The commissioner's office began investigating A-Rod back in March, after his positive test from back in 2003 was made public. Rodriguez admitted to his steroid use, confessing to using performance-enchancers in 2003, but Major League Baseball wasn't satisfied. The commissioner's office still wanted to bust him.
Was he using more than he said he was? For a longer period of time? Where were the holes in his story? How could baseball drag A-Rod down?
It was a little sad, really. Baseball is one of the few sports that treats its biggest stars — A-Rod, Barry Bonds, Manny Ramirez and the like — with contempt, not reverence. A-Rod is the highest-paid player in the game, playing on the biggest stage, and rather than attempt to promote him, baseball tried to bring him down.
In the end, the investigation was fruitless. All we know about Alex Rodriguez's steroid use is what he's already confessed — he said publicly that he used a substance he referred to as "boli" from 2001 to 2003, and that's all he used. No one has any evidence to the contrary.
It's impossible to punish A-Rod for a crime he committed six years ago — especially considering that it was barely a crime to begin with, and that whatever it was, the steroid epidemic spread throughout all of baseball. Baseball's practice of star treatment in reverse — seeking out the biggest superstars and punishing only them for their transgressions — had to stop sometime. The acquittal of Alex Rodriguez is a positive step in that direction.
The test that brought A-Rod down was a survey test. It was never intended to find the identities of Rodriguez, Manny, David Ortiz, Sammy Sosa or anyone else. The game's survey testing was merely intended to gauge how big a problem steroids were in baseball.
Apparently, it was a big one. Over 100 players were using.
But until recently, there was no witch hunt for their identities. That wasn't the point. Until this year, when the big names started falling. It started with Sports Illustrated journalist Selena Roberts, who brought down A-Rod, and it kept going. Manny. Papi. Sammy. The names kept coming.
People didn't just want names — they wanted scoops. In Roberts' book, A-Rod: The Many Lives of Alex Rodriguez, she claims that Rodriguez had steroids in his possession as late as 2004. No one else had any suspicion or any evidence of this claim, but Roberts threw it out there to get attention and sell books. Frankly, it worked.
Eventually, baseball will move on from this immature phase of persecuting big names. Letting A-Rod off the hook is a very good start.
What A-Rod's acquittal means for the Steroid Era is that the witch-hunting can start to come to an end. That's a good thing for the players, of course — it means they can focus on baseball, not on outside distractions — but it's also good for the game as a whole.
The sooner the game stops persecuting its stars, the sooner the game can blossom again.
Before the Steroid Era began, baseball had its clean-cut heroes. Ken Griffey, Jr., Cal Ripken and Nolan Ryan were just a few of the icons of the 1980s and 1990s. Their records were spotless and their fans were loyal.
Who are the heroes of today? Because of the steroid cloud that hovers over baseball in this era, it's hard to tell.
But as soon as we forget about the transgressions that marred the past, we can begin to love the players of the present and future. That's what this is about — rebuilding the game by rebuilding the images of the players who define this era. Decades from now, we want to look back on Alex Rodriguez and his ilk as great players. We don't want to reflect on an era rife with criminals.
Baseball is a game, but it's only fun if we allow it to be. Where's the fun in dwelling on the past?