What Mark McGwire should have said
[Author's note: We've been unwavering in our criticism of Mark McGwire lately, prompting our esteemed blogging colleague Erik Manning to ask "What needs to happen for you to be satisfied with all this?" In short, for McGwire to turn back the hands of the clock and redo his apology. Here's what it would say.]
When the Cardinals hired me as hitting coach back in October, I did not attend the press conference, nor did I, as team officials promised, address the media and fans soon after. I did not do so because I was afraid to, as a result of bad decisions I have made, the consequences of which I have been running from for a long time. Now I realize that I cannot run from them any longer, because I cannot return to baseball without telling fans the truth about how I played the game.
Very simply, I cheated. Throughout my career, on a regular basis, I used many kinds of drugs, illegal by the laws of this country and expressly forbidden by the commissioner, in order to improve my performance on the field and gain an edge over other players. I tell you now that the player that thousands of fans paid to see hit home runs, bought replica jerseys of and encouraged their kids to emulate cheered for a phony.
For too long, fans and media have waged a debate over the legitimacy of my (and others’) records, based on the uncertainty over the use of and the effectiveness of performance-enhancing drugs. Today, I wish to clarify and end that debate. I do not hold fans with such contempt that I feel I can trick them into believing that PEDs did not help. They obviously did, or I wouldn’t have tried them, nor would I have hit 70 home runs in the decline phase of an honest ballplayer’s career. At that time, professional athletes of many sports, including baseball and including me, were well aware of how, for example, Olympic athletes were gaining tremendous advantages, and I wanted to, also. Among other benefits, I was able to work out in a way that allowed me to recover quickly and I improved my bat speed tremendously, so much that in 1998, when I was 34 years old, my bat speed was clocked at 99 mph, the fastest swing ever measured.
As the FBI already found out and has been reported in places like the New York Daily News, my regimen consisted of one-half cc of testosterone cypionate every three days; one cc of testosterone enanthate per week; the veterinary steroids Equipoise and Winstrol V, one quarter cc every three days, injected into the buttocks, one in one cheek, one in the other. That was two to four times as strong as those a patient would receive at a clinic. It aided in my recovery from injuries, but it went above that range, giving me performance enhancement to help me reach levels I never would have.
I knew they were illegal by the laws of our country, because I had to conduct my regimen in private, with people I trusted not to rat me out. I did not have a doctor oversee what I was doing, because no ethical doctor would have prescribed anabolic steroids for a healthy person, even one with the injuries I had (which were likely caused by the drugs I took). I knew they were against the rules that Commissioner Vincent set forth in his memo in 1991, because I did them without most of my teammates knowing (when you travel and live with 25 guys for up to eight months of the year and they don’t know something about you, it’s because you’re trying your best to hide it). Moreover, in my heart of hearts, I knew they were against the spirit of honest competition, no matter how many other players were doing them or that the players’ union never agreed to the commissioner’s ban, because some players were not taking them, and it wasn’t because they didn’t know how or where to get them.
To all the players who played the game the right way — that is, who didn’t take performance-enhancing drugs — I am sorry. I am sorry because all of us who used those drugs and — make no mistake — established the steroids era created an environment in which many of those honest players either had to join us to stay in the majors or find themselves out of a job. I was blind to their plight, because I was a star from my rookie season, but I am without excuse. I am sorry to all of those honest players in the game today, who must live with the suspicion of being users.
To the Maris family, I am sorry. I am sorry because I stole the single-season home run record from Roger Maris. Stealing is taking something that doesn’t belong to you, which, by cheating, is exactly what I did. I realize that I have rendered the record book less meaningful. They have every right to hold Roger’s record as the authentic one, whether the record book says it or not.
To Jose Canseco, my brother and others, I am sorry. I am sorry for for allowing them to be criticized and their reputations tarnished, while I kept silent. I apologize to Tony La Russa, whom I put in the difficult position of knowing about my use but having his career depend on my success. He has spent many years defending my reputation, preferring to protect both of us to telling the truth, and I was the cause.
To the Hooten family and others to whom I pledged to do all I could to help, I am sorry. I am sorry for not following through with my pledge to help kids understand the physical dangers of taking steroids, or, perhaps as importantly, of the disgracefulness of cheating.
To those working for justice in this country, I am sorry. I am sorry for being too cowardly to testify and cooperate on various occasions. As another consequence of my actions, I will now face the music of civil justice. To that end, I have contacted the FBI to offer whatever help I can in order to aid their efforts to curb illegal steroid use and trafficking. I will not seek immunity as I did prior to the congressional hearings and am prepared to take whatever legal punishment I am liable for.
To young players and young fans, I am sorry. I am sorry because I have furthered the idea that using drugs and cheating does pay. I made more than $75 million in this game. I realize that, from a material perspective, I have given you 75 million reasons *to* do whatever you can to succeed, even if it’s illegal and unethical. Beyond back acne and shrunken testicles, I have endured little else physically, though I was probably luckier than most, and you can check with organizations like the Hooten Foundation to learn more about the physical ramifications of illegal drugs. But if your life is more than mere material wealth, all I can say is to consider what you become when you cheat.
To all of the fans who supported me by buying tickets to the game, watching me on TV, buying merchandise with my name on it, I am sorry. I am sorry because I allowed others to market me as an authentic hero, when in fact I was a fraud. I apologize to the fans who did not see me play but, because of my legacy, now watch a game that is that much poorer for my involvement in corrupting it and casting an air of illegitimacy and suspicion over the game and its records.
I realize that many fans and media will reply that all is forgiven, and I appreciate that. But this isn’t principally about me seeking, needing and receiving forgiveness: It’s about me taking responsibility for my actions and being humble enough to swallow my pride, which, truth be told, is why I took steroids and evaded the truth in the first place. If I am truly sincere, I realize that I cannot really be sorry about my wrongdoing and still expect to do everything I want as if I hadn’t. So I must finally face the consequences, one of which is not being able to work in baseball — coaching in the very thing that I built my sham career on, hitting. As much as I want to return to the game I love, I will finally put the game ahead of my own selfish interest. If major-league baseball and the Cardinals, including Tony — who only a year ago said that to have a zero tolerance policy, we need punitive measures — do not recognize the incompatible witness of their public stance against drugs and their ongoing promotion and elevation of its known offenders, I do. I therefore respectfully resign my post as Cardinals hitting coach. I do so in the hope that this small act will demonstrate my sincerity in wanting to rid the game of unethical and illegal performance-enhancing drugs. If I can persuade at least one person to turn away from the temptation of drugs, I will have gained as much satisfaction as I would have helping Cardinal hitters.
I realize that, because of my actions and my actions alone, I have tarnished the game and hurt many people, some profoundly. During my playing career, I enjoyed the reputation and legacy of a hero. But I am not nor was I a hero. A hero plays by the rules of the game, no matter how he performs. A hero looks for an honest way to improve himself, not a shortcut to greatness. A hero tells the truth, even when it costs him something. I have not done those things. I hereby bid the game goodbye, hoping that at last, I may have done something to undo a fraction of what I have done.