Special to Page 2
Barry Bonds has completed the most publicized run for second place in recent memory. Now that we've gotten that out of the way and Bonds is old news, would anyone really like to talk about "Game of Shadows"?
Believe it or not, only some of the book has to do with Bonds. It's easy to see how someone could assume it's all about Barry; based on most of what's been written about the book and how it's been marketed with Bonds' chase of Babe Ruth serving as a backdrop, it seems like most people read only the excerpt in Sports Illustrated about Bonds and ignored the rest.
But while Bonds had the highest profile of any athlete who patronized BALCO, Mark Fainaru-Wada and Lance Williams' story is so much larger than one man, or even one laboratory. They provided a snapshot of how easy it can be for scientists and athletes to get over on both the criminal justice system and testing regimens of various doping agencies.
That -- not revelations about Bonds or anyone else in particular -- should have made everyone take pause.
We're lucky that we know as much as we do about steroids. Had BALCO been a criminal enterprise, the world would still think Jose Canseco was nothing more than a self-serving storyteller who told general fibs about how many people were on the juice and outright lies about specific players who were using.
But BALCO wasn't run by a criminal genius. It was run by a bass player/armchair nutritionist/moron named Victor Conte, a man whose big mouth, delusions of grandeur and laughable indiscretions spelled the demise of his business. Were Conte a criminal, he would have known that the most important things one must do while performing illegal acts are to be quiet and leave no paper trails.
But Conte was the type of guy that wanted credit for what he did. He wanted it known that, without him, his clients wouldn't be able to perform at spectacular levels. He had to be seen at sporting events, even though he walked around with a suspicious little black bag that would have served as probable cause for a search were it in my hands. His narcissism made it necessary to boast of his exploits in e-mails. Running BALCO wasn't good enough for him. He had to be known for what he did.
And like nearly all glory hogs who moonlight in scandal, that and shoddy track-covering proved to be his undoing.
See, it didn't take Sherlock Holmes to crack this case. It took a perfect storm of loose lips, snitches and guilty consciences to bring BALCO down. The smoking guns the government used to investigate the case fell into its lap. And they got there because the folks behind all of this, the so-called masterminds, had absolutely no business doing something this big.
How did the feds know that BALCO was really into something? By snooping through the lab's trash and finding empty boxes that contained various performance enhancers and syringes, instructions on how to use certain steroids, personal correspondence from athletes to BALCO, documents with the names of BALCO's clients, and evidence of the work Conte was doing for them, including reports on drug screenings Conte commissioned to make sure his bionic clients would pass whatever drug tests were required by their sports.
That's right -- nearly 20 years after the Iran-Contra Affair, Conte didn't even own a shredder.
While he was at it, Conte should have left a trail of bread crumbs.
One of Conte's partners in crime, according to "Game of Shadows," was Bonds' boyhood friend, Greg Anderson. Anderson was nearly as much of a clown as Conte when it came to breaking the law. Anderson had no problem telling people that he provided steroids and to whom he gave the juice (including, of course, Bonds). Further, he kept the schedules by which his clients were to take steroids on his personal computer, which was ultimately seized by the feds.
That's right -- in this era of readily available portable data storage, Anderson kept the details of his steroid peddling on the hard drive of his home computer.
The feds couldn't have stumbled upon two more dim-witted crooks.
Stop and think about what this means. Conte, the man who, according to "Game of Shadows," provided the fuel that yielded Tim Montgomery's world record in the 100-meter dash, the single-season home run record, Marion Jones' five medals in Sydney, Kelli White's track and field successes, and countless other athletic feats, was a fool.
A fool duped the athletic world for years. Imagine what a smart person could do in this industry.
In fact, imagine what smart people are doing. One would have to be a bigger fool than Conte to see this as anything but the tip of the iceberg. That would require being a pretty big fool.
There's no need to provide evidence that there are probably hundreds of labs doing the same things Conte did, only more stealthily. Common sense should make that clear. If that's not enough, consider what "Game of Shadows" has to say about Terry Madden, the CEO of the U.S. Anti-Doping Agency. As an American, Madden knew the world was aware that athletes from the former Eastern Bloc nations had juiced up. What he did not know was that the rest of the world viewed America the same way. While most Americans watched the Olympics and remarked how female athletes from East Germany and the Soviet Union spoke in lush baritones, everyone felt the same thing about competitors from this country.
Now, think about what "Game of Shadows" said about Kelli White, whose conscience led her to confess her transgressions (but only after she tested positive for "the clear"). When White began doping, her body changed in ways that made it clear she was using steroids. But she never sweated that. Because too many people in track and field were doping for someone to single her out just because her voice had gotten huskier.
And consider how BALCO became such a big story. While it was becoming known that the feds stumbled across a steroid ring, lots of high-profile individuals wanted to get their hands in the investigation. President Bush used the 2004 State of the Union address to win points by condemning steroid use. Former Attorney General John Ashcroft, then the highest-ranking official in the Justice Department, took it upon himself to announce that Conte, Anderson and two other men were indicted for conspiracy and money laundering. Even though cracking down on steroids fell in line with their conservative ideologies -- especially Ashcroft's -- Bush's and Ashcroft's acts were examples of grandstanding that would have made Conte proud.
(Well, had they not been grandstanding at his expense.)
But that wasn't what the world wanted to learn from "Game of Shadows." People wanted proof that Bonds used steroids. They wanted the juicy, salacious details of his doping regimen, dirty laundry about his personal life, and confirmation that he's the jerk he's said to be.
The book provided all those things. But if people read past that, they would have found something more interesting but far more disturbing. They would have come face to face with just how widespread doping is in sports. Not just from what's provided in the text, but from what anyone with half a brain could infer. That is, unless you -- yes, you -- believe there was only one place like BALCO.
To publicize an interview with "20/20" in which he planned to snitch on most of his clients (but not Bonds), Conte sent an e-mail to the San Francisco Chronicle.
"Get ready for the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth," he wrote. "Everyone in the entire world is finally going to learn that there is no Santa Claus, Easter Bunny or Tooth Fairy in the world of sport … all sports at the elite level are a fraud and the world is going to find that out in great detail."
That quote should have been on the back of the book jacket, instead of three paragraphs on the transformation of Bonds' body. While Conte's interview didn't break down myths in the dramatic fashion he claimed it would, "Game of Shadows" does. It's no stretch to assume countless other crackpot scientists are up to the same tricks, let alone real scientists who conduct business intelligently.
That's a bigger deal than 73, 714 or 755. That's the reason Albert Pujols will have to answer questions for the rest of his career. It's why the world record in the 100-meter dash was just broken and all I could do was shake my head. It's why folks should be skeptical of wide receivers who are closer to the size of John Hannah than John Stallworth, but still run like Bob Hayes.
That's how big steroids are. And that can't be forgotten, even though Bonds is off the front page.
Bomani Jones is a frequent contributor to Page 2. Tell him how you feel at bomani@bomanijones.com.
