"You know, the first and greatest sin of the deception of television is that it simplifies. It diminishes great, complex ideas, trenches of time. Whole careers become reduced to a single snapshot."
If you recognize the above quotation, then congrats on having excellent taste. It comes from Sam Rockwell's character in "Frost/Nixon," one of the best films of the past year. Television, he explains, made a major breakthrough in 1977, when David Frost's post-Watergate series of interviews with Richard Nixon culminated in the former president's emotional confession that "I let the American people down."
At its best, a great TV interview can capture a moment in history like nothing else can. If a picture is worth a thousand words, then hours -- or even just minutes -- of footage are pretty damn near priceless. When a great journalist finds within himself the ability to perfectly humanize his subject, no matter the stakes, you're witnessing something special.
I think you know where I'm going with this.
If you haven't yet seen the interview that ESPN's Peter Gammons conducted with Alex Rodriguez for Monday night's "SportsCenter," then I have no earthly idea what you're waiting for. Gammons' piece (not the short version -- I'm talking about the full 36-minute "SportsCenter" exclusive, which is available for free online) is the perfect snapshot, to borrow the term from Rockwell, of Rodriguez's career to date.
After it leaked on Sports Illustrated's website Saturday morning that Rodriguez had tested positive for both testosterone and the anabolic steroid Primobolan during his 2003 MVP season with the Rangers, Gammons went straight to the bottom of the issue, making clear right away that he's in no mood to turn the story of our generation's greatest player into a puff piece. The first question came eight seconds in.
"What is the truth?"
Within the first minute, Gammons got the confession that, as he later admitted, he wasn't sure he was going to get at all. When Rodriguez came forth with "I did take a banned substance. And for that I am very sorry and deeply regretful," it became clear that this was the kind of moment every journalist dreams of. The ramifications of this confession are mindblowingly far-reaching -- they extend beyond Alex himself, beyond the Yankees, beyond the $275 million that the Steinbrenner braintrust has invested in a known, confessed steroid user.
First of all, this is about Babe Ruth, Henry Aaron and Barry Bonds. What's next for the mark that used to be the most sacred record in all of sports? What happens in 2013 when A-Rod shatters the all-time home run record? How do we react when the hallowed title of Home Run King is passed from one assumed cheater to another certain one?
When home run records were being shattered across the board in the era from 1998 to 2007, we could at least take solace in the idea that records such as Bonds' were temporary. Bonds' 762 would only stand until someone younger and hopefully cleaner came along to tear it down.
But now what? What happens when A-Rod hits 763, and then 800, and then, in all likelihood, 900? Do we embrace him? Boo him? Ignore him? Will he be treated any differently because, unlike Bonds, he confessed? Will baseball learn to forgive and forget? Rodriguez made it clear in his interview Monday night that he'd rather be forgiven like Andy Pettitte than shunned like Mark McGwire. But can that ever really happen if he pursues history the same way Bonds did?
But in another sense, this isn't about Bonds, McGwire, Roger Clemens or Sammy Sosa. This is about one man facing immense pressure in a way that it's hard for any of us to even comprehend. When he says that "I wanted to prove to everyone that I was worth being one of the greatest players of all time," it's hard not to take that seriously.
Rodriguez had an owner in Texas, Tom Hicks, who poured $252 million into making him the face of the franchise and later claimed to be "personally betrayed" when news of the star's steroid use surfaced. Rodriguez had a team -- and, you could argue, an entire city -- in New York that resented his success and looked for any opportunity to drag him down. And while he may claim that his years in New York have been clean, that's looking less believable by the minute.
He's spent a decade of his life being compared to Derek Jeter, a far more likable guy but a far inferior baseball player. I can't imagine how that must feel. I can't imagine how that must drive a man to want more success, more fame, more numbers, more money, more records -- just to stick it to everyone who said he couldn't do it.
Rodriguez, whose career postseason stat line of .279/.373/.483 is comparable not only to Jeter's but to Reggie "Mr. October" Jackson's, still can't go anywhere in New York without teammates, reporters, and/or fans accusing him of failing in the clutch. If you were in that situation, wouldn't you be tempted to shoot up a little something extra, just to make sure that "failure" never happened again?
This isn't about one guy cheating. This is about one guy scared out of his mind that he won't be remembered the way he deserves to be -- as one of the greatest players ever to wear a baseball uniform. Maybe the very best. He did everything he could to show it, and in the end his fear of failure turned out to be his tragic flaw. I can't help but feel sorry for him.
There were 104 players who tested positive for performance-enhancing drugs in the survey testing conducted by Major League Baseball in 2003. Of those 104 names, one was leaked, and it happens to be the name of the best player any of us have ever seen. Of course, this is all about jealousy. How many millions of us wish we were Alex Rodriguez, just to have the home runs, the MVP trophies and the hundreds of millions in the bank? No one can beat him, so the next best thing is to bring him down. It's a little bit pathetic.
All of this was what ran through my mind on Monday night as I watched, over and over, Peter Gammons dissect the career of one of the game's legends. The interview itself is something much like its subject -- something that only comes along once in a great many years, something you have to see to believe. If you're a baseball fan, it's something you can't afford to miss.
Go. Watch it. Now.
What are you doing reading me?
--
Evans Clinchy is a senior majoring in English. He can be reached at Evans.Clinchy@tufts.edu.
