Hall of Famer

           

       Barry Bonds
believes he belongs in Cooperstown. “Not a doubt in my mind,” he says.

       Certainly
Bonds was an incredible athlete and his 762 career homeruns were an unparalleled
feat which toppled baseball legend Hank Aaron’s 755 homerun record set decades
earlier.

       But

       And it’s a
big but.

       Bonds
cheated.

       And that’s
not okay.

       Bonds is up
for Hall of Fame consideration this year. He wants in. Of course he does.

       But those
voting should say no -simply, no. It’s time we send a right message to all the
little kids who may want to follow in those considerable footsteps of his.

       That there
are consequences to actions, that even those whose egos are as big as their
paychecks can be held accountable. That there is a cost to cheating.

       For Bonds’s
talents—steroid-fueled or not—he was amply rewarded. One of the highest paid
baseball players of all time, over the course of his career, Bonds earned more
than $175 million –for playing a game. Until the tide turned against him, he
was also idolized by millions; he was baseball royalty with all its perks,
privileges and prestige.

       Now, he wants
more.

       He wants his
obstruction of justice conviction during the BALCO steroid scandal overturned
to clear his way for a place in the Baseball Hall of Fame.

       There is a
school of thought that believes Bonds (and others like him) should perhaps be
allowed into Cooperstown, but with an asterisk attached to his name.

       That’s
ridiculous.

       If baseball
truly is the American pastime, then there let’s attach some old-fashioned American
pride and principles to the sport. Let’s acknowledge all the truly great
players who came long before Bonds and give them a nod of respect -by not
allowing Bonds in their company.

       Perhaps this
rant is fueled by the fact that late Johnny Pesky, Mr. Baseball himself,
doesn’t have a spot in Cooperstown.

       Pesky wasn’t
just a stellar baseball player; from all accounts he was an all-round good guy.

       Born on the
day Babe Ruth played his last game as a Red Sox, Pesky dedicated his entire
life to the sport he loved. And asked little in return.

       And oh yeah,
he could play the game.

       In his first
three seasons, Pesky led the league in hits and he held a lifetime batting
average of .307 (Hank Aaron’s was .305). When he finished his 1942 season,
Pesky’s batting average was number two in the league –behind teammate Ted
Williams.

       So he was no
slouch.

       Problem was
that he missed the next three seasons to serve in the Navy during World War II
–can’t rack up hits and defensive plays when you’re defending your country. He
was also sidelined by an injury later in his career.

       I understand that
Hall of Fame consideration starts with stats. Maybe Pesky’s didn’t quite
measure up. On the other hand, please tell me that it’s not just about numbers.

       Please tell
me that we give some credit for all those other attributes we attach to the
best of our athletes: dedication, passion, perseverance. Maybe even good sportsmanship?

       Sure, I’m
biased. Red Sox Nation knows a true baseball hero when it sees one. John
Michael Pesky was a hero.

       Bonds or
Pesky? Puh-leeze.


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September 11th



    Last night Michael held the extension ladder so I could attach an American flag to the face of my house. I’ve only displayed such outward patriotism on one other occasion.




    We all know where we were, what we were doing. And why the day left such a lasting and very personal impression on each of us.

    
It changed the world. For us, for our children, for future generations.




    Approaching the one-year anniversary of September 11th, an editor friend asked if I’d add to her list of contributing writers answering the query: How have you changed since September 11th? I demurred. I hadn’t started writing again and I was reluctant to come out on such an emotionally charged subject. But the request lingered and something compelled me to respond.




    In that column, I waxed nostalgic about my daughter’s entry into the world. Apartheid was fading; Nelson Mandela was stepping up to lead his nation; the Berlin Wall had been toppled. What a glorious time in which to be born.




    But post 9-11, I heaped together a list of much that was wrong with the 21st century world. About the children who would grow up with the searing images of September 11th, I wrote “It is more a part of the fabric of their lives than ours because they step into this new world order with the heavy burden of changing it all.”

    
In spite of ever-horrific headlines and newsfeeds, on good days, I still believe our children are up to the task of meeting that awesome responsibility. That they can rise up and find light even when it may be dim and unapparent to us. 

    
I wonder sometimes how to pass on optimism to our children when there are so many reasons to fall to disbelief. But realize,that in this area at least,  it is more likely they who teach us.




    Before the Little Prince’s pilot became a man, he had the clear-eyed wisdom to note that “grown-ups never understand anything for themselves, and it is tiresome for children to be always and forever explaining things to them.”




    So it is at this moment that I turn to my daughter, my son and their friends looking for guidance. Teach me well. I can still learn. And I still believe in the promise of your tomorrows.