Head-first slides vs. juiced home runs

When you live in a city where the home team Milwaukee Brewers is clinging to first place in August and the commissioner of baseball resides, you are automatically a baseball fan this year.

Count me in that category, even though I'm not a rabid baseball fan. I'm a Cleveland Indians fan!

These comments, however, concern baseball and not my beloved Indians. Growing up in Central Ohio, I had the choice of being a fan of the Indians or the Cincinnati Reds. My team of choice was in Cleveland, but the Reds were preferred by the television stations.

As a result, I joined fans from around the country in appreciating the amazing and sometimes just-plain-stupid ways Pete Rose tried to win every game. He slid headfirst into every base, including first.

There is no doubt now that after the game, or before it, Pete probably placed a bet on another baseball game or a horse race or a frog-jumping contest. Did he ever bet on his own game? No one who ever watched him play or berate an umpire would believe that.

For his betting habit, Rose has been relegated to signing baseballs for a living. His "museum" is in Cincinnati. Nearly all observers, including most of my sportswriter friends,feel he is unlikely to ever be enshrined in the Baseball Hall of Fame, despite the fact that his career-hits record is just about untouchable.

I suppose his record could be eclipsed if some drug company would come up with a substance that shuts down the brain and tells a player to slide head-first into first base. That brings me to Barry Bonds, who all of my sportswriter and baseball-nut fans dislike, but feel belongs in the Hall of Fame.

I'm sure Barry will get into the Hall at Cooperstown. But here's my take. In those many, many games Barry probably played with his artificially enlarged muscles, how many were decided by his drug-aided home runs?

Granted, the verdict isn't in on what or whether he participated in the juicing scandal, but all the talk about asterisks on his home-run total seems to point in that direction. Isn't hitting a home run, aided by a banned substance, similar to betting on that game? Without the juice, the home run could have been a pop fly or a rally-ending ground ball that resulted in a double play.

My message to Commissioner Bud Selig, who lives about two miles from me, is this:

If any of today's juiced boys of summer get into the Hall of Fame, they should be welcomed by Pete Rose.