Are steroid mess, Tillman's death truths too tough for us to handle?, By: Tim Sullivan
March 24, 2006, Union Tribune
In two distinct but equally disturbing roles, Jack Nicholson has told us we can't handle the truth and that women are like men except for reason and accountability.
Wrong on both counts.
Current events keep reminding us that the truth is often more easily fathomed than it is found; that sweeping scandal and terrible tragedy can be digested, even forgiven, but that men are still prone to avoid accountability as if it were diaper duty.
Baseball's slow-breaking response to its steroid problems and the government's egregious boot-dragging concerning the 2004 death of Pat Tillman provide vivid illustrations of how clumsiness is exacerbated by conspiracy; how mistakes become something more sinister when camouflaged by a cover-up.
With “Game of Shadows” now in bookstores, the depth and breadth of baseball's steroid problem finds the industry and the implicated still unable to confront the facts.
Barry Bonds is talking baseball and baseball only. Gary Sheffield has announced he has “moved on.” No wonder. Were either man to confirm the steroid allegations contained in this book, it would be tantamount to admitting they perjured themselves before a grand jury.
Ken Griffey Jr., meanwhile, claims to have no memory of the dinner table declaration Bonds is reported to have made in another book, “Love Me, Hate Me: Barry Bonds and the Making of an Antihero.” The pertinent passage reveals a Bonds so consumed with jealousy for Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa that he vows to start “using some hard-core stuff, and hopefully it won't hurt my body.”
Improbably, but predictably, Griffey can't seem to remember the conversation. He and Bonds are friends – second-generation ballplayers who have each surpassed their famous fathers – and there's little to be gained from squealing.
Furthermore, Griffey has continually resisted efforts to emphasize his own example of nature-based slugging. Though juiced sluggers eroded his eminence in the 1990s, and though some of his associates were quick to repeat incriminating hearsay about Bonds, Junior has sought to stay above the fray. He was doing pretty well at it, too, until the long-leaked dinner story found its way into print.
Last week, at a World Baseball Classic workout in Fullerton, Griffey reiterated that role-modeling is a place for parents, not ballplayers, and said baseball lost interest in him as a spokesman after his performance was undermined by injuries.
Griffey has chosen to stay silent on the subject of steroids rather than risk being seen as sanctimonious. He held his tongue as McGwire, Sosa and Bonds erased home run records that might have been his had he stayed healthy.
If Griffey has missed an opportunity to serve the greater good by speaking out, there is a certain nobility to his stoic stance. Pat Tillman, too, preferred to be judged by his deeds rather than his words. When he renounced a $3.6 million pro football contract to take up the search for Osama Bin Laden as an Army Ranger, Tillman resisted all efforts to celebrate his patriotism.
He gave no interviews. He promoted no products. He heard a call to arms in the aftermath of 9/11, and he steadfastly refused to be singled out for serving his country.
The tragic circumstances of Tillman's death – by the friendly fire of his fellow Rangers – in no way diminishes his sacrifice, his selflessness, his courage or his inspiration. But the ideals Tillman embodied were dishonored by the early, duplicitous reports of his death. The truth got trampled.
Earlier this month, the Army announced a fourth investigation into Tillman's death, this one designed to assess the possibility of “criminal negligence” and to ascertain the responsibility and rationale for the fictional press release and Silver Star commendation that were fed to the American public.
At least several days preceding Tillman's May 3, 2004, memorial service, the details of his demise were known at high levels of the chain of command, including Gen. John P. Abizaid, head of the U.S. central command. Yet Tillman's parents were not informed that their son had been a victim of fratricide for more than a month.
Critical evidence – Tillman's bloody uniform and body armor – was burned, ostensibly because it posed a “biohazard.” The parents now believe their son was used for propaganda purposes; that his example proved useful to an administration reeling from hard tidings on the war front.
Seven soldiers have been reprimanded for their role in Tillman's death, for failing to provide “adequate command control,” or “failure to exercise sound judgment and fire discipline.” But the blame for embellishing the story certainly goes higher than the grunts on the ground. Most likely, it goes much higher.
“After it happened, all the people in positions of authority went out of their way to script this,” Tillman's father, Patrick, told The Washington Post. “They purposely interfered with the investigation, they covered it up. I think they thought they could control it, and they realized that their recruiting efforts were going to go to hell in a handbasket if the truth about his death got out. They blew up their poster boy.”
Some truths are hard to handle. But they're still better than lies.
