STRAWBERRY'S COCAINE STRUGGLES SAY MUCH ABOUT LIFE IN THE PUBLIC

Darryl Strawberry seems to have a hard time just saying no to cocaine.

My first thought 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.

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.

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 folk 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 are not.

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 crucially important 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, even repeatedly, but no one
doubts this man's courage and fortitude. So what exactly 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 just 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 that his drug use posed a threat to
others on the ballfield. Indeed, and perhaps I am wrong, no one has even
charged that he was impaired at the workplace. Seems to me that Darryl's
cocaine use was none of anyone else's business - apart from the laws and
policies and contracts that make this domain of 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 whatsoever - except
perhaps for performance enhancing substances. What's the point? Few
employees work in more public places. If they are impaired, people will
notice, and managers will deal with it, quickly. If they're not impaired,
and don't pose a safety threat to others, who cares if they are 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 heroes 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.