La venganza de Santo Sammy

"Saints should always be judged guilty until they are proved innocent." --George Orwell

The baseball gods paid a visit to Great American Ball Park last night in the fifth inning when Sammy Sosa returned from his seven-game suspension for using a corked bat and launched a tremendous two-run, 464-foot home run off the top of the batting eye housing a party room in straightaway center field. It was Sosa's first home run in 69 at-bats dating back to May 1, and the longest in the 2½-month history of Great American Ball Park, the same ball park where he launched #500 a few months ago. While the fans haven't yet forgiven him for his transgression, apparently, the baseball gods have.

Even before the corked bat incident, I've been undecided about Sosa. Not because I questioned the legitimacy of his 500-plus career homeruns but because I could never fully come to a decision as to whether or not his white-shoe hotdogging, his homeplate homerun hop, and his shameless pandering to the fans was the cause of an ego gone painfully awry or simply the pantomimes of a man who craves to be loved. Sammy has always seemed sincere. (If you can understand his disjointed, hit-or-miss version of the English language without subtitles, that is.)

The corked bat incident is what finally swayed me in the end. Many athletes, like politicians, have and would again, under similar circumstances, create an entire compendium of half-truths, evasions and finger-pointing at anyone but themselves, solely to avoid the public's wrath. It's rare to see an athlete or politician stand up, admit their own frail mortality, confess their misjudgement or sin, and accept what was coming to them. One could argue that Sammy didn't exactly accept his punishment without protest, after all, he appealed the original eight game suspension and got seven instead, but we all know that was more about baseball PR letting Sammy hit against Roger Clemens in Wrigley Field with career win 300 hanging in the balance than it was about Sammy fudging over a game or two reduction of his suspension. Sammy cheated, and worse, got caught. But Sammy was right there, that night on ESPN, confessing to his fans, asking for forgiveness and standing up like a man. Professional sports could use more athletes with that kind of character.

So I was happy to see his little homerun hop, that poetic justice, and happier still to see that ball launched off into the distance of nostalgia, each foot it traveled slightly withering the healthy scepticism of how he blasted his other 505 homeruns. Judging by the reaction of the fans, the forgiveness of Sammy is still a long ways off, but last night at least, he began the long road back to the recovery of his reputation.

*****

The second incident of poetic justice in sport took place in Game 6 of the NBA finals. Not because the New Jersey Nets lost the series but because Kenyon Martin went 3 for 23 from the floor that night in what must have been the worst choking incident seen since Jimmy Hendrix died gargling a pool of his own vomit. Was it only a year ago when Martin called out Keith Van Horn under the veil of "guys who don't bring it every night" after the four game sweep by the Lakers, telling people to "look at the statistics"? Van Horn went 3 for 7 from the floor that night and ended up getting traded. Kenyon was hit 36 of 107 shots from the floor for the finals, barely 34%. Is that "bringing it"? How do you feel now, punk?

Second to Kenyon Martin's pallid, cadaverous performance, I'd rate the Rent-A-Kidd overplayed saga night after night as the most laughable story of the finals. "I want to win a championship, and that’s the bottom line,” he says about his decision to duck the Nets and look for greener pastures. His team made it to the NBA Finals two years running but they've got nothing to show for it. Impatience, thou art my God, goes the Psalm, and so goes Jason, looking for the instant fix instead of helping to finish the job of creating one. “This is a business. That’s what it comes down to.” he says, implying perhaps that if you can't beat 'em, join 'em. The truth is, the Spurs have already won twice with Tim Duncan and without Jason Kidd and there's no reason why they wouldn't win again without him. Sorry, loser. Instead of moving out of New Jersey, Kidd should be lobbying the management to rid the team of over-rated teammates like Jefferson and Kenyon Martin who are, as they say in Texas, "all hat and no cattle," and throw their hat into the Kevin Garnett Sweepstakes.

I've got a cruel revelation about basketball in Gotham. It's called Pavel Podkolzine and it's another draft day train wreck waiting to happen. Knick draft doyens are rumored to be enamoured with the 7'4 300 pound Russian center who gives every indication, with his inexperience and his thyroid problems, of turning into another blundering Gheorghe Muresan or worse, another Frederic Weis. I've said it before and I'll say it again. Forget being fancy. If he's available, take Mike Sweeney. Is there something about a future Elton Brand to plug up a pathetic middle that the Knicks don't like?

*****

Tomorrow night the Mess kick off their Subway Series against the Yankees. It's a special time of mass hysteria here in New York, even if the Mess only climbed out of the NL East basement last night. There aren't many times these days that Mess fans have a chance to humiliate those obnoxious neanderthal bleacher bum boors but with regardless of the standings, this series has been even-up since its inception. A month ago, wallowing in the 7 train self-pity of a Mess fan, I might have dreaded this series but the Mess, with their youthful infusion of enthusiasm, hustle and unexpected heroics, have transformed themselves, as I noted last week, from underachievers to underdogs, and there's no reason why they can't take games two and three from the Yankees and send Steinbrenner spinning into another bile-choking cataclysm of innuendo threats and inner rage.

With the trade rumors flying, I will note one trade I'd like to see: Armando Benitez to the Yankees. Red Sox fans should be praying they don't land Armando the Awful if they want to have any illusions about making it through the post season. Sending Benitez to the Yankees for, would doom the hopes of Steinbrenner for another world title. I don't even care who they get for Benitez. Bubba Trammell and Sterling Hitchcock? Fine. Just so long as the Yankees get Benitez. Sweet revenge.

And lastly, here's a little speculation for Reds fans who claim they want a legitimate shot at the NL Central to chew over: Al Leiter and Roberto Alomar for Austin Kearns. Crazy? Sure, but as Bill Lumburgh said in Office Space: "If you could just go ahead and make sure you do that from now on, that would be great."