Building a Better Blogger

The other night, I went over to Migg’s place to watch CNN cover the Ohio and Texas primaries. As I was watching CNN, I noticed that many of the commentators and analysts were sitting in from of open laptops. During the course of the evening, the commentators would refer to (and even read from) different politically-oriented blogs. Some of the blogs were established political rags, but other blogs belonged to voters in Ohio and Texas who wrote about their voting/caucusing experiences. It was a very interesting broadcast. One minute you had commentary from senior political analysts like James Carville, the next minute you had Roland S. Martin reading from his frat brother’s blog. It was very endearing and refreshing to hear real reporting from normal people instead of the canned politico crap that we get from the usual cast of talking heads.

I hate to be Mr. Obvious here, but the Internet has revolutionized the way information is collected and distributed. There is a new world of ideas and opinions only a few key strokes away. I don’t need to go to CNN for my daily news, I can go to DailyKOS or Indymedia. Bloggers are the primary force in the decentralization of the news media and I am happy to do my small part in this epic battle.

As happy as I was to see some fellow bloggers get some love on CNN, I was equally pissed when I read an article on the LA Weekly a few days later. I read an article called “For Some Reviewers, the Party’s the Thing,” by Steven Mikulan. I am generally not a theater-head, but this article intrigued me because it had an illustration of a pig in a suit and old school press hat totally wolfing down some cheese and grapes. The other dressed up oinker was painted downing some bubbly like Gloria Ferrer and Veuve Clicquot were going out of business.

The basic premise of Mikulan’s article is that many theater critics only review a play if there is a reception afterwards. In other words, it is a journalisitic quid pro quo: “I will show up to your opening night and review your play if you feed me.” This dynamic is even more appalling when Mikulan suggests that reviews are dependent on how well the critic is wined and dined at the reception. If the reception serves string cheese and 2-Buck Chuck, the critic will poop on your play. If you serve gourmet tri-tip sandwiches and Dom P, expect a glowing review and a sell-out run. Either way, good or bad, the production gets some much needed press. Not inviting the critic to the reception is a gamble since they might not even show up to review the play.

What interests me most about Mikulan’s article is how he dances around the issues of accountability and journalistic ethics. In the entire article he only uses the word “ethical” once and never uses the word “integrity.” Mikulan tip-toes around the issue by saying that he does not attend post-play receptions and that the LA Times specifically prohibits its reviewers from attending such functions. He does say that there are “second-tier” or “B-level” critics who are often the worst offenders. This strain of “critic” is guilty of many crimes like exchanging reception invites for reviews/positive press, stealing food, and getting completely obliterated off of the complimentary drinks. Mikulan describes these junior varsity critics as,

“reviewers for a vast, unincorporated territory of neighborhood broadsheets, ethnic tabloids, ad-for-review papers, student newspapers, public-access TV and radio programs, vanity zines, theater Web sites, and blogger-critics.”

After reading Mikulan’s article, I was pretty upset at the notion that someone would trade their credibility as a critic for some free food and drink. Do not get it twisted, I am not that naïve where I think that all journalists abide by a rigid ethical code. Examples abound of journalists using their influence in exchange for money and power. While I do not agree with it, I understand the temptation of a rouge journalist writing a story because someone is going to leave you a suitcase full of money. However, I do not understand some two-bit blogger selling his/her credibility for some raw baby carrots, a stale croissant sandwich, and a glass of headache-inducing bargain wine.

I almost committed the same sin as these theater bloggers. The other night I had the pleasure of going to the Stones Throw Records release party for their new DVD "In Living The True Gods." The party started with a viewing of the DVD and finished with DJ sets from Egon and Peanut Butter Wolf.

These cats threw a live ass party! Once inside, I got a nice poster of the DVD cover which will probably go up in my living room soon. As if the poster wasn’t cool enough, they also had an open bar provided by 10 Cane Rum. Vitamin Water was there in full effect with their full line of products. Vitamin Water and 10 Cane is the new grown-man “faderade” for the 2K8. The viewing was off the hook, Egon and PB killed it, and I got a nice solid buzz. Oh, I forgot to mention that this was all FREE!!!

A day or two after reading the Mikulan article, I was getting ready to write a review about the DVD viewing. I started writing down some ideas and making a rough outline, then it hit me. I thought to myself, “Vic, you can’t write this article. How could you be impartial?” My gut reaction was right. Stones Throw just showed my sorry ass a good time and now I am expected to critically and impartially review their product? Did I enjoy the free drinks, or the editing of the DVD? Could I really critique the music videos that made it onto the DVD when I was too busy stuffing my face with free kettle corn? No, I could not.

We make it a big point to talk about journalistic ethics as applied to major media outlets like CNN or the New York Times, but what about bloggers? Are we supposed to abide by the same ethical guidelines as journalists? Are we journalists? Does it even matter?

With our ever increasing reliance on the blogosphere, this question will be ever more important.

Discuss!!!!

I am emotionally scarred ....

Being a kid in 1980s was pretty sweet. Being a kid in 1980s Los Angeles was even better. The decade of the 80s was the Golden Age of L.A. sports. It might have been the best stretch of sports in any city, ever. Here is the breakdown:

Los Angeles Lakers: NBA Finals Champs in '80, '82, '85, '87, and '88 (and Finals losses in '83, '84, and '89)

Los Angeles Dodgers: World Series Champs in '81 and '88

Los Angeles Raiders: Super Bowl Champs in '81 (still in OAK) and '84 (L.A.)

To be sure, I did spend the first half of the '80s drooling and soiling myself. I did get my sports chops together pretty quickly though, probably because of my older family members. I vividly remember the Lakers killing the Pistons and Kirk Gibson's double pump.

In my mind I have this Pantheon of untouchable L.A. athletes. These are the guys that got me to love sports as much as I do. The short list of the "All-'80s Legends Club" includes Magic Johnson, James Worthy, Orel Hershiser, Fernando Valenzuela, Kirk Gibson, Marcus Allen, Howie Long and the list goes on. These guys would have to do some seriously scandalous stuff for me to not hold these guys in high regard. Let's put it this way: If Byron Scott and Vin Scully tried to recruit me for a gang whose sole purpose was to kick puppies and punch six year-olds, I would probably have to hear them out. Yeah, its that deep.

So then I saw this ...



After I saw this video, I was was completely floored. I still really don't know what to make of it. Is this what my heroes did in their spare time? Can we just chalk it up to run-of-the-mill 1980s flamboyant behavior?

This reminds me of that one Chappelle Show episode when Charlie Murphy meets Prince. He was talking about how cats from L.A. used to dress in like mesh shirts and red leather pants. All this time I just thought he was cracking jokes!

Where is the Outrage?

I have to put my foot down. Push came to shove and now we about to chuck ‘em. If you can’t tell from these words, I am genuinely bent. Why am I bent? Two words: Mexican food.

Anyone who has spent enough time around me knows that I love my Mexican food. I grew up eating my mom’s and grandma’s cooking, so Mexican food is something that is deeply personal to me. We don’t know how long these recipes have been in our family, but we do know that if you are going to cook you better do it right or get the hell out of the kitchen. You should see how upset my mom gets when something she made isn’t up to spec (it never happens but she is just that on point with her food – we usually can’t tell).

As a general statement, the Mexican food scene in Los Angeles is probably the best in the nation top to bottom. From little joints specializing in chilango food like Huarache Azteca, to nice sit down restaurants tackling the complexity of the Yucatan like El Portal, Los Angeles has it all. What I love the most is that there are other Mexican restaurants out there that I am dying to try, like Amaranta and the venerable La Serenata de Garibaldi.

So things must be all good right? Vic lives near the best Mexican food anywhere, he must be happier than Roger Clemens with a needle in his ass, right? Nope, not by a long shot (no pun intended). A couple of things have gone down in the past few months that have really changed the way I view Mexican food. Some expected some not so expected. The masa has hit the fan; something in the Mexican food game needs to change.

A few weeks ago the homey D-Roc was in town visiting from the Bay Area. After much phone tag, we finally decided to meet up somewhere in Pasadena for dinner. We both decided that El Cholo would be a good look for some Mexican food. Rewind a few years back. My Uncle Raul and I went to El Cholo like in 2002 and had an awesome meal. We both ordered the carnitas dinner and they might have been the best I have ever eaten. Each plate had several rock-like lumps of braised pork. All you had to do was take the back of the fork to break the crispy exterior to reveal a solid mass of juicy, stringy heaven. After that meal, I was certainly convinced that El Cholo had the best carnitas in L.A. … period!

When D-Roc came, I said we should go El Cholo. I was woofing my ass off on how it was super legit food. He went with the blue corn chicken tamales and I ordered the carnitas. His food was good, my food was down right offensive. Instead of the crispy heat rocks of yesterday, I got a diced pork chop floating around in some white liquid. I almost sent it back, except that it was really late and I was starving. D-Roc enjoyed his food, and I am singularly happy for that. I would have hated for his dish to have been terrible when I really woofed about this joint.

The next offense came at the hands of a controversial figure: Chipotle. A lot of my Latino brethren do not like the Chip because it lacks the amorphously-defined “authentic” Mexican flavor. Well, I’ve been to Mexican joints that claimed to be “authentic” as Benito Juarez himself only to get bad food. A few bites into the food and you think, “Yep, this right here is an authentic piece of crap.”

I have never been all that big a fan of Chipotle because I have always been around better Mexican food. However, I do like their approach. Their food is freshly cooked, made to order, and they try to use the best ingredients possible (pure avocado, Niman Ranch pork). I just don’t know how I can go back there after the burrito I had the other day. Chipotle simply lacks the course work in basic and advanced burrito construction. The burrito I got was terribly put together, bursting at the seams due to an unwanted serving of “extra rice.” Once you bite the burrito, you are more likely to get a bite of just one ingredient like rice or beans and seemingly nothing else. I found myself in a better mood once I reached the Promised Land: three to four “all-meat” bites of Niman Ranch carnitas. But as soon as my joy came, it left. After eating that section, you realize that the rest of the meal is all down hill BECAUSE YOU JUST ATE ALL THE MEAT IN YOUR BURRITO!! By this time, I was just so pissed that I couldn’t be more pissed at the fact that the tortilla was legitimately frigid, chewy mess. I can tell you right now, real spit, that my mom or grandma would never EVER make a burrito that terrible.

Let me digress for a second and I promise that this rant will make more sense. If you have followed international business or are a foodie, chances are that you have heard of the changes in labeling that prohibit the use of regional names in the marketing of products. A few years ago, it would have been kosher to classify a product from Napa Valley as “champagne.” Today, that same product has to be called “sparkling wine.” The term “champange” can only be used from products that are made within a certain region in France. Much ink has been spilled on this particular trade problem.

In the same way the French are trying to protect their wine-making tradition, the Japanese government has announced that they will begin the process of “certifying” American restaurants that purport to serve Japanese cuisine. The goal of the program is to honor those American restaurants that are at the forefront of serving authentic Japanese cuisine.

I hate to say it (gulp), but the French and the Japanese are right. It is the job of a country, or its people, to defend its culinary traditions from the bastardizations of modern consumer culture. If Vic was running things, I would form a task force that would grant or revoke licenses to sell Mexican food. If you sell bad food, whether in a nice sit down joint or a taco truck, you will get your license revoked and you wouldn’t be able to serve Mexican food.

See what you all have made me do? I don’t really want to be the Burrito Nazi, but I will if I have to. Who is to blame for all this? Firstly, Mexicans. Secondly, Whites. Mexicans bear the brunt of the responsibility because we have just gotten lazy. There is no reason for a cold tortilla or a poorly rolled burrito. We as Mexicans have commoditized a part of our culture and are turning it to crap really fast. Think of the last time you got some bad Mexican food. Do you think those cats in the kitchen cook like that for their families? No, not a chance in hell. Whether you are rolling up a two-dollar bean and cheese burrito or you are slow-roasting some cochinita pibil, it is important to carry on the traditions in a responsible way.

White people bear some responsibility for this mess because Mexicans have been serving up crap and you all have been loving it. Last night I Yelped the neighborhood to find a good Mexican joint and it was hard to tell which ones were good and which ones sucked. Almost all of them had a three-plus star rating. Not only did they all have high ratings, but they all had at least one uber-glowing review like, “OMG!! This is the best taqueria ever!!!”* I went to one of these highly rated joints the other night and it was terrible. I never thought I would see the day when I would get a flaccid burrito. No lie.

I love my culture and I love sharing it so I take it personally when Mexican food restaurants don’t have their game tight. I do not know how, but we have let this go on far too long.

If a player on the Mexican National Soccer team screws up, we yell at the coach to pull the bum out. If someone comes to our party and shows up with a dirty bottle of Sauza, we tell them to stop being cheap and bring some Patron. But when we know that some spots are serving sub-par Mexican food, we turn a blind eye and let it slide. What gives?

*NOTE: I know its White people who review on Yelp because Mexicans don’t have computers. All the Mexicans in L.A. have like a combined total of 9 computers and Migg, Uncle Raul, and I have about six of those.

Stepping Up Your Game One Snack at a Time ...

This past weekend, we had the pleasure of celebrating my Uncle Frank’s 45^th birthday. Frank is not only my uncle, he is also my padrino (godfather). We go way back, like when he bought me my first baseball glove for Little League.

When my Aunt Susan told me that she wanted to throw a surprise party for ol’ Pancho, I was more than down for the plan. I started thinking, “What should I get him for his birthday?” The first idea was a bottle of some fine liquor, like Corzo or maybe even a little JW Green. It is common practice in my family for bottles to be given as gifts. Unfortunately, the bottles do not usually survive the night so there is little longevity to such a gift. We are usually left with only fleeting memories of popped bottles:

Gift Recipient: “Hey, remember when you gave me that bottle of __________. That was some good stuff.”

Gift Giver: “I know huh!”

Liquor is probably the one of the few gifts that when used actually causes you to forget that you actually received the gift.

After knowing Frank and the rest of the clan as long as I have, I knew that a bottle of booze would likely be consumed and forgotten. There I was, back at square one: "What in the hell am I going to give my Tio Frank?"

Out of nowhere I remembered that he really liked seafood, particularly oysters. I remembered a story where my Aunt Susan told me that Frank almost ate an entire box of oysters at a party. That’s it! I am going to bring some oysters to the party. My cousin Juan hooked me up with a contact over at Fish King in Glendale. I have it on good authority that when the Queen of England docks her ship in So Cal, it’s the Fish King that fills her pantry with the best and freshest seafood. I ended up copping about 100 oysters seeing as there was going to be a bunch of people at the party.

I arrived at Aunt Susan’s house early to help set up. It was Raul, Miss G, and I setting up tables and chairs and what not. After that was done, we were just chilling out waiting for Uncle Frank to come home. As a reward for our hard work, I decided to crack some oysters open and get down to the goodness.

If I recall correctly, the oysters we got were from the Hamma Hamma River in the state of Washington. These oysters are real smooth with just a bit of that briny flavor that is overpowering in a lot of other types of oysters. A little lemon juice and a little hot sauce and you have a snack that is sweet, salty, sour, and spicy. That is my kind of eating!!

Raul had his own contribution to the experience. He came to the party with a nice little 5 liter keg of Kulmbacher Pilsner. For those who are unfamiliar with Kulmbacher, it is made in the same style as Pilsner Urquell and Paulaner. Kulmbacher is a very clean beer with some nice citrus notes. What I really liked about Kulmbacher is that it does not have some of the bitter after taste that Pilsner Urquell has. The Kulmbacher keg is a pretty good deal too. Roughly, the 5 liter keg gives you around 169 ounces, which relates to about ten, 16-ounce pints, or about fourteen 12-ounce bottles of beer.

Kulmbacher and Hamma Hamma Oysters are obscenely tasty when consumed together. A sip of Kulmbacher right after you shoot the oyster gives you a nice clean palate for the next round of oysters. The crisp taste of Kulmbacher also helps you out when you inadvertently put too much hot sauce on the oyster.

There is something cool about being grown. You start liking stuff that you never thought that you would like. Five years ago I don’t think I even would have looked at an oyster. Now, I really appreciate all sorts of stuff like briny oysters and German pilsners. Yeah, I still like Dr. Pepper and Chili-Cheese Fritos (staple high school food), but man … oysters and beer might just take the top spot.

Definition of Epicurean

Another really good German pilsner mini-keg

New Brew!!

This is my inaugural foray into the complex and wonderful world of beer. For those who don't know me very well, I really like beer. No, you clearly do not understand. I REALLY like beer. Usually, I drink small-batch beer from various American and international microbreweries. But when times are kinda lean, I can take it to the streets and drink some Pabst Blue Ribbon or Miller High Life.

Beer has power beyond the ability to get you a little booted. The type of beer you drink can even be interpreted as a political statement. For example, there are some brands of beer I simply refuse to drink even if it is free (anything bearing the racist label of the Coors family). On the other hand, I will gladly pay up to $6 for a bottle of hand-crafted, anti-corporate offering from Rogue Brewery (Dead Guy Ale or Hazelnut Brown Nectar).

The point of this article is to hit my readers to new beers and hopefully get a couple of new beer leads myself. Here are some thoughts on two great beers: Beer Chang and Jubilale 2007.

Beer Chang: Pronounced "Chan, " Beer Chang, which is Thai for "elephant" is one of the most popular beers in Thailand. I first had Chang during my trip to Thailand last summer. One sip and I was a fan. What really made me a fan was that you could find a big bottle of Chang at most places for about two dollars. What REALLY made me a fan was that the Thai version runs about 8.6% alcohol (if I recall correctly). It is crisp and clean lager with just subtle notes of wheat and finishing touches of honey. Whether you are just quenching your thirst because Bangkok is hot as hell or trying to wash down some uber-spicy Thai food, Chang is a solid beer. Microbrewery taste with malt liquor potency, we like it.

I found a local liquor store (more info below) that carries the American version of Beer Chang. It was on the expensive side, but one sip and I was back in Thailand. One noticable difference is that the American version is only 5% alcohol. I am not sure whether that is because the beer is actually different or because international beers measure alcohol content differently. From what I can remember, the Thai version had a more full-bodied flavor. The American version had less of the wheat and malt tones, but had a sweeter finish than the native brew. In my opinion, this beer is a good alternative to the Mexican Pacifico, which tends to run a little too sweet and watery for my taste.

It could just be nostalgia, but the Thai version tasted better to me. Do not get me wrong though, I will be drinking Beer Chang whenever I feel like remembering those steamy Bangkok nights spent eating copious amounts of spicy sea food. I guess I am just a little bent that I got to pay about 2,324% more just to get in the states.

Jubelale 2007, Deschutes Brewery: I first purcahsed this beer upon the recommendation of the of Steven, a really cool liquor store owner. I walked into the store thinking to pick up an IPA of some sort, but he convinced me to get one of the seasonal ales. Steven is to alcohol what Alice Waters is to food: think local, drink local, act seasonally. I already knew that winter ales are only produced in winter (duh). However, I was intrigued when he said that certain ales are remade from natural ingredients ever year. Essentially, in the same way that the same varietals of wine can vary year to year, so can beer. You could say that certain seasonal ales only "exist" once even though the style is produced year after year.

The prospect of drinking a "once in a lifetime" beer seemed pretty cool. Steven recommended the Jubelale 2007 from Deschutes Brewery. I am not all that well versed in winter ales. I know that I like Celebration Ale from Sierra Nevada, but that I really dislike the winter offering from Anchor Steam. That is pretty much all I know about winter ales. After drinking Jubelale, I now have two winter beers that I am quite fond of.

After pouring Jubelale into a glass, I gave it a couple of really good sniffs. I probably looked extremely retarded doing so, but it was fun trying to figure out what aromatics were. I think that Jubelale smelled a lot like a cherry cordial. Scents of dark chocolate and fruit leaped out of the glass.

The taste of Jubelale comes in three stages: initial taste of coffee and malt, second wave of dark chocolate, and a nice little fruit aftertaste (pumpkins and apples?). Although I still enjoy the hoppiness of Celebration Ale, Jubelale's sweeter, smoother flavor is a welcomed departure. Sometimes I like to get punched in the face by my beer, other times I like to savor it.

Jubelale is a great beer that represents winter ales well. It has a little higher alcohol content and a bit stronger flavor than the average beer, but it will surely keep you warm during these cold winter nights. If you are looking to branch into winter ales, Jubelale is a great choice. If you can still find it in stores, it is your lucky day, go buy a lottery ticket. If not, you can always try again next winter and think what could have been.

Click here for more info on the liquor store where I purchased both Beer Chang and Jubelale 2007.

What an Avocado-Bacon Cheeseburger Taught Me About Politics

Last night was a night that I won’t forget too soon. First of all, I experienced the embarrassment of going to Costco and having to leave $150 worth of stuff at the register. It was one of those uber-long Costco trips too. You know, the type where you get all the detergent, soap, toothpaste, bread, and cheese that you will need until the next World Cup (2010 for all those not knowing). Just for the record, I am not broke. I simply forgot that you cannot use a credit card (debit is okay) to pay at Costco. A quick dash to Trader Joe’s easily remedied the situation.

When I got home to put away the groceries, I was a little pissed and in no mood to cook. I don’t know, there is something about going shopping twice for the same stuff that kills whatever culinary ambition you have at the moment.

I felt like a burger and the only joint I know in the new ‘hood is Rod’s Char Burger. Rod’s is your typical So. Cal grease spoon. You know the type: char-broiled burgers, sandwiches, salads, a little Mexican food, possibly a falafel / gyro, etc.

I got to the counter and ordered the Avocado-Bacon Cheeseburger combo to go (easy as ABC). Per my usual routine, I moved over to that little jar of chiles gueros and stuffed one of those little paper envelopes … classic.

There were two women eating at one of the tables, both Latina, possibly in their early forties. In the middle of their table was the front page of the L.A. Times, which they were both reading. Before you go on accusing me of stereotyping my peoples, listen up. I know they were Latina because the following conversation took place … in Spanish (translated for those with limited paisa proficiency):

Woman 1: "Look at Hillary and Obama, they are running pretty close."

Woman 2: "I am going to vote for Hillary. I don’t like Obama, he does not have a lot of experience."

At this point, I was going to jump in their conversation. My spidey-like prO-bama* tendencies were starting to get riled up. I don’t know why I didn’t give my two cents. Actually, I know why I didn’t, the lady talked too fast. Good thing too! The conversation continued:

Woman 2: "I like Hillary, but if she does not win for the Democrats, then I think I am going to vote for Romney."

When I heard that, I thought, “That is the most inconsistent statement ever. It would be like me coming to Rod’s to satisfy my raw oyster and sashimi craving. Not really going to work.” The statement was not a joke. No crack about how he would get the vote because he is more handsome than the other candidates. Nothing. Just as I started to mull the statement in my head, a group of rowdy teens walked in and interrupted my thoughts. My number was called and I was out the door.

The conversation between the two women really got me thinking about the state of American politics. Before I get into the heavy thinking, I want to steer clear of an elitist pitfall that tends to arise in these conversations. Highly-educated, politically-engaged, NPR listening citizens (yeah, that’s YOU and ME) tend to view the average American voter as nothing more than a lemming of a higher order. Joe Blow votes the way Fox News tells him, and Jane Doe blindly tows the same party line she has for years. No thought, just shrewd politicians promising dog biscuits to voters who are all too eager to roll over. Add the fact that these were working-class Latinas and you could assume all sorts of other stereotypes that would further sully your regard for the voting public.

I want to squash those thoughts right now. Our democracy, however flawed it may be, does not function without individuals like the women at the diner. As a matter of general principal, these intelligent and involved women get props for engaging in political discussion when they are arguably the most politically disenfranchised group in the U.S. (poor, woman, and of color). They definitely get more props from me than even some of my “educated” friends who do not vote.

Back to the main question: What is it about the American political system that would make a person choose between two candidates with seemingly contrasting positions? Logic would dictate that if Hillary did not win the Democratic nomination (*crosses fingers*), a Hillary supporter would vote for the candidate whose positions align most closely with Hillary.

Hillary and Mitt have a lot in common. They are both human, carbon-based life forms. I think they each have ten fingers and ten toes. Hillary and Mitt both breathe air (although there is this nasty rumor going around that Mitt actually breathes “Perriair” like the Mel Brooks character in Spaceballs).

I think you get the hint. Hillary and Mitt, as far as I can tell, are not really in agreement on any political issue. The closest they get is that Hillary is pro-choice and Mitt was pro-choice once upon a time. If you need any more evidence of the Hillary-Mitt schism, check this environmental voting guide put out by the League of Conservation Voters.

Again, if you first choice is Hillary, why would your second choice be Romney? Are Obama and Edwards really that bad? More importantly, how many Americans are making this kind of “issue-free” decision?

I really do give serious love to those two women at the diner and not just because they ate their weight in chili cheese fries. They are practicing democracy as every American should. However, are we really picking our presidents based on non-issue factors (race, gender, looks, age)? And if we are picking the prez based on these other factors, what factors should be given what weight? I leave these questions to my loyal readership (don’t look around, this means you).

*P.S. – You know you like that one … prO-bama. Get it? Huh? Don’t steal it.

.... As I Come Back!!

What’s good in the New Year? I hope you all find yourselves in good spirits. Yeah, I know I am tardy as hell with these blog articles. For that, I sincerely apologize. It has been a whirlwind couple months and things are finally settling down. I got a new job and a new crib (Redondo Beach stand up!!). I hereby proclaim 2008 “The Year of the Brand New.” Well, enough of the intro, let me hit you with some new fire. Here is an article on steroids and baseball. More to come in the following days! Welcome back!

Enjoy!!

I Want To See Baseball Players In Jail

Yes, you heard it right. I want to see baseball players in jail. Send Barry to Folsom, Roger to Levenworth, LoDuca to Riker’s, and Gagne to whatever the most terrible Canadian jail is (do they even have jails?).

So give me the late pass. I know the Mitchell Report dropped like two months ago, but I am still so bent (read: pissed) that I got to write this article. For those who are not familiar with the “steroid in baseball” scandal, here is a quick primer: In mid-December, Former Senator George Mitchell released a 400+ page document highlighting the endemic use of steroids by baseball players. There have been other reports on steroid use in baseball, but none more comprehensive than the Mitchell Report. The Mitchell Report actually names baseball players who are believed to have used performance-enhancing drugs. If you want more specific information on the contents of the Mitchell Report, a quick Google search will led you to the actual report.

I do not really have any beef with the contents of the report. The report, from the section I read, is well-written and facts-oriented. The real problem is with the post-report movement (or lack thereof) by Major League Baseball, the MLB Player’s Union, and law enforcement agencies.

I was listening to NPR’s “All Things Considered” the day the Mitchell Report dropped. An entire segment was dedicated to the Mitchell Report, including an interview of Former Senator Mitchell. The interview was conducted by Robert Siegel, who I think is an even, non-B.S. interviewer. The exchange went as follows:

NPR: You suggested Major League Baseball take a very forward-looking approach to this problem. Why? Why shouldn't it clean house? Why shouldn't it go back to what happened in all those years when it didn't have an adequate policy for dealing with steroid abuse?

Mitchell: Well, first, of course, most of the events described in my report are old, from two to nine years old. At the time they occurred, there was not a penalty for a first violation of the program. Under the law, you have to apply the penalty provisions in effect at the time of the conduct, so for many of them, there isn't any penalty.

Secondly, more than half the players have already left the game. They are beyond the jurisdiction of the commissioner. He doesn't have any authority to discipline them even if he wanted to.

Third, and perhaps more important, everybody has to work together and look forward. To be mired in contentious disciplinary proceedings for months and years will keep everyone focused on the past precisely at the time that they ought to be focused on the future.

NPR: Although, while they may not have been violating Major League Baseball rules – they may have been lacking rules – you say this was illegal use of drugs.

Mitchell: It was. But let me tell you that in the last several years, more than 250 professional baseball players have been suspended publicly because they tested positive in a drug test – most of them in the minor leagues, but many of them in the major leagues. Not one has been prosecuted, even though their names are in the papers as having violated the law.

That's because prosecuting authorities in this country – and I was one of them as a U.S. attorney years ago – focus their prosecutorial resources not on the individual end-user, but on the manufacturers and the distributors of drugs. That's been a public policy in place in this country for many years. And it's a sensible policy. Why should we say that with respect to baseball players, the law should apply differently than it does to everybody else in the country? (emphasis added)

After I heard this exchange between NPR host Robert Siegel and Former Senator Mitchell, I thought, “Wow, for being a former senator and U.S. attorney, this Mitchell guy lives on another planet. He probably thinks Ty Cobb is still playing."

Mitchell’s perspectives on drug prosecutions (and thus his proposed remedies for steroids in baseball) are skewed in the worst sort of way. To be fair, Mitchell has a legitimate point. Law enforcement and prosecutors need to make efficient use of their resources. It does not take a Ph.D. in economics to see that the opportunity cost of busting every dime-and-nickel user is that you are not able to prosecute the one or two big-willy, Pablo Escobar types supplying the streets.

On the flip side, Mitchell takes this “efficiency” argument to vindicate all steroid users while drug users still get popped. At the end of the day, both marijuana and steroids are illegal. Yes, prosecutors would rather spend all their time going after the Tony Montanas of the world, but it is not like the guy who gets caught with a couple of dimes gets off easy. There are millions people in prison nation-wide for low-level, drug-related offenses (crimes of use and possession, not distribution). Someone tell the guy who is in jail because he had a couple of E tabs that the focus of prosecutorial resources is not on the individual end-user.

Do not get my statements twisted. While Mitchell provided recommendations for baseball and society in general to “look forward,” he is not the person gets to decide the fate of the steroid-using baseball player. It is up to Major League Baseball and lawmakers to decide how to punish, if at all, steroid users.

In my humble opinion, if the guy who gets caught with a few grams of cocaine gets six months in jail, so should the guy who gets caught with six needles of Wistrol. I am not advocating excessive punishment against baseball players. I am advocating that we treat all drug users the same.

Baseball has always been the barometer of American society. Ted Williams, arguably the greatest hitter ever, had his career interrupted twice when he was called to World War II and Korea. The arrival of Jackie Robinson proved to be the catalyst for a new era of civil rights in then segregated America. More recently, baseball joined America’s mourning in the wake of the Virginia Tech shooting by allowing Angels’ pitcher Joe Saunders to wear a VT hat during a game. With this steroid scandal looming over the head of our national pastime, baseball is again a “sign of the times.” The steroid era represents certain individuals who mocked the rules of the game, destroyed the sacred records of legendary players, and, most egregiously, flouted the laws of the land.