres' laudable efforts to eradicate steroids from their farm system, it is a melancholy fact that much of their recent success, including the campaign to get a downtown ballpark built, was predicated on the synthetic strength of the late Ken Caminiti.
Given Caminiti's enormous popularity, and his startling steroid admissions, you could make a case for calling Petco Park the House That 'Roids Built. You can't help wondering how much the Padres knew about Caminiti's choices, and how much they wanted to know.
"I suspected," Towers said. "I did not know."
To watch Caminiti's workout regimen was to develop reasonable doubt. The man was a fanatic about lifting weights. La Russa says his initial suspicion of Canseco was based on the outfielder's inclination to take the "easy way."
"I think most users, because of the injection of steroids, have this euphoric mentality," Towers said. "You want to go and lift (weights) and get bigger and stronger. Very few of the guys who I think are steroid users don't lift. Cammy was lifting all the time. After a ballgame, the first thing he did was lift weights."
Baseball executives walk a tenuous tightrope in policing steroids. Nationally, the proliferation of home runs has been a leading contributor to the game's recovery from the 1994 strike. On the local level, a one-club crackdown could create a competitive disadvantage. If steroids afford athletes a short-term edge, as is widely assumed, unilateral disarmament amounts to a principled recipe for ruin.
Had La Russa shared his findings about Canseco, his Oakland A's might not have won three straight American League pennants from 1988 through '90. Had Towers or Padres manager Bruce Bochy taken a more proactive position, Caminiti might not have led the Padres to the 1998 World Series.
"I'm not just saying this," Bochy said yesterday, "but I really didn't think about it. This guy was in the weight room all the time. He was on a real strict protein diet. He had his personal trainer. Honestly, I attributed (Caminiti's muscle mass) to weight training and work ethic – how religious he was working out. He was in the weight room every day.
"Then, we were more concerned if Cammy was on the wagon with his drinking. We wanted to help him out on that issue and keep him straight."
Even if Bochy had suspected Caminiti of steroid abuse, he would have been reluctant to confront him.
"If you don't have proof, that would be insulting," Bochy said. "If you walked up to a player who's doing well and you say, 'Hey, are you on steroids?' That's not what our country's about."
In a court of law, the presumption of innocence applies to ballplayers as it does to bricklayers. In the court of public opinion, however, Giambi, McGwire, Barry Bonds and Sammy Sosa have generally been found guilty without the courtesy of a trial.
Each of these players experienced profound physical transformations while baseball was averting its eyes. All of them – and numerous others – are being subjected to unflattering scrutiny this spring because of Canseco's book and the continuing cloud of the BALCO case.
"I don't think (steroid use) is quite as prevalent as it was five or 10 years ago, when there was no testing for it," Bochy said. "I think that's because of the awareness – not just the testing, but the side effects. I don't think players want to get embarrassed by getting caught."
It's not the testing players fear. It's the testifying.
Tim Sullivan: (619) 293-1033; tim.sullivan@uniontrib.com
