Don't Kid Yourself, We're All To Blame Here.

So, if you have a pulse (or an Internet connection), you've probably become aware of the supposed conclusion to the Biogenesis debacle: Ryan Braun was suspended for 65 games, Nelson Cruz, Jhonny Peralta, Everth Cabrera and 9 others were suspended for 50, and Alex Rodriguez was suspended for 211. Everyone except A-Rod, predictably, accepted their punishments without appealing. Understandably, the public outrage is overwhelming, as fans, writers and even players are voicing their opinions (Twitter is collapsing in on itself as I type), and it's clear that everyone involved in the game, as well as those who follow it, are extremely disappointed and angry. And to everyone, I have just one thing to say:

Shut the f**k up.

Already shaping up to be my best post yet.

I've written at least two posts on the matter of steroids and the years-long scandal, or at least on the players involved in them, so my opinion should be well-known by now. But considering this blog only gets around 300 views per post, most of which I assume are from people who don't work for Major League Baseball (shocking, I know), I'll reiterate for those who still don't know: when it comes to steroids in baseball, there's no one who's right. Nobody. All of us who love this game, play this game, analyze this game, write about this game, argue with our friends about this game, is at fault. If you've even read a box score since 1989, you're a part of the problem. I'm part of the problem. My dad's part of the problem. Derek Jeter's part of the problem. Rick Ankiel's part of the problem. Theo Epstein's part of the problem. Bruce Bochy's part of the problem. The guy who scrubs the toilets at Petco Park is part of the problem. The guy who makes the Boomsticks at Rangers Ballpark is part of the problem. The Phillie Phanatic is part of the problem. My buddy who just joined our fantasy league and never really paid attention to baseball before last season is part of the problem. We all know what was happening. Since the home run chase of 1998, when Sports Illustrated, ESPN and every other media outlet explained to us that Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa were saving baseball after the hugely negative impact of the 1994 strike left baseball in shambles, there has been no excuse for us to pretend like we didn't know what steroids were doing to the game, or that we were strongly against them. For the writers, team executives and former players, it's even more despicable to publicly spew their vitriol towards the one thing that gives us a reason to ever pay attention to them. They were around it longer (it's commonly accepted that steroids entered the game via Jose Canseco in the late 1980s, but 1991 was when commissioner Fay Vincent sent out a piddly little memo that basically said, "Uh, hey, guys? Could you not do drugs of any sort that might enhance your performance? Pretty please?"). They were in the clubhouses. They saw these guys injecting something into their asses. Even if you don't know what it is, when you see someone jabbing a needle into their butt and pushing the plunger, I feel like it should raise a few red flags.

And, as I love to point out as often as I can, no one wrote a single article. No one. Nothing. Not a word.

Had Twitter been around back then, I guarantee that not a single player would have broken baseball's unwritten code in 140 characters or less. We'd see millions of retweeted GIFs of Barry Bonds home runs, most likely posted by pitchers who gave them up.

Bud? He just smiled, waved his hand, and presented trophies. For years. For decades, now.

The first time I looked at this picture, I thought it was the reanimated, somewhat displeased corpse of Branch Rickey.

Look, I'm not saying that steroids aren't bad for the game. They are. They have the potential to turn regular players into superstars, and superstars into monsters. They give players a competitive edge by helping them heal from injuries faster, increase their stamina, and add muscle mass where needed. Steroids are drugs, they do enhance your performance, and they do give some players a completely unfair advantage. But amid all the talk of revoking MVPs and appealing suspensions and negative Internet comments (good luck avoiding those, Jesus Montero), let's not forget the most important thing here...we're all hilariously stupid hypocrites. Every last one of us. If we weren't, Roger Maris would still be the "legitimate" home run king (and don't you dare try to tell me that the Steroid Era is the ONLY time when drugs have been a problem in baseball, because I'll shove a bowl of greenies in your face and tell you a few stories about Keith Hernandez and cocaine). If we weren't, Ken Caminiti wouldn't have entered 1997 as the reigning NL MVP. If we weren't, Roger Clemens would have retired 6 years earlier than he did. If we weren't, Selig wouldn't still be commissioner. If we weren't, this public outrage would have occurred in 2003, not 2013.

But we are. We're hilariously stupid hypocrites. Fans, writers, executives and players alike. Every last one of us.

And if no one else is going to point this out, I'm glad I'm the only one doing so. It's a dirty job, but someone's got to do it (sit at their desk at home and type words onto a screen).