Baseball's Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, N.Y., is the sport's pantheon to its greatest players (and executives, managers, umpires and writers), but not only that. It is a kind of national shrine. If that seems overblown or quaint, then consider the morality play doubling as the current debate over the suitability, or not, of electing two prodigiously talented alleged cheaters to the hall: Roger Clemens and Barry Bonds.
Both were diamond deities in Major League Baseball's steroid era--mainly the 1990s--and there is strong evidence both used performance-enhancing drugs to juice their bodies and prolong their careers. The arguments in favor of enshrining the two are an exercise in twisted judgment and logic-bending rationalization.
The tortured justifications for elevating and excusing Bonds and Clemens come in various flavors. One that has gained particular currency is that it is unfair to bar entrance to the hall to the two superstars given that Bud Selig, baseball's commissioner during the steroid era, was recently enshrined. Putting aside the wisdom of Selig's induction--some believe he turned a blind eye to doping; others say he did what he could to deal with it, but too slowly--the argument fails the laugh test. If one Hall of Famer's faults absolve those of prospective inductees, then value judgments themselves are suspended.
In the baseball world, some would go soft on the two superstars because at the time of their suspected doping baseball had not yet adopted written rules or penalties against it. But plenty of people in the game did not dope and knew full well it was wrong. Those who doped also knew it was wrong, and consequently sought by various means to hide it.
Editorial on 01/10/2017