By JEFFERSON WEAVER
Staff writer

By the time you read this, there may be a new world record.
I wouldn’t care less, if it didn’t disgust me.

By now, Barry Bonds may have hit another allegedly hormonally-influenced home run, displacing Hank Aaron, who in turn displaced Babe Ruth.

I watched Aaron break Ruth’s record on television, as did many of you. My father and brother were baseball fanatics, and while Mike was somewhat excited about a new era, Papa had seen the Babe (and some of the other old masters) play in person. Oddly enough, the fact that Aaron was black was nowhere near as controversial as Astroturf, designated hitters, and the other changes that made baseball easier.

Most folks probably know Barry Bonds was accused of taking steroids to enhance his playing ability. I won’t get into that debate, which is fraught with more money and lawyers than my worst nightmare. Yet, much of the sports world is waiting with bated breath for his next homer. At least those who aren’t waiting for the edition of Playboy magazine where his mistress (note: her designation, not mine) has a tell-all interview and a photo session.

When my brother’s baseball hero, Pete Rose, was embroiled in a betting scandal, I thought Brother Mike was more disappointed than Pete’s own mom. Sadly, it seems Rose’s fiasco was about the last time a professional ball player in any sport was actually embarrassed by his bad actions.

Now, betting, drugs, scandal, dogfighting, illegally concealed weapons, brawling in the stands, foul language on television…such things seem to be perks for ballplayers, rather than an anathema.
These people are considered celebrity idols? Why?

A drug-using ball player cheats his way to a new world record, and his girlfriend is happily taking off her clothes for a magazine?
Tell me what’s good about that sordid scene. Or pick another scandal and find a ray of light in it. Please.

There was a time when the hint of scandal would have relegated Bonds to some backwater that hadn’t seen a winning season since both DiMaggio brothers were playing ball. How times have changed. Rose was ostracized like Shoeless Joe Jackson, and in my opinion, he was, probably, almost as much of a fall guy for the league as Jackson was for the Black Sox.

At least people aren’t canonizing the newest millionaire bum. I’m referring to the football star accused of being involved in a dogfight ring. Whether or not he’s guilty I can’t say; that’s for the courts to decide. But this fellow was admired by youngsters, and was making more money in a year than I’ll likely make in my lifetime.

Did he follow the lead of the basketball player who would endorse only bargain-priced sneakers? Nope. Michael Vick just had to live the life of Riley, if not Caligula, gradually dabbling in worse and worse activities just because he was rich and a ball player. It takes a sorry individual to enjoy dogfighting; a man who makes thousands of dollars makes me have thoughts which require many prayers for forgiveness.

About the time I became thoroughly disgusted with all ballplayers, I remembered the ballplayers who still honor their sport.

I’m particularly talking about the four – count’em, four – Dixie Youth teams that went to their respective World Series contests recently.

As I write this, the Dixie Angels All-Stars from Burgaw are on their way home after losing a hard-fought fourth game. The Columbus Dixie Debs are slugging it out in Louisiana. The Columbus East All-Stars (who have proven, thankfully, that boys can still play baseball) are on their way to Alabama. The Columbus Majors are tangling to stay in their own pennant race.

There could be more, and if I missed some, please forgive me. The slight wasn’t intentional.

I’ll admit it, I like youth ball leagues, even if I rarely get to enjoy their games. Baseball starts to lose its luster when the survivors of high school and college teams who made it in the minors get to move up to “The Show.”

It all starts with the young ones, the players who are proud of their uniforms and their teams, and idolize not a billionaire base-runner, but their coaches.

These young people still know how to love their game; they play because they enjoy it, and they want to do their best. I’m sure one or two occasionally have dreams of going on to professional ball; during my less-than-illustrious baseball career, I sure did. It would be un-American not to dream of playing in the “bigs.”

So as angry and disgusted as I am about Michael Vick and Barry Bonds, I know those bums aren’t what playing ball is about.

The young’uns who give up their summers to Dixie Youth – they still understand that the ball diamond is a place to do your best, and have some fun doing it. I sincerely doubt any of those youngsters would embarrass or humiliate their parents or their teams by behaving like spoiled brats with too much money and not enough sense.

So keep your pro sports, your athletes who make more than some small countries, your dog-fighting and steroid scandals.

If I need a sports hero, I know where to find them –at the nearest Dixie Youth diamond.

Weaver is a staff writer at The News Reporter. Contact him via telephone at 642-4104, ext. 227, or by e-mail at jeffweaver@newsreporter.biz.