Peter J. Gloviczki is a junior at St. Olaf College in Northfield, Minnesota. He majors in Political Science and also has an individualized major in Ethics in Journalism. His first book, Twenty First Summer: Original Poetry and Humorous Short Fiction, will be published in late 2004. eSports columnist Peter Gloviczki looks at the changing nature of Major League Baseball, and laments the loss of his summer pastime.
It is the end of May. In St. Louis, Cardinals first-baseman Albert Pujols has already hit 25 home runs this season. In San Francisco, Barry Bonds now stands in second place all-time with 715 homers. And in Rochester, Minnesota, I sit dumbfounded in front of my television.
The problem is that home runs, no matter how impressive, fill me with skepticism. In the age of steroids and other performance enhancing drugs, the homer un has lost its Herculean significance.
While I once considered the feat of hitting a roundball 400 feet with a round-bat impressive, I now reason that with the right concoction of pills, the accomplishment is probably easy. Granted, I have never hit a baseball 400 feet. But I bet the right combination of science and medicine would improve my chances. With this realization, baseball has lost its appeal as my catharsis.
Let me explain: I loved baseball for so many years because I was able to watch athletes do things that I knew I could never, ever, do. As much as I loved the game, I knew that major league athletes had special, unique talents when they picked up the bat and headed onto the diamond. I watched to escape into their world of athletic achievement. I relished the opportunity to shout after the homeruns and the strikeouts; to laud those Heroes on the diamond.
Presently, however, each home run is followed by a pressing question: I wonder if he's taking steroids? I simply cannot celebrate a game whose heroes I don't trust. I cannot help but be suspicious of baseball as an institution. It must be said neither Bonds nor Pujols has admitted steroid use. In the case of Pujols, moreover, there is no evidence whatsoever that he has ever taken steroids.
Nonetheless, the age of steroids forces me to reconsider the game I once loved. Prominent players such as Jason Giambi of the New York Yankees have admitted past steroid use. In this way, the game has definitely lost something of its appeal. It has lost the sense of magic that once accompanied the home run. The proclamations of wonder: "How did he do that?" and "That's amazing," have been replaced by clouds of cynicism.
My summers used to be filled with a few trips to the Metrodome, and many nights in front of the television watching my beloved Twins. But not this year. The Boys of Summer just don't capture my attention anymore. They are no longer boys like I was. They are no longer just baseball-crazed athletes, playing a game they love. Instead, I fear that some of them are genetically-engineered baseball mutants. I cannot identify with -- and certainly will not root for -- baseball in the age of steroids.
As I ponder my summer plans, I will probably seek out minor league baseball, or watch semi-pro teams on the field. But I can no longer escape to the Metrodome, or to the diamond that used to invite itself into my living room. It is the end of May, and my summer catharsis is gone.