The more the
Astros talk about their cheating ways, the worse they come off. Thanks to MLB.com for being brave—or
clueless—enough to print the torrent of head-scratching remarks.
Let’s start with
new Houston manager Dusty Baker, barely two weeks on the job and already
talking gibber. Baker is upset that
other teams are saying they may throw at Astros’ hitters. Oh, my.
“I’m depending
on the league to try to put a stop to this seemingly premeditated retaliation
that I’m hearing about,” Baker was quoted in an MLB.com story from February
15. “In most instances in life, you get
kind of reprimanded when you have premeditated anything. I’m just hoping that the league puts a stop
to this before somebody gets hurt.”
Because, after all, “It’s not good for the game, it’s not good for kids
to see it. Stop the comments, and also
stop something before it happens.”
Wow, Mr. Old
School all of a sudden wants help from above.
Any other time I’d expect to hear a lecture from Baker on how the game
can police itself, but, of course, that would be in defense of his players
throwing at or sliding into the opposition, spikes high. Obviously, this is different because Dusty
Baker thinks it is.
If he were given
to reflection, Baker might wonder why the rest of baseball is so upset with the
Astros. Hint: It has something to do with the severity of
the punishment meted out, or lack thereof.
The Astros get to keep their 2017 World Series rings along with the
winner’s share, and all they had to do was recite some lines about being sorry
and having learned their lessons, however unspecified. Absent a more thorough investigation that
spelled out what the Astros did, who did it and when, having Dusty Baker around
saying stupid stuff will have to suffice as added punishment.
That, and having
a player like Carlos Correa try to talk his way out of a paper bag. In an interview with Ken Rosenthal (the
transcript also published in MLB.com on the 15th), Correa started
off on the right track, saying, “It was wrong, and we’ve got to own that, and
we’ve got to take that.” If only Correa has
stopped there, but no.
He
felt the need to respond to the Dodgers’ Cody Bellinger, who’s pretty adamant
the Astros stole the ’17 World Series from his team and Jose Altuve snatched that
year’s MVP from Aaron Judge of the Yankees.
In Correa’s moral universe, it’s OK for other players to say the
cheating was wrong, “But when you stand in front of the camera and you don’t
know the facts, you don’t know what happened and you’re not informed and you
try to rip one of my teammates like that, when you don’t know—“ Well, yes, then what? Correa didn’t finish his line of thought,
maybe after he realized the only way someone could get all the necessary facts
would be for Carlos Correa to spell them out in detail.
Instead,
Correa jumped into a stream of consciousness, splashing this way and that. He went after ex-teammate and whistleblower
Mike Fiers, who needs to “tell the truth.
He should tell the whole world the truth,” which would include saying
Altuve didn’t cheat.
Only
that’s irrelevant—Altuve’s cheating teammates gave him opportunities he
wouldn’t have had otherwise. If you
benefit from the actions of cheaters, well, you’re sort of a cheater yourself. Same for Correa’s spin on the 2017 ALCS and
World Series. Once the opposition thinks
you’re cheating (and you are and have been), you have an unfair advantage. Maybe the Astros did play it straight those
two series (but why would they if the cheating worked?). In that case, their cheating allowed them to
get inside their opponents’ heads, so to speak.
The
Yankees and Dodgers may have taken every Houston run as proof the Astros were
cheating, again, even if they weren’t.
That in turn could have led to despair.
It doesn’t matter what set of signs we use, those guys will know. Yes, head games are as old as sports, and
they should be judged the way sign-stealing has been. There’s a right way and a wrong way to psyche
out your opponents just as there’s a right way and a wrong way to steal signs.
Maybe
someday the Astros will figure that out, but I won’t hold my breath.
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