The End of Innocence

No Longer Room for Blind Acceptance in Any Sport

By

Clinton Riddle

August 7th, 2006-Well, so much for American pride in France.

After Lance Armstrong retired, it was so nice to see another American win the Tour De France. Floyd Landis steps up for the US and wins the tournament in convincing fashion, and the country lauds his seemingly Herculean efforts. Because not only did he win a grueling bike race, he did it while battling several physical maladies, and we all thought even more of his win. Could this be the next great American bicyclist? Could he be the successor to a living legend?

Then, reality played its hand. We found out that Landis had stacked the deck.

To say that this was a disappointing, shocking turn wouldn't even begin to describe the way most Tour fans felt. I don't even follow cycling, and I was disappointed. Notice I said "disappointed", not "surprised" or "shocked".

The truth, I'm afraid, is this: We have all seen the Wizard behind the curtain. We know he's behind it all. We came all this way, we allowed professional sports to captivate us and draw our attention from all angles, we gave our heart and soul to our favorite teams or leagues, only to find that there are no legends, any more. They're all frauds; giants of iron and bronze with feet of clay. Baseball has men like Lou Gehrig and Babe Ruth, Cal Ripken and Buck O'Neil. Football has Dick Butkus, Joe Montana, Sammy Baugh, Jim Thorpe. In Basketball, it's Magic and Bird, Pistol Pete and MJ. Hockey has legends like Jacques Plante, Gordie Howe, Georges Vezina and Bobby Orr. Of course, each sport has its share of legendary names, far more than I can mention here.
But there are no more. There will never be another Ruth, another MJ. Partly because these men were once-in-a-lifetime players, larger perhaps than the game of which they were a part. But back in Ruth's day, noone talked about things like Dura-Decabolin or HGH. Noone knew anything about performance enhancers, unless you count beer and hotdogs. At the very least, there was no thought given to the integrity of the game or its players unless you were "throwing down", as they used to say. Shaving points. Flubbing easy grounders. Shooting wide of the net intentionally.
What I would give to have those days back. Somehow, it seems far less unsavory to deal with gamblers as opposed to finding out that a whole season was nothing but a circus act (see: 1998 MLB). Do you remember where you were when McGwire hit 61? Remember the looks on the faces of the fans who were there in person to witness what they thought, what we ALL thought, was history in the making? Do you remember how he went over to the section where the Maris family was seated, how he hugged Roger's sons, attested to his great respect for their father? Was it the same feeling you had when you saw your very first baseball game in person? It was for me.

Now, tell me this: How did you feel when you found out it was all a lie? How did you feel when the powers-that-be questioned the integrity of a man who seemed to do no wrong? A man who cried when he spoke of his son, or when he talked about his work with abused children? A man whose heart seemed to encompass all those who knew him and millions who would never even meet him face to face as well?

How did you feel when it was all brought to an abrupt halt by a Congressional nightmare, when the Man himself sat among the accused, who would not even acknowledge the questions being asked of him, other than to say, "I'm not here to talk about the past."? Why, if we couldn't trust such an honest, emotional man, who does so much good and feels so deeply, then who could we trust?

How did you feel when you finally realized, deep down, that there are no legends left?

We use the word a lot, sure. We throw it around an awful lot; every time someone hits 3 homers in a game, or scores 60+ on the hardwood, or goes on a goal-scoring tear for 2 months. Suddenly, they're ALL legends. But I'm here to say that there ARE no legends anymore. Not a one. At least, not the kind of legend we're used to believing in.

Those firefighters who died on 9/11. The cop who puts his or her life on the line every single day. The teacher that creates pride and self-esteem in a forgotten student and the thought, for the first time, that "I CAN DO IT!" The soldier who fights and dies so that you and I can express ourselves freely.

The mother or father who teaches a child about life, about truth and honor.

These are your legends in the Game of Life. In the end, no other game matters. In life, there is no cheating, because we all "retire" the same way. There is no Hall of Fame plaque waiting at the end, no huge crowds in a crush for your autograph, no tickertape parade when you win, no boos and catcalls when you lose. You don't get a shoe contract, or your own video game, or your picture on a bubble gum card for helping someone across the street. But if you're lucky, if you play the game fairly and justly, you'll always have a fan somewhere.

I don't believe we'll ever clean up sports. Maybe we'll be able to do it, someday, but it will never be finished. Until the day when it can be said that there are no more drugs in sports, until we can say that all the gamblers are out of the game, then maybe we can't look at ANYONE without the thought of impropriety entering our minds. That's the way I see it. Can you REALLY be sure? Maybe it's best to ignore it. Maybe we should just accept that professional sport is scamming its customers. Maybe we should just keep our mouths shut about it all and enjoy the ride.

But then, isn't that what got us here in the first place?

Clinton Riddle
Greendiamonds.com