Field of dreams?

I've recently finished Vindicated, a follow-up by Jose Canseco to his explosive memoir on MLB's sordid steroid scandal. The book is an easy read, and until the last chapter or so, pretty entertaining (near the end, Jose reminds the reader how wonderful he was as a ball player and still remains as a person, despite flooding his body over the years with illegal chemicals that improved his performance significantly).

Jose Canseco was an early sports hero of mine. I remember clearly 1989, his year of 40-40; I recall tuning into the first game of the World Series, eager to watch this awesome ball player kick some Dodger tail.

I'll never forget that evening, parked in front of the TV, at the edge of my seat. A hobbled Kirk Gibson stumbled to the plate and single-handedly won the game with a homerun that barely cleared the fence. I was at first shocked, then extremely moved by the sheer will of this player to refuse to give in despite near impossible odds (hitting a home run against a HOF closer while barely able to run the bases continues to amaze me to this day).

Baseball was fun back then; I was introduced to televised games by Mom, who liked watching the Expos and Royals (and currently follows the Yankees rather rabidly). I found the game charming and comforting, a staple of long hot Summer days.

Baseball became a game of cheaters, atheletes taking steroids in order to 'compete'. I wasn't entirely surprised when the scandal broke (my interest in MLB waned during the 90s), but I find myself disappointed that such a pure, innocent pass-time remains driven by the almighty dollar, and not for the love of the game.

Call me naive and idealistic, or perhaps trapped in the past, but sometimes I miss 1989 and watching my 'hero' Jose Canseco ferociously hit the cover off of baseballs.