Lord of the Lies

So Outside the Lines has uncovered an old secret we should have seen staring us under the eyeblack. Just
Iike the same secret we were foolish--or stubborn--enough to miss during the late, great chase of 1998.

Of course, nobody but the forgetable Rick Helling wanted to acknowledge baseball's last dark secret until records were smashed, Jose Canseco wrote a book and turned state's evidence, and Congress went SNL sketch.

We believed an Olympic-strength testing policy would eventually abolish the PED dispensing in the 'ole ballgame. Right. Right now, Tony Bosch is sitting in a cell and a former FedEx delivery driver is collecting a check from another employer because someone created a better brand of blue baseball meth.

Meanwhile, Alex Rodriguez and Ryan Braun keep cashing checks, while their local fans pay alms and wave palms because, hey, everybody deserves a second chance, eh?

That's why when it comes to Pete Rose, should anyone really be surprised whether he bet on Cincinnati Reds games as a player-manager?

If there's any sport that no longer has the privilege of being surprised, it's the one that has played the "Who? Me?" card more often than Howard Stern whack-packer, Beetlejuice.

That card needs to be retired. As does the sympathy card. As do the words "Pete" and "Rose" which should be added to George Carlin's infamous list of those forbidden to be broadcast.

So Pete once said he never bet on baseball after signing a statement agreeing to a lifetime ban...

Then he sold a book proclaiming his innocence of baseball betting in Pete Rose: My Story.

Then he sold that story for 15 years before selling a new one, where he admitted he lied, but under the caviat he only bet on Reds games as a manager.

And now, 15 more years later, just when the All-Time Hit King was about to have a new day in court, new evidence emerges, or as the late Paul Harvey would say, "The rest of the story."

Is it though? Say we brush this off, either of our own embarrassment for not seeing this coming, or simply out of Rose exaustion because the guy has been a mosquito that keeps coming back to his own outhouse, which happens to be parked in America's oldest playground?

It's not about morality. It's not about who was a worse human being than Rose. It's not about whether he bet on or against the Reds. It's about breaking baseball's golden rule, and the countless cover-ups that have followed. It's about the fact we still may not know the entire truth and how it's taken three decades to disprove the one thing Rose had going for him. It's about the fact that there may be more we don't want to know and, Hall-of-Fame forbid, we learn the worst after Rose gets his Hall pass.

It's time to retire Pete Rose. No more sympathy. No more Hall talk. No more rationale. No seeking card show autographs that likely have the resale value of a pack of Ramen.

No more breaking glass for the Pete Rose rubber raft on slow talk show days.

No more All-Star Game appearances. Oh, isn't it in Cincy this year? Tough.

The fact is we don't know all the facts we thought we did. But now, at least we know enough of them.

Forget, Pete. Baseball has suffered enough.

What if ARod was One of Us?

When moments like Alex Rodriguez's 3000th hit are about as monumental as they are awkward, even the most seasoned New York headline writer is reduced to a hack.

Mr. 3***. Cute. Boring. Unoriginal. It was Friday night and even editors have lives and wanted to hit the bar before last call. Understandable. Maybe ARod wasn't worth any more thought. Cheap headlines may be the best Alex should have been offered.

And as much as ARod tried to emulate Derek Jeter--shamelessly too hard--during the captain's playing career, it's appropos that Rodriguez's 3000th hit came like his former teamate and friend--on a home run. But while he didn't receive the same adulation his former teammate enjoyed when his three-run bomb off David Price cleared the left field wall at Yankee Stadium, the crowd gave enough of an ovation to allow a pariah a curtain call.

Who would've imagined this back in spring training? The newly ordained Apostle Alex trotting around the Yankee STadium bases on the road back from his own Demascus, after building his career on the mask of PEDs and masking agents.

(To add even more insult to irony, Justin Verlander, now the answer to another trivia question, is now teammates with Price.)

Back to the ovation. If there was anyone in the Yankee Stadium crowd who booed ARod's latest triumph, they weren't seen or heard. With the exception of the protest of the ball catcher, who has written a book on his 8,000-plus balls he's caught at games, ARod was as well received as Willie Randolph Saturday at Old Timers Day.

Perhaps it's all that good will ARod has collected since reporting to Tampa a day early in February. Maybe it's the idea that Americans live in an Era of Second Chances.

Maybe Alex has turned over a new leaf.

What? Wasn't 2009 already a second chance?

Maybe Alex has earned enough good will that both Yankee and baseball fans alike can appreciate his accomplishments much like his breakout postseason of 2009, where he finally lived up to the hype and the paycheck.

Wait? Didn't Yankee fans want to excommunicate ARod BEFORE spring training?

Fans are hypocritical at their cores. Insecure as the some of the millionaire athletes they simultanously idolize and envy. They wave flags like palms when cashing in their chips and jeer even the most revered players as they slumber through a slump.

Or don't wanna sign an autograph.

Let's face it: fans are as much suckers as they are persecutors. They'll buy hope in record numbers at Ralph Wilson Stadium for a team in a quarterback league that doesn't have one--not even a Ryan Fitzpatrick.

They'll turn back TO players as quickly as they'll turn ON players.

Yeah. Athletes cheat. So does everyone else. But, it's different when you do it, right?

The late comic, George Carlin, once said, "I don't make fun of politicians. This is the best we can do, folks."

The same should be said for jocks and jock sniffers alike.

Forgiveness comes at a price: winning. And nobody wants to know the cost, they just how they'll respond when players secrets become transparent.

Until, of course, they regain their hero status, masked under the guise of hospital visits, signed baseballs and smiles. It's like GoodFellas, but with shots instead of gunshots. And fans buy it like the overpriced seats BEHIND the empty ones behind home plate at Yankee Stadium II. Until, of course, they screw up again.

But if the Yankees reach the playoffs, it'll be partly because ARod was able to hit this year. There's no substitute for that. And all will be forgotten. Well, until Hall of Fame voting time occurs.

No Yankee fan is turning in his 2009 World Champions hat, just like no Red Sox fan believes Boston is still cursed despite the Manny and Papi plunger-fest of 2002, or Paxton Crawford's ESPN the Magazine confessional.

Let's admit it: cheering for ARod's 3000th hit is not about how fans feel about ARod.

It's a mask to make us feel better about ourselves.

And deep down, we all know. And so should Alex.

And THAT'S all that really, truly matters.