The Braun's Medal

Ryan Braun isn't the only major leaguer whose PED dispenser rolled over on him. There's more to come. Each will get his share of beanballs thrown his way, only to be forgiven by hometown fans once they've paid their penance and bolstered their teams' rosters.

But Ryan Braun will be Milwaukee Brewers fans' first steroid test--a case study for loyalists of the other 29 teams in baseball.

How will Miller Park respond to a two-time cheater, liar, thief, accuser, coward, character assassin, prick, and every other perfect label that can be drilled his way.

He's right. He's not perfect. Neither are Braun's medalists A-Rod, Big Mac, Andy Pettitte, Manny Ramirez, Big Papi, Barry Bonds, Roger Clemens, Rafael Palmeiro, the Giambis, Cansecos, the credits listed on the Mitchell Report, the cast of "Diff'rent Strokes," and even the original "Juice" himself.

Apparently, using PEDs to win an MVP, testing positive, appealing a suspension, destroying a FedEx worker's reputation, lying to millions in a press conference after a disputed reinstatement is absolved by the overplayed, overused, condescending, "I'm not perfect," punch-n-judy, statement.

Only cowards hide behind statements. Today, Ryan Braun is that coward. There will be more, but none of whom vehemently lied to cover their needle-scared assets the way Braun has.

Now comes the PED test for Brewers fans that should go for everyone else: Braun cheated, lied, continued to cheat, rotisserie'd a working man's career to become someone he'd clearly never be without it.

Will Braun be forgiven or given the Braun's Cheer?

In baseball, forgiveness isn't the protocol when one of your hitters gets a fastball to the head; it's retaliation.

Dino Laurenzi, Jr. is a native Milwaukeean whose rep was crushed like vials at the bottom of Braun's trash can. One of them.

If the folks at Miller Park have brains, they'll crush Braun the moment he's introduced Opening Day, and every moment thereafter.

Because, if they fail their PED test, they're just as phony as Braun himself.

Mo-One Better

If you want a blueprint for a  successful career, watch Michael Jordan's Basketball Hall-of-Fame induction speech.

If you want a monument for a successful life, watch Mariano Rivera take the mound for one last All-Star Game.

Jim Leyland proved he's a smarter baseball man than the rest of us: having the greatest closer ever pitch the eighth inning before thousands of his fellow New Yorkers, ballplayers and millions watching on Fox guaranteed the accolades the Sandman long deserved before a mere mortal closer risked the ceremony by blowing an American League lead as the designated visiting team.

Saving Rivera for the Ninth last night would be like saving your better pitcher for the day after a "Must Win." Even Pete Rose wouldn't bet with those odds.

Leyland proved he may be the best manager in the game last night. Not by pitch counts and substitutions, but by managing super egos to share their moment and allow an all-time great his place on the national throne. It may have been an inning earlier than expected, but while outraging some, the humble hurler himself wouldn't have minded who closed the game.

He just wanted to pitch.

And his monument was a packed house of mostly Mets fans--his crosstown rivals--and foes of 28 other ballclubs leaving him alone on the mound to say goodbye.

If that isn't a metaphor of success, then you're a Nihilist. Stop reading, because nothing matters to you in the first place.

With all of baseball's most embarrassing moments--some by Mariano's own teammates, past and present--here's the picture of one man who did it the right way, and never wanted he credit or the attention for it.

Often in life we get what we deserve. But rarely are we ever humble enough to shy away from the glory when it finally comes. Heck, even Cal Ripken, Jr. took a victory lap when he passed Lou Gehrig's consecutive games streak.

It's fitting Mariano Rivera is the last player to ever don the number 42, now retired by the rest of baseball. And if Jackie Robinson were alive today, he'd probably be pleased with the man who closed out that number.

Last night wasn't just a tribute to one man's career; it was a Bob Ross painting showing us what we each have to look forward to if we try to be the best people we can be, rather than the best (insert job description).

No shoe deals. No tweets. No reality shows. No BS.

Just a humble, 43 year-old kid from Panama, happy to play a kid's game with the same smile he had when he entered the league in 1995.

Take it from a closer like Rivera to be ready, especially if your call to the bullpen comes a little too soon.

Worst Place

Somebaseball pundits still argue the All-Star Game shouldn't determine home field advantage in the World Series.

It's about as late and tired as fighting for Al Gore's place in the White House.

Since the law was passed, home field advantage has mattered but once in the Fall Classic. Before that, it alternated when Series were much more competitive.

Get over it. There's about as much chance to eliminate this from the mid-summer slugfest as there is to jettison the DH.

Following a title vacancy in 1994, a "tie"  in the 2002 popularity contest, and a dodging another work stoppage that year, Bud Selig's approval rating as commissioner sunk lower than George Zimmerman's. So he turned-and-coughed, turned the exhibition into an expo and awarded home field to the winning league.

Who knew it would give writers and talk show hosts fodder for years to come?

Was Selig brilliant, or is there a dot-com-like boom of blogcasters and sports radio and TV networks running out of topics come mid-July?

Thank God Tiger Woods will take the pressure off come later this week. Tiger wins the British Open: "He's back!" Elderick loses: "Will he ever be the same?" Put two bits on it.

Selig secured flat ratings at worst for a game that would have been a mid-summer Pro Bowl performance at best and ratings sinking lower than the Stanley Cup. Home field advantage isn't going away.

If anything is killing baseball, it's these:

Geeks.

WARP: WTF?

Steroid talk: Punt. It's over.

Tim Kurkjian, Ken Rosenthal and Aaron Boone: Someone do another head count at the Lollipop Guild.

Expanded instant replay: Hey, why not make these games even longer?

Moneyball: Hey Billy Beane--win a friggin' playoff series.

Wanna fix the game? Eliminate scientific calculators. We looked forward to gym, recess and Little League to get out of class. Nobody was eager to go back inside for more pre-calc.

It's nice that nerds have found a niche to carve their ways into baseball when they couldn't play.

It just sucks for the rest of us who couldn't do either.