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Stain of era, not 'roid probe, will tar Bonds

Selig probably can't punish star, but at least Barry's legacy is toast

Bonds
Ben Margot / AP
Barry Bonds plays in left field during the game Thursday.
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COMMENTARY
By Jim Litke
updated 1:57 p.m. ET April 7, 2006

JIM LITKE
Jim Litke
For all the huffing and puffing he did Thursday, the only house Bud Selig will blow down in the end is his own.

He can’t really get Barry Bonds, the prime suspect in the book that finally convinced the commissioner there was a problem. He won’t be able to stop the Giants slugger from hitting home runs once the season starts, and there’s no guarantee he can suspend him.

He can’t wipe out Bonds’ records or take back his MVP awards, and he can’t even make Bonds talk to his new investigative panel, since the ballplayer is every bit as lawyered up as baseball.

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So what’s the point?

“Integrity,” Selig said.

“Integrity,” echoed former Senate Majority Leader George Mitchell, who is heading the investigation.

Now that’s rich.

Baseball finally decides to investigate its performance-enhancing past, and the guy leading it just happens to be a director of the Boston Red Sox — not to mention chairman of The Walt Disney Co., whose ESPN subsidiary is MLB’s national broadcast partner and just cut a deal with Bonds for a weekly TV show.

Imagine how tough Mitchell will be grilling Selig or the owners who fiddled with profits while baseball burned. The commissioner figures it couldn’t be nearly as damaging as the testimony he and a handful of employees were compelled to give before a congressional hearing last March.

That’s when Mark McGwire fidgeted, Sammy Sosa spoke Spanglish, Rafael Palmeiro wagged a finger in lawmakers’ faces and Jose Canseco wouldn’t shut up.

“What I’m hearing,” the former MVP and best-selling author said at the time, “is that I’m the only person in the major leagues who used steroids.”

Far from it — and this is where things could get interesting.

Putting Mitchell in charge was a stroke of genius in one respect: His years as an insider and his work heading up fact-finding missions as far afield as Northern Ireland and the Middle East might keep his former colleagues in Congress off baseball’s back for a while.

But it won’t impress Bonds or BALCO buddies Jason Giambi and Gary Sheffield. They’re already in way too deep.

Nor will Mitchell’s reputation for fair-mindedness hold any sway with McGwire, Sosa, Palmeiro and all the other supersized hitters and pitchers who figured they got out just in time. They made their peace with cheating long ago. Unlike MLB, Congress has both subpoena power and the Justice Department within reach, and as McGwire so memorably said repeatedly back then, “I’m not going to talk about the past.”

Baseball didn’t even have a real drug policy until September 2002, and its agreement with the union makes punishing players for prior transgressions almost impossible. That’s why Selig wanted the probe limited to events since September 2002, though he added, “Should Senator Mitchell uncover material suggesting the scope should be broader, he has my permission to follow the evidence wherever it may lead.”

So here’s a good starting point:

Just before those congressional hearings, San Diego Padres general manager Kevin Towers acknowledged looking the other way when clear evidence of steroid use by one of his players, Ken Caminiti, was right before his eyes. Caminiti, a former MVP and the first player to admit juicing, died the previous October of a drug overdose at age 41.


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