REPORTING FROM ... SAN DIEGO PADRES TRAINING CAMP

by Tim Keown

     Yesterday, about noon, in the San Diego Padres' spring clubhouse in Peoria, AZ. There's not much happening, really—Greg Maddux is organizing a low-stakes golf pool in one corner, Trevor Hoffman's two sons are sitting with their dad at a round table eating tater tots, Mark Prior is checking the timer attached to the ice pack attached to his shoulder.
     The televisions on top of the lockers are showing us a still photo of Miguel Tejada, with the "breaking news" that he has refused to discuss steroids upon arriving at Astros' camp even as Congress is opening an investigation into whether perjury charges against Tejada are in order.
     As Tejada's photo hung suspended over the room, a Padres minor-league pitcher stood there shaking his head. To nobody in particular, he said, "Doesn't Congress have anything else to do? Isn't there a war going on? Don't we have immigration issues? What about the trade deficit?"
     I looked over at this guy, wondering the obvious. A ballplayer who knows about the trade deficit? I asked him a couple of questions and pretty soon we were in a full-blown discussion about the hysteria surrounding performance-enhancing drugs.
     "I thought the Mitchell Report was supposed to be about changing things in the future," he said. "I'm not defending what those guys did, because it was wrong, but at some point we have to move on."
     I know, this is about the children, right? Please. Get over that. This isn't about the children and it never was. The initial wave of revelations, spurred by Jose Canseco, Game of Shadows and other Balco-related journalistic investigations, was eye-opening, profound and completely necessary. But none of it was intended to educate anyone on the dangers of steroids.
     It's also great theater for those of us on the outside, but that's not a concern inside the clubhouse. They see it as random and tawdry, a focus that strays from the stated objective of the Mitchell people, which professes to be more interested in cleaning up the game than punishing the past.
     As my young Padre friend said, "Where are we going with this? How did this help?"
     These are the common refrains: The players think it's the worst kind of witch-hunt—unfair and media-fueled and politically irrelevant. Oh, and one other thing:
     In a conspiratorial tone, our Padre friend said, "You know how random this is? Some guys got caught because they used a check."
     He raised his palms to the ceiling. "Answer me this: How in the world could you be dumb enough to use a check?"

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