Columnist Ron Kantowski: Home run record needs a recount

Monday, Feb. 14, 2005 | 9:34 a.m.

Ron Kantowski is a Las Vegas Sun sports writer. Reach him at ron@lasvegassun.com or (702) 259-4088.

Pitchers and catchers are headed to spring training this week, and with the start of another baseball season just around the corner, it prompts the question:

Will this be the year somebody finally breaks Roger Maris' single-season home run record?

That's right, Roger Maris' home run record. In 1961, when he touched 'em all 61 times during a slightly longer season to break Babe Ruth's long-standing mark of 60, Maris stood 6-feet tall and weighed 204 pounds -- just like when he broke in. Unless nicotine and whatever Mickey Mantle was buying at Toots Shor's can be considered performance-enhancing drugs, Maris never took any. Or was accused or suspected of taking any.

Since Maris' monumental season, only three players have hit more home runs in a season, topped by Barry Bonds' 73 in 2001. Mark McGwire, who was such a class act in shattering Maris' record when he hit 70 in 1998, also hit 65 in 1999. Sammy Sosa hit 66 in 1998, 64 in 2001 and 63 in 1999, even before they found Cialis in his bat.

When they broke into the major leagues, Bonds, McGwire and Sosa were lean and mean, looking more like point guards or in McGwire's case, a small forward. During what is now being called "The Steroid Era," they bulked up like offensive tackles, only without the roll of fat around their middles. And without the anonymity.

All three have either admitted to have taken steroids and/or performance-enhancing drugs unwittingly, or been suspected of it. But Major League Baseball continues to look the other way, because chicks aren't the only ones who dig the longball.

Why hasn't there been an internal investigation? MLB crows about its new and so-called tougher drug policy that raps first-time offenders across the wrist with a 10-day suspension. Big deal. First-time Olympic athletes who are detected with The Juice get a two-year vacation.

You can test and retest ballplayers for banned substances by drawing blood or drawing urine or, better yet, by drawing a red flag next to their home run totals in the Baseball Encyclopedia any time the number jumps from 20 to 40. But I've got a better and less expensive way to detect steroid use. Any player whose head will not fit inside a basketball rim without bending the iron is guilty.

Now that he has retired, McGwire's head has returned to its normal 7 1/4-size. But you still couldn't get Abe Lincoln's stovepipe hat over the bloated noggins of Bonds and Sosa.

Regardless of how much time you spend on the Bowflex or how many protein shakes you drink during the off-season, ballplayers aren't like wine. They do not improve with age, unless they throw a knuckleball. No matter what Stuart Scott and Barry Bonds' other apologists say on ESPN.

Since he quit, McGwire has disappeared like one of Paul Assenmacher's batting practice fastballs. Now you know why. He had to know it was only a matter of time before Jose Canseco, his ex-teammate in Oakland, would be hurting for money. And when his former Bash Brother spilled his guts for a book publisher, McGwire wanted to be unavailable for comment.

Canseco used to charge fans $625 a hour to hang out with him during his house arrest and hocked his American League MVP trophy for $30,000, so the guy's not exactly the most credible source since Tom Brokaw. On Sunday, he went on "60 Minutes" a day in advance of his book hitting the shelf at Barnes and Noble and told Mike Wallace that he injected steroids into McGwire's buttocks after batting practice.

What might have been a little pinch back then has turned into a royal pain in the butt, now that Canseco has started naming names.

And you know what? I believe him.

I believe him because if what he claims isn't true, McGwire and the others would be lining up to sue Canseco and HarperCollins, his publisher, for libel or defamation of character or at very least, misrepresenting the facts to make a quick buck.

But so far, the accused have been quieter than an October day at Wrigley Field. Other than Jason Giambi, who keeps apologizing for something he did, although (insert elbow to ribs here) we're not sure what.

So until the accused come clean, or at least leave the masking agents in their equipment bags before calling some press conferences of their own, Roger Maris' record stands in my eyes. And Hank Aaron needn't move aside for anybody, at least not anytime soon.

In that the model for comparing baseball statistics is more flawed than a sports writer's wardrobe, I'm not sure why they are so important in the first place, other than they give fathers and sons something to talk about when the bridge over the generation gap is under repair.

So next time you are sitting around the dinner table with nothing to say to your old man, blame it on Jose Canseco.

Then you'll be like everybody else in baseball.