The law is bizarre.
It’s amazing how many times it tries to bend the truth, demanding that
we close our eyes as it manipulates the record books and crafts a new
reality. Technically speaking, Lance
Armstrong never won seven Tour de France titles. Joe Paterno never won 409 games. Reggie Bush never won the Heisman.
Seriously? That’s not
how my history is written. I’m pretty
sure I remember watching Lance Armstrong leave other riders in the dust,
climbing to the top of the podium as a champion. I remember Joe Paterno win game after game,
paving a legacy as one of the most successful college coaches of all time. I remember Reggie Bush dancing around
defenders, striking the Heisman pose in the end zone. Forget the side-stories. Forget the scandals. If you concentrate on pure sports, on the
coaching genius and athletic talent, the records can never be diminished.
Sure, the side-stories do matter. Just like every other profession, sports is
an industry with an ugly side. Some
athletes do bad things – really bad things.
Sex scandals, doping, and money laundering should be reprimanded. There are panels of judges, advisory boards
and strong-armed commissioners who carry out this duty, sometimes a little too
severely. We cringe at the barbarity of
the Saints’ bounty-hunting scandal. We
berate Penn State for glazing over the horrific Sandusky disaster. It’s hard to forgive athletes who kill dogs,
use drugs, and cheat on their wives.
But it’s not because they’re athletes. Once the situation gets ugly, the sports part
goes out the window. When we see our
superstars participate in unethical behavior, there’s a public outcry for
justice – not because they’re athletes, but because they’re human beings. Coaches and athletes are held to the same
standard as every other person in every other profession. We scoff at Barry Bonds and Bernie Madoff,
Tiger Woods and Mark Sanford, that loud-mouth wide receiver and the ditsy
spoiled bimbo. The Penn State and USC
scandals were not about football. Tiger
Woods’ scandal was not about golf. Even
the steroid era was not about baseball.
It’s about us as a society, as we mull over what to do with
those that don’t comply with our principles and values. You’re not supposed to cheat or steal or play
dirty. You’re not supposed to bribe
recruits with money and wild parties.
But it happens, and when people cross the line, it makes us look
bad. We become defensive, because sports
are ultimately a reflection on us.
People love excitement and violence, cut in line, cheat on tests, break
the law, act recklessly – and athletes do the same. With all the cameras flashing, it’s just a
little harder for them to keep it under wraps.
Are you really surprised to hear that the Patriots were secretly
videotaping an opponent’s defensive signals?
Are you really shocked that baseball players took steroids to get
bigger, stronger, faster, better? Did
you really not think that there were bounty-hunting programs in the NFL? We live in a violent, greedy, exploitative
world. We’re all trying to get ahead,
one way or another. Sports are no
exception.
So if it’s not about sports, why do we punish the
sport? Why, when USC gave benefits to
Reggie Bush and O.J. Mayo, did the NCAA wipe out the records on the field? Why, when Sandusky and Paterno covered up a monstrosity,
does Paterno’s stats page have a bunch of zeros in the win column? Fine them, jail them, suspend them. But what’s done on the field is done. You can’t erase the fact that USC was the
national champion in 2005. You can’t
erase all the yards and touchdowns that Reggie Bush scored. You can’t erase the 111 games that Joe
Paterno won since 1998.
Of course, you can. It’s
a technicality. Some judge or
commissioner can sit in his office and decide to wipe the record clean.
But in the end, the record prevails. You can’t erase your memory as easily as you
can erase a number on the computer screen.
The championship banner stays in your head. Sure, unethical athletes or coaches might be
tarnished by bad reputations. But one
hundred years from now, they’ll also be remembered for all that they
accomplished on the field.
Reconciliation takes time.
We’ll forgive these guys as surely as we forgive ourselves.
