HOW WE JUDGE A FALLEN HERO

DARRYL STRAWBERRY seems to have a hard time just saying no to cocaine.

For the third time in 10 years, Strawberry has entered a treatment center
to deal with his addiction to the drug, and he has been suspended from
baseball for a year for failing his drug test.

My first thought on hearing this news was: What's the matter with him?
Can't he just say no, if only for the few more years that his knees hold
out? He sure must like cocaine a lot.

My second thought was: Gee, Strawberry sure is lucky he's rich and famous,
and that all sorts of people like George Steinbrenner care about him,
because if he were poor and not famous, odds are that he'd be sitting
behind bars right now, probably for violating probation or parole with a
dirty urine sample. This country is full of people whose only offense is an
inability to say no to cocaine. Some go to fancy rehabs, some sort it out
at home, and the unlucky ones get to think it over in jail or prison.

My third thought was: Strawberry's addicted. He's got a disease, or a
disability. This is not a case of moral weakness but of metabolic
dysfunction. We don't punish folks for their diseases, or disabilities. If
anything, we try to make accommodations for their disabilities so long as
they don't pose direct threats to others. If we really believe that drug
addiction is a disease, then there is no ethical or medical justification
for depriving him of his livelihood for manifesting a symptom of the
disease. Moreover, why in this case do we always blame the patient? Maybe
the fault lies with the treatment provider.

My fourth thought was: Damn hypocrites! Strawberry can't seem to say no to
cocaine, but who isn't addicted to one thing or another? Think about
cigarettes. How many people have quit, and quit again, and again, and
again? Some really do quit, but they still cheat every once in a while.
Can't relate to cigarettes? Think about coffee. Imagine abstaining from
that wonderful drug day after day after day, even on those mornings when
nothing in the world would seem more pleasurable than a delicious hot cup
of coffee. Can't relate to that one? Then think about dieting, and about
saying no to bread day after day after day. Who doesn't cheat? Who isn't
addicted to something? Sure, cocaine is different. But what's most
different about cocaine is not the nature of the experience, or the
behavior associated with it, but the fact that it is illegal and the others
aren't.

My fifth thought was: What exactly is the point of the punishment? Almost
everything we've learned about drug use and addiction is that a good job
and a supportive environment are crucial in enabling people to say no to
drugs, or at least to keep their drug use under control. Strawberry's job
as a major league ballplayer, responsible to his fans, teammates and
employer, provided powerful incentives for him to keep his cocaine use
under control. He may have slipped up in the off season, but no one doubts
this man's courage and fortitude. So what is the point of suspending him
from baseball? Is the punishment supposed to be a form of treatment? Or the
treatment a form of punishment? Or can we no longer tell the difference?

My sixth thought was: Why don't they leave the guy alone? No one's
suggested that Darryl's cocaine use gave him an unfair advantage over his
competitors. And no one's claimed his drug use posed a threat to others on
the ballfield. Indeed, no one's even charged he was impaired at the
workplace. Seems to me Darryl's cocaine use was none of anyone else's
business -- apart from the laws and policies and contracts that make this
private behavior supposedly everyone's business.

My seventh thought was: Perhaps professional baseball, and all professional
sports, would be better off without any drug testing -- except perhaps for
performance enhancing substances. What's the point? Few employees work in
more public workplaces. If they are impaired, people will notice, and
managers will deal with it, quickly. If they're not impaired, and don't
pose a threat to others, who cares if they're using one drug or another.

``But they're role models for young people,'' some say. If that's true,
then why does the system insist on broadcasting their vices and frailties?
It's hard enough living the life of a hero, constantly in the public eye,
without having your urine tested and your results announced to the world.
If we're running short on heros these days, maybe it's because we no longer
respect their privacy, and their humanity, enough to let them be heros.

I'll tell you when Darryl Strawberry became my hero. I'm a Yankee fan, not
a Mets fan, so it wasn't until quite recently: Oct. 17, 1999, to be exact,
Game 4 of the American League Championship Series, at Boston's Fenway Park.
According to The New York Times' Buster Olney: ``When Strawberry came to
bat for the first time, the Fenway Park fans offered a new and different
chorus for the slugger with the history of drugs and alcohol -- `Just Say
No.' Boston's Bret Saberhagen threw a high fastball and Strawberry rattled
a high drive two-thirds of the way up the right field foul pole for a home
run. It was the last time the hearty singers serenaded Strawberry on this
evening.''

It reminded me of another hero of mine who wasn't good at just saying no,
Babe Ruth. He, too, broke the prohibition laws of the day with alacrity --
but no one ever thought to test his urine. Good thing for him. Good thing
for us.