Manny did the time, but what about the crime?

He drew a walk, hit the ball hard on a grounder up the middle, but finished with a weak grounder, a weak pop out and a thrown bat.

In the field, he successfully fielded a line-drive single and caught another line drive.

"I'm going to take my time, but I'm going to be good," Ramirez promised. "I need to catch up but I will."

At times during the pregame media session, he seemed so confident, it was as if he was trying to convince himself.

At other times, he seemed so defiant, it was like he really did believe he didn't do anything wrong.

I posed the first question, asking if he could explain when he started and stopped using steroids.

"First, I want to say that God is good and good is God," he said. "I don't want to get into my medical records right now."

I later asked whether he agreed with baseball's steroid policy.

"I'm not getting into that, sir," he said. "I want to talk about the game. . . . I'm moving on."

When asked to publicly apologize, he actually did, so give him credit for that.

"I want to say I'm sorry to the fans, to my teammates, they're always there for me," he said.

When asked exactly what he was sorry for, he said, "Not being there for them. For not playing the game."

He also actually admitted that "I made a mistake, but I learned from that and I'm moving on."

That's about as close to a confession as anyone is going to get, a notion later furthered by Manager Joe Torre.

"When you weed through the whole thing, he didn't deny doing something wrong, and he apologized for it," Torre said.

After which Ramirez sauntered back into an atmosphere that crackles with his presence.

In one corner of the clubhouse, Hudson was counting the hordes of reporters walking through the door -- "That's 50, keep 'em coming!"

In the other corner stood a solemn Dodgers security guard who will accompany Ramirez for the immediate future. It is the first time I have ever seen an actual security guard working for a player in the safety of a clubhouse.

"We've seen all this before, when Manny came last year, and when Manny came this spring," teammate Andre Ethier said. "Hopefully everyone in here is mature enough to handle the commotion."

Once on the field, it was louder and crazier.

"Man-ny! Man-ny!" some fans chanted as he walked on to the field for batting practice.

"Ster-oids, Ster-oids," chanted other fans.

The entire night was reminiscent of the constant scene around the San Francisco Giants several years ago.

A player was bigger than the game. A drug issue elicited more responses than the score. The buzz was initially interesting and fun, but later bulky and onerous.

On a night when Manny Ramirez was supposed to return as a shamed drug cheat, he actually created a stir befitting the greatest home run hitter in baseball history.

All you Dodgers fans who secretly coveted Barry Bonds?

You got him.

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bill.plaschke@latimes.com

twitter.com/BillPlaschke