Sports Of The Times

STRAWBERRY'S FORFEIT OF SYMPATHY

IT'S never easy to write about Darryl Strawberry. He's such a tragic
figure, he attracts sympathy. But he's such a sordid figure, he has
forfeited sympathy.

He's in the headlines again, this time for having been banished from a
court-ordered drug rehab program in Florida for misbehavior. Transferred to
the county jail, he has an April 1 hearing before a Tampa judge. He could
be sentenced to 18 months in prison for breaking the rehab center's code of
conduct, the latest line on his lengthy rap sheet.

Among the infractions alleged by the rehab center, he carried and swallowed
unknown medications, was disruptive, smoked and supplied other residents
with cigarettes, had at least $140 in cash and gave money to residents,
autographed baseball cards, misused his phone privileges and shaved his head.

In rebuttal, he has accused the rehab center of lies, of racial insults, of
denying him the right to attend church and prohibiting him from wearing his
own clothes on weekend visits to his family at their nearby home. But in
The Record of Hackensack, N.J., on Friday, he acknowledged breaking perhaps
the most serious no-no: consensual sex with a female resident.

"That sort of thing happens all the time," he was quoted as saying.

He blamed the accounts of his infidelity for destroying his marriage to
Charisse -- they have three children -- as if it were the fault of the
accounts. He insisted he was not using drugs and no longer craved them. He
feels "great" and just wants to have a normal life.

"What's happening to me," he said, "isn't fair."

But with Strawberry, it's always been about "me." He's addicted to his ego,
not just drugs. That was apparent as long ago as the 1986 World Series.
After the Mets won Game 6 when Mookie Wilson's grounder bounced through Red
Sox first baseman Bill Buckner's legs, all around the 24-year-old
Strawberry his teammates were enjoying their 10-inning 6-5 victory, but he
was griping about having been taken out in a double switch by Davey
Johnson. "He's the manager," Strawberry said. "I don't want to talk to him.
He can go his way and I can go my way."

Johnson said, "Darryl's thinking of the moment, but it's my job to think an
inning or two ahead."

Strawberry was thinking of himself more than the moment. His teammates were
jubilant at having prolonged, almost miraculously, the Series they would
win in Game 7. But he was growling about how the manager had taken me out
- -- me! -- after Strawberry had hit a harmless fly to end the eighth inning.

By removing Strawberry and sending Lee Mazzilli, who singled as a
pinch-hitter in the eighth, to right field in the ninth, Johnson was able
to insert pitcher Rick Aguilera in Strawberry's lineup slot. In the 10th,
Kevin Mitchell, batting for Aguilera, delivered a key single in the rally.
But when the Mets won that game, Strawberry was frowning instead of
smiling. That's not a team player. That's a me player.

Even with his first World Series ring, he carried that grudge. He departed
the Mets after the 1990 season for a five-year, $20 million contract with
the Los Angeles Dodgers. Back and knee surgeries as well as drug rehab
limited his output there. He drifted to the San Francisco Giants and in
1996 to the Yankees.

Used mostly as a designated hitter, he slugged 11 homers late that season.
In 1998 he hit 24 homers and drove in 57 runs in only 295 at-bats. But
early in the playoffs, he learned he had colon cancer.

Say this for him: He didn't complain then that "what was happening to me,"
colon cancer, "wasn't fair." Maybe he understood that illness is never fair
to anybody. After nearly three years of chemotherapy, he says he has been
cancer free since last June. But if he broke all those rehab rules, what's
happening to him now is not only fair, it's necessary.

Strawberry claims the rehab center is being hard on him because he's a
celebrity. But if it ignored his infractions, it would be accused of
favoring a celebrity.

And is he really a celebrity? Maybe in the sleazy sense. Maybe someday
he'll box Tonya Harding. But he's not a celebrity if you equate a celebrity
with a role model.

He has been in rehab for substance abuse and alcohol abuse. He was arrested
(but never charged) over spousal abuse. He agreed to a $206,000 settlement
for failing to pay child support. He pleaded guilty to not paying more than
$100,000 in federal taxes. He has been convicted of drug possession and
solicitation of prostitution. He disappeared from a rehab center for four
days nearly a year ago, prompting the current court-ordered treatment he
violated.

With that resume, he hardly deserves the benefit of the doubt on anything
he does or says.

Strawberry turned 40 last Tuesday, and if he had been a solid citizen, he
would probably still be a D.H. capable of hitting 40 homers in a season, if
not 600 in his career. He would be waiting for the fast train to
Cooperstown. Instead, sitting in a county jail, he's waiting to learn if a
judge will send him to prison.