Sports, Steroids, and the "Me First" Impulse

I have a few things I'd like to talk about, but in lieu of offending people with my thoughts on...certain issues, I'd like to turn my attention to the world of sports. Specifically, the revelation today that Jason Giambi admitted to a federal grand jury last December that he did, indeed, take steroids for three seasons, and as recently as 2003.

You heard all the hand-wringing and wild speculation from other talking heads on the implications of this on the game of baseball, and on Giambi's career, and potentially on Barry Bonds' career (since it was his trainer, apparently, who gave Giambi the stuff), and so on. But one of the most interesting angles on the whole thing was asked by Dan Patrick on his radio show this afternoon: do you care?

I naturally expected SOMEONE in the media to equate the scenario with wrestling (seems like WWE and steroids are concepts that go hand-in-hand in modern society, I'm sad to say), but Dan's argument/question actually brought perspective and intelligence to the comparison. He pointed out that people don't really seem to care whether or not wrestlers do indeed use steroids, since in wrestling, an entertainment-focused media, the focus is not on competition, or on an honest display of talent. (Naturally, I would find some point upon which to argue this, but the basic statement is sound.) But has baseball - and I would broaden the question to all of sports - reached a point where the entertainment value is more important than the competitive aspects? If we go to a ballpark, do we wanna see a great game, or do we wanna see someone hit one out? Do we care about seeing teams battle, or individual theatrics?

This is a fascinating question. If you look a little closer at the implications of what it's asking, you can see a virtual microcosm of the struggle in modern sport between the triumph of team competition and the marketing of individual "stars," who through their theatrical presentation seem hell-bent on drawing attention to themselves, at the expense of their team's cause. I look at a guy like Terrell Owens, who seems to spend as much time in the week leading up to his game planning his post-touchdown celebrations as he does practicing the touchdowns themselves, and I think, who the heck is Terrell Owens to do something like that? Sure, he's a great player on a great team, but every time he takes the field it seems as though his sole desire is to turn the game into the T.O. Show, to the point of costing his team a penalty for excessive celebration, if necessary. And yet, not only are his egotistical outbursts not seen as the sad cries for attention they are, but instead they are celebrated, shown repeatedly, made famous, heck, RANKED for effectiveness.

Time was, being humble about success was considered an endearing personality trait. I feel very strongly that how you do it is just as important as what you do. I'm not talking about being low-key and quiet in all things to the point of suppressing your personality - that's not being humble, that's being banal. But in our newly crafted sports world, we seem to have developed a world of individuals, rather than a universe of teams. Immortality comes at the expense of the other 8 or 10 or however many guys are sharing the field or court with you. Now, there are naturally great players, and those people become immortal based upon their accomplishments. That's fine. That's part of the games. What I disagree with is those athletes who try to hasten their status by taking advantage of the other team, and their teammates. If you bust an amazing 80 yard run to win the game, or hit a towering home run to put your team ahead, that is greatness. If you follow either achievement by doing sit-ups on the field or staring in awe as the ball heads out, that's showmanship. And it's also selfish.

This all ties into today's revelations how? Because, in my humble opinion, guys are pushed to doing steroids, at least in part, through the same star-focused, individual-greatness-driven attitude that has fostered this new breed of athlete, one who cares as much or more about the merchandise they sell as the titles they win. You take a guy, really talented, a good player on a good team. But he's not a star. You tell him, hey, we give you this stuff, it'll add to your muscle mass, you'll perform better, your team will benefit, but more important, you could become a star. Only catch is, the stuff will, it is very likely, kill you in the long run. Would Joe Average player take the bargain? I'm betting in the vast majority of examples, the answer is yes.

Modern athletes make a lot of sacrifices to get where they are. It takes years of dedication, a lot of work, a boatload of talent, and a bunch of luck to make it onto a professional roster, no matter what the sport. When they make it there, they are acknowledged as one of the best in the world at what they do. So I can understand the impulse to try and find an easy way to succeed. The average athlete's career lasts something like five years. To steal an old phrase, the natural impulse is to make hay while the sun shines, and do as much as you can while you can, because you never know when it all might end. This is why I've never said a word complaining about the salaries of athletes - these are people who sacrifice a large chunk of their lives for a narrow window of opportunity, and so where salaries, earning money based upon the athletic performance, come in, I have no qualms. Being focused on earning money for you and your family's livelihood is not only not selfish, it's human.

But my understanding ends where the field of play begins. In the course of the game, no matter what game it is, natural talent and athletic ability are what make you or break you. When you try to tip the scales of fortune through things that are not within the boundaries of the game, in whatever form that may be, you have stopped playing the game and started becoming an entertainer. Through their efforts, those who act selfishly are allowing the nature of the games they play to change into something much more akin to professional wrestling's show than they care to admit. As someone who enjoys both wrestling and sports, I see the similarities coming through each time I watch either of them, and it displeases me, because the line of demarcation should be clear and direct. Wrestling is a performance, where the efforts of the individuals involved, through theatrical displays, come together to make for the most entertaining show possible for the fans. Sport is a competition, wherein athletic ability displayed within that battle gives its audience entertainment. When you start more theatrical elements to the world of sport, you begin to change its definition - a gradual evolution which could lead modern sports in a direction I'm sure most of its fans would really rather not see it go.

But above all else, the constant barrage of "me-ism" we see in today's athletes runs the danger of subtlely but directly encouraging more of that same behavior - to the point where long-term health and personal well-being are considered an acceptable sacrifice in the name of short-term success. I look at WWE shows, and see some guys who are pretty clearly on "the gas," but I also see many smaller wrestlers, guys with slight physiques or who are built, well, like human beings. And in the vast majority of cases, the smaller wrestlers put on, by far, the better performances than their bulky counterparts. Freed from the constraints of trying to look "the part" of a pro wrestler, they simply work their butts off to present the best possible show they can. I sometimes wish I could corner the big, burly guys and say, hey, look. Above all else, we watch because we enjoy the product. We really don't care how big you are or how huge your biceps look. We care if you can entertain us through your ability and talent. So please - please - don't sacrifice the rest of your life, thinking that the muscles are all we see. Because in the end, there are a lot of us who care about how you do something just as much as what you do.

In that way, wrestling and "real" sports are already much closer than anyone on the sport side of the fence will ever care to admit. I could take the last five sentences of the previous paragraph and say them to Jason Giambi right now.