On The Death Of Gaylord Perry
("Hall of Fame Pitcher With a Doctoring Touch, Dies at 84")
I am far from an apologist for Barry Bonds and Roger Clemens as they await word whether they will be admitted into pantheon of baseball gods. Their steroid use their dirty little no so secret altering the arc of careers that could well have, even before their transgressions, been among the most elevated to ever stand 60 feet 6 inches from truth.
Gaylord Perry just died. His obit in the Times listing his myriad accomplishments, but none more so than his mastery of the slippery intricacies of a pitch outlawed just about the same time as Prohibition. The spitter his claim to fame and most likely entry into the Hall of the most famous. His greatness never really subject to question marks, subpoenas and asterisks.
This is not to bury Mr. Perry nor to forget the deliberate alteration of the game by those now seeking to join him in Cooperstown. But I do wonder whether the hubris that drove Mr. Bonds and Mr. Clemens to steadfastly deny any wrong, as opposed to Mr. Perry embracing his actions with humor and grace, separates angel from sinner more than we care to admit.
Goodbye Gaylord. May you teach others that there is humility and laughter in greatness. And that not all "cheating" is equal.