What is one supposed to do with the news that Sammy Sosa has finally, sort of, well, not really fessed up to being a juicer during his career?
One could celebrate it, patting him on the back for a better-late-than-never admission that many of the home runs he entertained Cubs fans with could have been, might have been, but possibly were not fueled by performance-enhancing drugs.
One could carry out a commemorative head-in-the-sand burial and continue to live in the comfortable fog that says Sosa and fellow cheater Mark McGwire “saved baseball’’ with their home-run race in 1998.
Or one could ask what a man always looking out for No. 1 wants from the statement he released Thursday, which acknowledged vague sins that would get rejected in any confessional booth for a lack of substance.
The answer to what Sosa wants can be found in the Cubs’ response to his statement.
“We appreciate Sammy releasing his statement and for reaching out,’’ they said in their statement. “No one played harder or wanted to win more. Nobody’s perfect but we never doubted his passion for the game and the Cubs.
“It is an understatement to say that Sammy is a fan favorite. We plan on inviting him to the 2025 Cubs Convention and, while it is short notice, we hope that he can attend. We are all ready to move forward together.”
Nobody loved the limelight more than Sosa did as a player, and nobody lived for the sound of cheering more than he did. The need for applause likely led him to PEDs in the first place, and it certainly led to Thursday’s statement. Love is what he’s after, though without strings of accountability attached.
“There were times I did whatever I could to recover from injuries in an effort to keep my strength up to perform over 162 games,’’ he said in his statement. “I never broke any laws, but in hindsight, I made mistakes and I apologize.’’
Judging by his outrageous home run totals from 1998 to 2003 – 66, 63, 50, 64, 49 and 40, respectively – he must have been “recovering’’ from injuries really, really hard. He says he never broke any laws during his career, so what is apologizing for, exactly? Steroids weren’t banned by Major League Baseball for part of his career, but they certainly were illegal on the street without a prescription.
During his heyday, when he and others were being scrutinized for out-of-whack homer totals, he joked that he took Flintstones vitamins. He’s still winking at us, folks. He’s saying he made mistakes, without saying exactly what those mistakes were. That’s vintage Sammy, too proud to go all the way with an apology, lest someone think him less than a god.
That stubbornness kept him and his 609 career home runs far, far away from the Hall of Fame.
The agreement to allow Sosa to attend the Cubs Convention feels like the result of a negotiation, as if lawyers on both sides argued about the threshold that would allow him back into the good graces of the franchise. I picture the Cubs opening the talks with the need for a steroids confession, and Sosa’s team countering with an offer of regret.
Done! say the Cubs, who don’t own property on the moral high ground.
Here is a player and an organization that deserve each other.
There is no doubt that Sammy was the show for the Cubs in the late 1990s and early 2000s, a star who lit up Wrigley Field like no one has since – and that includes the star-studded roster that won the World Series in 2016. When he sprinted to his right-field spot and saluted his fans, he had the attention of most everyone in the ballpark, including opposing players. When he came to the plate and took those mighty cuts, fans marveled at the distance the ball traveled when he hit it or at how much energy was expended when he missed it.
But it was all based on a lie. You had to suspend rational thought to believe that the tape-measure home runs were natural, and many people did. Now here we are, being asked to accept a low-carb apology. If the genius behind a Ponzi scheme admitted “mistakes were made” after claiming his innocence for 20 years behind bars, it would look something like this. Maybe a better comparison would be a bank robber who thrilled the public with his daring escapes suddenly confessing to an addiction to adrenaline but not to any crime.
Let’s remember Sammy for what he was.
When he was caught corking his bat in 2003, he said it was a big misunderstanding.
When he walked out on his team during the last game of the 2004 season, he said it was with manager Dusty Baker’s blessing.
When he appeared at a 2005 congressional hearing on PED use in baseball, he conveniently forgot how to speak English.
And now this.
That’s our Sammy. Remember that during the standing ovation for him at the Cubs Convention in January. The Ricketts family will be the first on their feet.