You better believe it: Pujols is the real deal, By: Bruce Jenkins
May 27, 2006
In a sport tormented by the supernatural, and widespread evidence of its effects on history, Albert Pujols represents the natural. He was supposed to happen. What a shame that people are too freaked out to believe it.
Do you subscribe to the "bigger, stronger, faster" theory of sports evolution? Well, here it is. Pujols is the 21st century, the ultimate striker of the baseball, the heir to Barry Bonds as the best damn hitter alive. He's big, sort of a modern-day "Baby Bull" (Orlando Cepeda), but not alarmingly so. A Cooperstown presence from the instant he arrived, he has steadily improved each year. He is Hispanic, markedly representing the game's most significant revolution in 50 years. He is Michael Jordan, Lawrence Taylor, Roger Federer -- the next great thing, the closest step yet to perfection.
And by the way, where does he keep his stash of Human Growth Hormone?
This isn't sports, healer of all souls, this is baseball's version of the McCarthy era. Every home run brings just the slightest hint of doubt. If a pitcher loses a touch of velocity, he must be off the juice. Barry Bonds carries a massive frame, so he must still be doing something, except wait a minute, his body illustrates the classic post-steroid breakdown -- so which is it?
There remains the possibility, of course, that Pujols is not completely natural. "Hey, I passed every test" means nothing in a testing system rendered illegitimate by loopholes. The suspicion just seems wrong, that's all. It smacks of fear and paranoia. Pujols is about to show that a 65-to-70-homer season can be accomplished through honest means, but please, let's talk about urine.
Pujols isn't even allowed the benefit of honesty. The St. Louis media recoiled in horror when Pujols came to Bonds' defense during the Cardinals' recent visit to San Francisco, offering an "innocent until proven guilty" stance and praising Bonds' talent to the skies. And why did Pujols do that? Because Bonds is the greatest hitter any young ballplayer has ever seen. He performed, he was a gamer, he reached the heights, he actually changed the game. That's what matters to fellow athletes. Let others shovel the dirt; Bonds was awesome. And still is, on occasion.
Here's what happens in an era of tiny ballparks, juiced balls (that hasn't changed over the past 10-12 years), pitchers afraid to work inside, sophisticated video (hitters can watch previous at-bats at a moment's notice), fabulous Hispanic talent and, yes, a lot of pitchers in post-steroid downturn: Albert Pujols happens. Please, try to believe what you're seeing. You'll feel a lot better.
No stand-ins
People ridiculed Giants manager Felipe Alou when he backed Bonds for this year's All-Star Game, but Alou is right: Bonds absolutely should be there. The game is about star appeal, reputations, moments to remember. If Bonds comes to the plate as an eighth-inning pinch-hitter against Mariano Rivera, nobody's going to be clamoring for Brad Hawpe ... Mike Krukow took a national turn as Fox's analyst on the Giants-A's game last Saturday, typically showing a firm understanding of the big picture. That's what separates the Giants' broadcasting crew from virtually all others beyond the kingdom of Vin Scully: genuine and enthusiastic appreciation of the other team. You don't feel the world has ended if the bad guy goes deep ... So much for the stately Baseball Register as a tool of honor. Along with the customary career statistics, we are now force-fed scouting reports on every player, shifting the emphasis from record book to speculation and theory. We really don't need opinions on bat speed, "hitting zone" charts or "Dempster is poised to have a good year," but then again, people can't just do their job any more. They have to get cute ... If you were to come across video from the Phoenix Suns' training camp in 1997, you'd catch the remarkable sight of Jason Kidd, Steve Nash and Kevin Johnson -- three storied floor leaders -- on the same roster ... Condolences to the family and friends of Ted Schroeder, the tennis great who died Friday at the age of 84. A Stanford man who managed to win the collegiate and U.S. championships (now the U.S. Open) in the same year (1942), Schroeder won six majors, formed one of the all-time doubles teams with Jack Kramer, and had some epic matches with Pancho Gonzales. I'll remember Schroeder as a constant presence at Wimbledon, resplendent in suit and tie, stopping by Bud Collins' desk for razor-sharp opinions on contemporary players.
The anticipated Federer-Rafael Nadal final will be the dominant men's storyline at the French Open. On the women's side, Amelie Mauresmo will try to build on her breakthrough wins at the year-end WTA Championships and Australian Open. That won't be easy in her native land, where fans are familiar with her many mental lapses ... By choice, the 3-Dot is strictly beer-and-television territory during football season, so we'll say it outright: If Eddie DeBartolo and Carmen Policy get back into the game, that's our team of choice ... Great to see Portland get stiffed in the NBA draft lottery. This is an outfit that actually believed in Darius Miles, Zach Randolph and Ruben Patterson (a registered sex offender), a franchise with a long history of criminal behavior, owned by an obscenely wealthy man (Paul Allen) who ran it straight into the ground. The Blazers should get no picks for the next 50 years ... If you ask Tom Candiotti, people have it all wrong with Bonds' numbers. Back in '96, with the Dodgers visiting Candlestick, Bonds knocked one of Candiotti's knuckleballs over the fence. Everyone in the ballpark knew it but umpire Tom Hallion, who ruled it a double when he saw the ball bounce back onto the field. "I always told Barry that when he got to 714," said Candiotti, "he'd actually be past the Babe."
