Why, exactly, do we suspect Bartolo Colon of using PEDs?

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I woke up Sunday morning to see an interesting tweet from Buster Olney:

It struck me funny. Because when I think about Bartolo Colon and PEDs I don’t feel it necessary to go back to the 1998 All-Star Game to do it. I certainly don’t need to use the 1998 All-Star Game as a proxy for his greatness. Heck, in 1998 Colon was selected for the game by his own manager, Mike Hargrove. He was the fourth pitcher in for the American League, he pitched like crap for an inning and got the win in what was essentially a vulture job. It was like a lot of All-Star Games that way and it said almost nothing about Colon’s quality. It said zero about PEDs.

But that’s not really what Olney is saying, of course. He’s not actually saying anything about that All-Star Game. He’s saying “Bartolo Colon was a good pitcher in 1998 and now, 15 years later and after some bumpy years with time off, he’s a good pitcher again. And that is the basis for PED suspicion.”

source: Getty ImagesBut no matter which of those interpretations you subscribe to, I feel the sentiment illustrates a pretty big problem with the PEDs discourse. A problem which explains why a lot of guys who don’t take PEDs have been unfairly suspected in the past and will be unfairly suspected in the future: the assumption that “Anomalous performance = PED use.”

To be clear: I don’t think Bartolo Colon is in the “unfairly suspected” camp. The guy was suspended for PED use last season and he’s caught up in the Biogenesis stuff. I don’t know if he’s using this season, but to the extent people are suspecting Colon right now, it isn’t unfair. Dude just got busted doing it. We’re naive if we don’t, at the very least, look askance.

But even if the anomalous performance/recent use distinction may be splitting hairs with Bartolo Colon, it does matter in a larger sense.

What happens if we treat any player who has an odd, late career bump — or who does anything else unusual in the game — as a PED user? Should “a whole lot of people in the game” treat all players who do well at 40 after some time in the wilderness as PED users? How about guys who start hitting home runs when we may not expect it? Them too? Actually, we already do this too much. Just ask Chris Davis. Ask Jose Bautista. Ask the next guy who has a half-season’s power surge.

The example we’re setting by couching suspicion of Barolo Colon in his anomalous performance instead of the far better reasons for suspicion of him encourages us to play those lazy games — and other lazy games — with other players. We disproportionately accuse power hitters even though far more punch-and-judy guys and pitchers have tested positive for PEDs. We accuse players of PED use because of their physique or acne or temper or who their teammates happen to be. If history has shown us anything, it has shown us that if we create that sort of discourse with respect to one guy, we’ll use it with respect to others.

source:  You may say “well, that’s where we are.” But I don’t want to live in a world where everything that happens which is somewhat unusual is looked upon as fraudulent and bad. I want to cheer when some career minor leaguer finally figures something out, however late. I want to enjoy it when some tomato can reliever quits baseball, goes back to coaching high schoolers and then has some weird unexpected fluky run. I want to be happy for a guy whose life was turned upside down and found himself hitting in the Mexican League only to come back to the U.S. to find a niche. I want former All-Stars who we all thought were toast to come back and put together one last All-Star season.

What I don’t want is to get into some lazy form of thinking where anything odd is chalked up to PED use. That’s unfair and soul killing. To be suspicious of a player we need more than that or else we take all that is joyful and wondrous out of the game of baseball.

In Bartolo Colon’s case we happen to have more than that so we need not engage in these sort of cute, factoid-based accusations about the 1998 All-Star Game. We can and should simply say “people in the game suspect Colon because he took PEDs less than a year ago and is mentioned prominently in the Biogenesis documents.”

Baseball writers are in the business of crafting narratives. Fans inevitably adopt these narratives. The writers, therefore, either directly or indirectly, write baseball history. So when a well-known and well-respected baseball commentator like Buster Olney cites that 1998 All-Star game, or cites the mere fact that Colon is pitching well at 40 as evidence of PEDs, he encourages fans to do the same. And, by extension, to be suspicious of any anomalous performance. That’s wrong and unfair. Not to Bartolo Colon, but to the next guy who does something that, until a few years ago, we thought was pretty cool.

Gaylord Perry, two-time Cy Young winner, dies at 84

Gregory Fisher-USA TODAY Sports
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GAFFNEY, S.C. — Baseball Hall of Famer and two-time Cy Young Award winner Gaylord Perry, a master of the spitball and telling stories about the pitch, died at 84.

Perry died at his home in Gaffney, Cherokee County Coroner Dennis Fowler said. He did not provide additional details. A statement from the Perry family said he “passed away peacefully at his home after a short illness.”

The native of Williamston, North Carolina, made history as the first player to win the Cy Young in both leagues, with Cleveland in 1972 after a 24-16 season and with San Diego in 1978 – going 21-6 for his fifth and final 20-win season just after turning 40.

“Before I won my second Cy Young, I thought I was too old – I didn’t think the writers would vote for me,” Perry said in an article on the National Baseball Hall of Fame website. “But they voted on my performance, so I won it.”

“Gaylord Perry was a consistent workhorse and a memorable figure in his Hall of Fame career,” MLB Commissioner Rob Manfred said in a statement, adding, “he will be remembered among the most accomplished San Francisco Giants ever … and remained a popular teammate and friend throughout his life.”

Perry was drafted by the San Francisco Giants and spent 10 seasons among legendary teammates like Hall of Famer Willie Mays, who said Thursday that Perry “was a good man, a good ballplayer and my good friend. So long old Pal.”

Juan Marichal remembered Perry as “smart, funny, and kind to everyone in the clubhouse. When he talked, you listened.”

“During our 10 seasons together in the San Francisco Giants rotation, we combined to record 369 complete games, more than any pair of teammates in the Major Leagues,” Marichal said. “I will always remember Gaylord for his love and devotion to the game of baseball, his family, and his farm.”

Perry, who pitched for eight major-league teams from 1962 until 1983, was a five-time All-Star who was elected to the Hall of Fame in 1991. He had a career record of 314-255, finished with 3,554 strikeouts and used a pitching style where he doctored baseballs or made batters believe he was doctoring them.

The National Baseball Hall of Fame said in a statement that Perry was “one of the greatest pitchers of his generation.” The Texas Rangers, whom Perry played for twice, said in a statement that the pitcher was “a fierce competitor every time he took the ball and more often than not gave the Rangers an opportunity to win the game.”

“The Rangers express their sincere condolences to Gaylord’s family at this difficult time,” the team’s statement said. “This baseball great will be missed.”

Perry’s 1974 autobiography was titled “Me and the Spitter,” and he wrote it in that when he started in 1962 he was the “11th man on an 11-man pitching staff” for the Giants. He needed an edge and learned the spitball from San Francisco teammate Bob Shaw.

Perry said he first threw it in May 1964 against the New York Mets, pitched 10 innings without giving up a run and soon after entered the Giants’ starting rotation.

He also wrote in the book that he chewed slippery elm bark to build up his saliva, and eventually stopped throwing the pitch in 1968 after MLB ruled pitchers could no longer touch their fingers to their mouths before touching the baseball.

According to his book, he looked for other substances, like petroleum jelly, to doctor the baseball. He used various motions and routines to touch different parts of his jersey and body to get hitters thinking he was applying a foreign substance.

Giants teammate Orlando Cepeda said Perry had “a great sense of humor … a great personality and was my baseball brother.”

“In all my years in baseball, I never saw a right-handed hurler have such a presence on the field and in the clubhouse,” Cepeda added.

Seattle Mariners Chairman John Stanton said in a release that he spoke with Perry during his last visit to Seattle, saying Perry was, “delightful and still passionate in his opinions on the game, and especially on pitching.

Perry was ejected from a game just once for doctoring a baseball – when he was with Seattle in August 1982. In his final season with Kansas City, Perry and teammate Leon Roberts tried to hide George Brett’s infamous pine-tar bat in the clubhouse but was stopped by a guard. Perry was ejected for his role in that game, too.

After his career, Perry founded the baseball program at Limestone College in Gaffney and was its coach for the first three years.

Perry is survived by wife Deborah, and three of his four children in Allison, Amy and Beth. Perry’s son Jack had previously died.

Deborah Perry said in a statement to The AP that Gaylord Perry was “an esteemed public figure who inspired millions of fans and was a devoted husband, father, friend and mentor who changed the lives of countless people with his grace, patience and spirit.”

The Hall of Fame’s statement noted that Perry often returned for induction weekend “to be with his friends and fans.”

“We extend our deepest sympathy to his wife, Deborah, and the entire Perry family,” Baseball Hall of Fame chairman Jane Forbes Clark said.