Am I out of touch? Am I too angry, too outraged about Manny Ramirez and his dope-induced exile to baseball purgatory?
In the last few days, talking to fans during Dodgers games and perusing my e-mail inbox, it's been striking how many people feel that angry indignation is uncouth, unrealistic and absurd. Striking how many are willing to treat their favorite player as if he's just gone off on a nice holiday. All will be forgiven, as long as No. 99 comes back swinging a fat bat.
"Hey, he cheated, everyone has their crutch, it's not that big a deal," said Mike Calame, 45, sitting near the left-field foul pole at Dodgers Stadium the other day. He shrugged a shrug I'd end up seeing time and again. "All I know is that he'll be back, and he'll be rested. That'll be great for the Dodgers. . . . I can't wait."
It was no different on the Internet.
"When Manny returns it will be just like last season," read one of many notes castigating me for castigating Ramirez. "His strength, hunger, passion and love for the game will conquer your typing. . . . What matters is what happens on the field."
"Save the moral panic," read another. "Most of your readers under the age of 70 have done the same long ago. . . . Is taking steroids cheating? Sure, maybe."
Sure, maybe? Ho-hum, la-di-da , who cares . . .
How sad.
So, sitting here in the press box during the Dodgers' Saturday win against the Giants, the question comes. Am I, along with the other journalists who are breathing fire about this sordid story, simply out of touch with a huge slice of our audience, the who-cares-who-takes-what crowd?
You bet I'm out of touch, and that's the very reason it's important everyone in the media keep laying the wood to the rule-breakers and ne'er-do-wells. Someone has to draw the line. Someone has to keep hold of standards. Someone has to give voice to those who know there's more to life than winning. How you win, how you prepare, the ethics you bring to the ballpark and yes, to life . . . guess what? That matters.
It's when we lose track of this, when we as a society are willing to cut too much slack, when we in the press stop drawing a hard line, that deep trouble comes. You get the last eight years, probably longer: a fool's paradise, not just in sports and entertainment, but in politics and the economy.
I know the arguments. Who cares what Ramirez or Barry Bonds or A-Rod put in their bodies? So long as my team is on top, so long as I get to drive around with a "World Champs" bumper sticker, it doesn't really matter.
