A Look at the 500 Home Run Club

Now that AlexRod has finally joined the fabled 500 Home Run Club, it's time to examine what that milestone really means in twenty-aught-seven. A lot of writers and analysts have claimed that reaching 500 home runs has become devalued due to the steroids era, and argued that joining the club should no longer guarantee election to the Hall of Fame.

22 players have hit 500 or more home runs, which still seems like a pretty exclusive club. How much impact have PEDs really had on the current members? I realize this is an exercize in guesswork, and I will probably have my Baseball Prospectus membership revoked for even trying this, but let's see if we can figure out what the 500 club would look like in a world without steroids. I'm basing this entirely on conjecture and innuendo, with absolutely no evidence to support my theories, because that's how I do.

14 of the 22 sluggers on the list played their careers entirely in the pre-steroids era. Of course, many of them had other advantages (segregated leagues, small ballparks, batting against 1920s girlymen pitchers, etc.) but steroids supposedly represent the true threat to the game's integrity, so we'll stay focused on that.

Barry Bonds has 755 home runs. He has taken steroids. He would undoubtedly have still reached 500 and beyond even if his head forever remained its natural size. So he's in.

Sammy Sosa has 604 home runs, and because he has been caught cheating and I hate his guts, I'm going to assume he would not have reached 500 homers without the benefit of animal semen injected into his biceps nightly. 105 homers is a small enough total that the strenghtening and recovery-period-shortneing powers of HGH and steroids could account for. Sammy's out.

Ol' Marky Mark McGwire's at 583. Due to his long and varied injury history, I'll again make the argument that he would be under 500 if he had played clean his entire career. Sorry, Charlie, you're outro.

Ken Griffey and Frank Thomas are beyond reproach, without even whispers of their guilt. Same with ARod, no matter what Jose Canseco is getting ready to accuse him of. Eddie Murray is an old man and played most of his career before steroids were prevalent. All in.

Raffy Palmeiro clubbed 569, and tested positive for steroids. His was a strange career path. It's borderline, but he's out.

So, in our imaginary world, we're booting three players from the club, and that's admittedly a stretch. Is three measly hitters really such a big enough difference that the number 500 somehow doesn't mean what it used to mean? I don't think so. Unless a player is dogged by steroid rumors, like McGwire, hitting 500 home runs should still be an automatic ticket to Cooperstown. For now. We'll see what happens when the likes of Jim Thome start getting there.

The bottom line is that ARod just joined a very small, still exclusive list of the greatest power hitters of all time. It's an amazing accomplishment, and amazing becomes ridiculous when you consider his age. Congratulations, ARod, and let's all hope you're still in pinstripes when you hit number 600.

The Giambi and Selig Tango

The inquisition of Jason Giambi is quickly becoming a litmus test for where people stand on the steroid issue, and who they most blame. A cadre of sportswriters have used Bud Selig's threat of suspension unless Giambi cooperates with the Mitchell investigation as an excuse to rock the pulpit hard.

The Jon Heymans of the world argue that Giambi has some sort of responsibility to cooperate with the investigation, for the good of the game, and perhaps as some sort of self-flagellating cleansing ritual. They couldn't be more wrong.

Giambi is no saint, and his body is likely paying the price now for his past (or current) sins, but his semi-apologies are considerably further than any other current player has gone in accepting responsibility for the steroid era. And he has absolutely no obligation, legal, moral or otherwise, to help out Bud Selig's gang of torch-bearing yokels.

The Mitchell investigation is about one thing and one thing only: Bud Selig attempting to cover his ass with the fans and the media. It's a naked public relations gambit with no real power, and no interest in finding the truth. George Mitchell is the head of a Selig-empowered lynch mob looking for a few scapegoats...three or four current or former players that can bear the brunt of the blame, allowing Selig to come out clean and put the issue to bed once and for all.

The commissioner pretends that the investigation is some multi-tentacled, all-encompassing beast endeavoring to explore every nook and cranny of a vast steroid conspiracy perpetrated on his beloved game by the evil players and their back-alley doctors. In reality, the truth is utterly inconsequential. Pinning Barry Bonds and a few others to the wall will suffice.

Much has been written about who's to blame for the rampant steroid and HGH use in baseball, and there's much culpability to spread around: players, managers, owners, writers and fans all looked the other way happily while Barry Bonds, Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa walked around looking like G.I. Joe figures and destroyed the record books. But the person most to blame is the one who held the most power at the time - Bud Selig. Recently, Selig has been caught in lies about how much he knew about steroids and when, and we can only hope that a Woodward and Bernstein are somewhere out there looking for their Watergate.

Selig rode the tide of public opinion in the late '90s, happily benefiting from the effects of the pills, powders and needles. Then, when the fans turned, mainly because of Bonds, and Congress grumbled, the commissioner put on a show of acting like an angry, shocked, betrayed parent. "I can't believe you kids were taking drugs this whole time! And after all these talks we had! How could you do this to me?"

Anybody with a conscience or sense of propriety will refuse to cooperate with the Mitchell investigation. Bud Selig deserves to deal with the problem he helped foster by looking the other way for far too long. Moreover, the investigation is primarily dealing with events from three, five and ten years ago. It's too late to ban certain players from the record books, and baseball has too little power to suspend players retroactively, especially considering that a steroid policy wasn't even in place at the time.

Jason Giambi is no hero. I don't even really like the guy. But if he stays on his present course and shuns the investigators, he will have done the right thing. Caving in to Selig's bullying (but impotent) strong-arm tactics will send the wrong kind of message to other players. The only correct way for the Mitchell investigation to end is with the inquisitors throwing their hands in the air and giving up.

Discretion is the Better Part...

I think you're heart's in the right place and all, Jason, but this is not helping.