The Impact of a Big Mac on the Big Unit

Randy Johnson is one of the most accomplished pitchers of the Steroid Era.  What does that say about him?  More importantly, what does it say about us?

Last night, Randy Johnson, that tall holdover from an era bereft of pitch counts, that embodiment of intimidation, that mainstay of modern baseball, won his 299th career game.  He allowed three hits and one earned run while striking out six over six innings against the Atlanta Braves.  One more victory and Johnson collects that magical number 300.  The dominant pitcher of his era, Johnson is without a doubt a Hall-of-Famer; 300 victories will simply solidify his place in baseball lore.  Yet, there remains one minor issue, Johnson pitched in the Steroid Era.  Just like any other player of this time period, Johnson’s career will be vulnerable to suspicion and doubt.

As time passes, I’m increasingly convinced that the defining image of this era isn’t going to be some monstrous moon shot of a homerun, the abnormally large head of Barry Bonds, Rafael Palmeiro defiantly wagging his finger at Congress, or even Alex Rodriguez speaking frankly to Peter Gammons while dressed in his royal blue sweater.  Instead, we’re going to remember a somewhat leaner Mark McGwire, gray peppering his once orange beard, in a pale green tie, dodging the questions and asserting that he did not come here to “talk about the past.”  As baseball fans, the more we kick over the rocks of the past, the more uncertain we become of the present.

In the May 25, 2009 issue of Sports Illustrated, Tom Verducci produced a wonderful retrospective of Randy Johnson.  Hidden somewhere in the midst of the hyperbole and hubris that comprise Johnson’s character, the 45-year-old pitcher says, that he “dabbled in all kinds of powders and tried to put weight on.”  He goes on, “I took a lot of different things that, you know, maybe at that time, maybe early enough, if I would have been tested, who knows? I could have been taking stuff had they tested me back then. Maybe I would have tested [positive for a banned supplement]. I don’t know.”  It’s not an admission of guilt like that of Alex Rodriguez, but it’s far from a denial.

As a Yankee fan, I never rooted for Johnson, but I certainly appreciated what I saw.  In the 1995 ALDS, his virtuoso performance: picking up two wins—one in the key relief appearance of the series in the tenth and eleventh innings of game five—while allowing three earned runs and striking out 16, cut me deep.  In the 2001 World Series, as a Diamondback, he and Curt Schilling ripped out my heart.  When he joined New York in 2005, his 4.37 ERA and .642 winning percentage were by no means bad, they just did not live up to expectations.  Moreover, Johnson always seemed gruff, aloof, recalcitrant. As opposed to fireballers of previous eras, he just seemed inaccessible.  Nevertheless, he was a singular, once-in-a-lifetime talent.

In retrospect, Johnson’s longevity will ultimately define his career.  As Verducci put it, “He has more wins in his 40s than he did in his 20s.”  In this era of questionable numbers and bulked up athletes, that longevity is going to draw some negative attention to an otherwise impressive career.  How does someone in his late 40s still touch 95 mph?

I’m not accusing Johnson of anything, I am just curious to see how all of this goes down.  Will some intrepid reporter look into Johnson’s past and his patronage of GNC?  Will some long last trainer or drug test surface as Johnson nears retirement and Cooperstown?  Or does Johnson record his 300th win and stroll leisurely into baseball Elysium clean as a whistle?  Unfortunately, the shadow of Big Mac hangs over Johnson as much as it obscures most of baseball.  We’re always going to look at the numbers from this decade slantwise, never fully trusting what we saw.  The legacy of Randy Johnson is not the first and certainly will not be the last to suffer due to the sins of others.  A veritable asterisk will always exist next to numbers put up in this decade: 300 wins, 762 career home runs, and maybe even Johnson’s strikeout total of 4843 and counting.  There’s really nothing we can do about it except follow McGwire’s advice and force ourselves to move forward.

Mark McGwire once appeared on an episode of “The Simpsons,” where it is revealed that Major League Baseball used satellite technology to spy on the residents of Springfield.  McGwire appears and exclaims, “Do you want to hear all about the spying or do you want to see me hit some dingers?”  Springfield resoundingly opts for the dingers.  So did we.  All it cost us was our peace of mind.