Forgiving Heroes

I'm here to talk about the past. I'm here to talk about that magical summer of 1998. I was 15 years old, passionate about the game of baseball since birth, and frustrated that Major League Baseball had declined in popularity in the aftermath of the strike-shortened season in 1994. But then along came two sluggers, a gregarious Dominican right fielder named Sammy Sosa and a pudgy first baseman with a down on the farm, "aw, shucks" attitude named Mark McGwire. They bombed homer after homer. They chased, and shattered, a beloved record. They cooperated with the media. They mingled with fans. They became friends with each other. Sammy had his patented chest-thump-kiss, and Big Mac had the understated fist raise. They were just two sociable guys playing a child's game with joy and passion. They were everything we want our heroes to be, and with their chase for the single season home run record that year, they made Americans fall in love again with our national pastime.

By now, we all know how this story has changed over the last 11 1/2 years. Since then, Sammy Sosa has been uncovered as a bat-corker and probable (but not proven) steroid user. This past Monday, Mark McGwire admitted that he used steroids during his career, including the magical 1998 season. McGwire is not the first slugger to admit steroid use, nor will he be the last. But his earnest apology on Monday, coupled with his reputation as a fan favorite and a "swell guy," has led many to consider the question of forgiveness. Should we forgive Mark McGwire? Should we forgive Sammy Sosa? Should we forgive A-Rod, Clemens, Pettitte, Canseco, Bonds? Should we forgive the great Armando Rios?!

Over the last several days, I've heard these questions raised once again. Often, they come from the angle of whether or not these players "deserve" our forgiveness. Many feel that apologetic stars like McGwire deserve forgiveness, but the unapologetic Bonds and the silent Sosa are not worthy of forgiveness and pardon. It seems as though our society offers forgiveness to those who publicly confess their sins and express remorse, but withholds forgiveness from those who don't think they need to be forgiven.

I often struggle with this understanding of forgiveness. Is it possible to forgive someone who doesn't think they need to be forgiven? Or must some remorse be present for forgiveness to take place? Can I forgive the person who cuts in front of me in line at the grocery store, even if they feel they are entirely justified in doing so? Can God forgive us for things we're not sorry for, or sins we are not aware of committing? Can forgivenes precede apology? All I know is that I can try to forgive the unremorseful sluggers as well as the remorseful, hoping that someday they will come to know the truth about their deplorable actions.

As a baseball fan, I feel cheated by the steroid era. I am deeply wounded by these players that contributed to placing this blemish on the game of baseball. My innocence has been ripped from me -- the baseball element of my childhood has turned out to be one big lie after another. In my attic remains memories of the 1998 home run chase -- scorecards of the many Cardinals or Cubs games I attended, with the home run number written for Sosa or McGwire, along with newspapers and magazines chronicling the events. But what used to be sweet memories are now sour. I now look at these mementos and become sick to my stomach. As much as I wish we could stop talking about the past, I know that new reports, new confessions, new weepy apologies to Costas and Gammons will continue. Alas, the pain will never go away.

"Then Peter came and said to him, 'Lord, if another member of the church sins against me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?' Jesus said to him, 'Not seven times, but, I tell you, seventy times seven.'" - Matthew 18:21-22

The steroid era has called us into an endless cycle of forgiveness. A few times a year, we're called to forgive yet another hero-of-the-past-turned-goat-of-the-present. Perhaps when Jesus first spoke these words to Peter, he knew one day there would be an entire nation of baseball fans living out the call to forgive "seventy times seven."

So Big Mac, I forgive you. Sammy, I forgive you. I forgive all of the sluggers, flamethrowers, and marginal minor leaguers trying to "get to the Show" no matter what the cost. I forgive you for cheapening the integrity of the game. I forgive you for marginalizing the clean players with your drug-enhanced performance. I forgive you for cheating the fans of a pure experience. And I forgive you for trampling on my heart, leaving a gaping wound where fond childhood memories once lived. I will always wear the scars of this era, scars that you all have made. I will always be saddened by what has transpired in the aftermath. But here is one boy who will forgive you for the pain you have inflicted upon all of us, whether or not you think you deserve it.