AROUND THE BASES

Say it ain’t so, Rafael. Say it ain’t so.

Say that you did not knowingly take steroids, and that you never lied to Congress. But make it credible.

Despite Jose Canseco’s claim in his book, “Juiced,” that he helped inject you with steroids, you were supposed to be one of the good guys: Rafael Palmeiro, born in Havana, Cuba, who came to this country and through hard work and dedication to excellence achieved what only three other players in the history of major league baseball did: 500 home runs and 3,000 hits.

And let’s face it, you never came close to having the talent of those other guys-Hank Aaron, Willie Mays, even Eddie Murray. That made you even more special, though. You just had to work that much harder, we thought, plugging away year after year. Now, in your nineteenth season, with that 3,000th hit, you were guaranteed admission into the holiest of baseball holies-the Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, New York.

Then we learned that you had failed a steroids test. In fact, you failed it some time ago, though after testifying before Congress, which may help you avoid prosecution for perjury. Yet you knew long before hit number 3,000 of the failure. You had appealed the finding, and finally, when you lost that appeal, the news was made public.

Then you qualified that earlier, absolute statement, when, in your own words, you had assured the Congressional panel: “I have never used steroids. Period. I don’t know how to say it any more clearly than that. Never.” You even pointed your finger at the panel to emphasize the denial. While McGwire hid behind silence, you came out looking and sounding like the only really credible player there. Were you just a good actor?

Now you apparently have found a way to say it more clearly, with the help of a little adverb: “intentionally.” You never intentionally used steroids, you claim. Oh, how we would like to believe you, Rafael. But the thing is, your claim just does not wash. A leak (and how the union is jumping on that, as if the world should not know the facts of the case) indicates that you took a steroid called stanozolol. But that particular steroid does not come in supplements. So how did you get it into your body?

Did someone sprinkle it on your corn flakes instead of sugar? Was your coffee spiked? Did some refugee from a bad spy flick stick you with a tiny needle as he passed you on the street?

Or, Rafael, are you just about the most stupid person on the face of the earth? You yourself raised the possibility and denied it: “Why would I do this in a season when I went before Congress? It makes no sense. I’m not a crazy person. I’m not stupid.” Sounds like Dick Nixon assuring the nation he was not a crook.

But if you did not deliberately take steroids, what answer is there short of a level of stupidity that defies belief? Would you really ingest something without having the foggiest notion of what it contains? Is that the way you achieved the physical level necessary to hit all those home runs and defy age to reach 3,000 hits, by consuming any old thing that somebody gave you?

Give us a credible answer, Rafael. I really want to believe. So do millions of other baseball fans. But you have to do better than this “never intentionally” stuff, which makes you sound as if you just came out of your lawyer’s office.

Understanding why is really hard, unless Canseco was right all along and you have been using steroids for years. Did you stop using during the season and think they would be out of your system, since testing is done only in-season?

Rafael, you had it made. Sure, you began this season over the hill, but so what? You began with over 550 home runs and just 78 hits short of 3,000. There was never any question of reaching that milestone, and with it the Hall. Why not just slide into baseball immortality neatly-and, above all, cleanly? Or could you just not own up to the aging process? Maybe those Viagra commercials got you worried about growing into an old man.

So I admit, I’m stumped.

And a lot rides on your explanation. There is your eventual election into the Hall of Fame, which clearly is in serious jeopardy. People forgive a lot, but cheating is hard to overlook. Then there is the trust people have in the game, which is drowning in a sea of cynicism.

So say it ain’t so, Rafael. Please! But make it really convincing.

Edward J. Rielly is a Westbrook resident, English professor at St. Joseph’s College, and widely published author with two books on baseball and American culture.