In late September 1998, Mark McGwire hit his 70th homerun of the season. It was four more than rival Sammy Sosa and nine more than the prior record of 61 that had stood for nearly forty years. A little more than a decade later, however, McGwire would admit to using steroids enroute to his record-setting season, offering apologies to fans, baseball commissioner Bud Selig, and the family of prior record holder, Roger Maris (Weisbaum, 2010). Though McGwire and a handful of other players would become the face of baseball’s steroid era, responsibility for one of the league’s most prominent scandals falls equally to the Players Association, the league office, and the owners. Morally, however, baseball’s decision to not regulate performance enhancing drug use, amounts to a breach of contract between the fan and the game. Though the league has never admitted to using steroids to rejuvenate baseball following the 1994 strike, it wasn’t until steroid use became public and attendance numbers had recovered, that the league instituted a formal testing policy. This essay, therefore, explores the ethical theories and implications of baseball’s involvement in the steroid scandal, its outcomes, and how future circumstances could be handled differently.
Background and Ethical Dilemma
The decline in attendance following the players strike in 1994 is widely viewed as a pivotal moment in the league’s handling of steroids, however, the fact is, performance enhancing drugs (PEDs) were not a new concern for baseball. In fact, the steroid era is widely viewed as originating in the 1980s, and baseball’s attempts to limit illegal drug use, though weak, date back to the 1970s. The strike brought doping into focus, however, as owners faced twin crises of declining attendance and accelerating PED use. Moreover, the anabolic steroids that typified PEDs during that time, were a controlled substance and subject to federal regulation (Mitchell, 2007). In other words, unauthorized distribution and possession of these drugs was illegal, regardless of baseball’s position on the matter. Therefore, the league had an incentive to moderate performance enhancing drugs if for no other reason than player safety and rule of law. Furthermore, the strike presented an opportunity for both sides to negotiate a solution to PEDs before they became a problem.
At the same time, baseball appeared to be benefiting from enhanced player performance. Attendance and revenue had climbed steadily throughout the steroid era and by 1993, over 70 million people had attended a game compared to fewer than 30 million twenty years prior (BBR, n.d.). Team payrolls had topped $900 million for the first time in league history (BBR, n.d.), and baseball was quickly becoming the domain of rich players and wealthier owners. It’s somewhat unsurprising, therefore, that as the players and owners began negotiating a new labor agreement, the two sides prioritized money over a comprehensive drug policy (Mitchell, 2007). Nonetheless, the negotiations failed to reach an agreement and in August of 1994, the players went on strike.
Major League Baseball now had two competing problems. When play resumed in 1995, attendance, which had climbed steadily for decades, fell by over 30% (Pantuosco, 2011). Consequently, the league faced a dramatic reduction in revenue. The second problem was the proliferation of illegal performance enhancing drugs. On the one hand, the league could maintain the hands-off approach to PEDs that had accompanied baseball’s rise over the prior two decades, and trust that enhanced performance would renew interest; or they could abide by federal law and implement new drug policies that would expose steroid use and further risk the fans’ relationship with the game. Such a dilemma pits aspects of utilitarianism, relativism, and Kantian ethics against one another. However, as will be discussed, the players’ preference for financial priorities and baseball’s recovered attendance figures, suggest that no clear-cut lines of moral superiority exist in baseball’s steroid scandal.
Solutions Implemented
In the early months of 1994, then commissioner, Bud Selig, proposed adding steroids to the league’s list of banned substances, and instituting a formal testing program for players suspected of doping. This was intended to augment an earlier, informal agreement that had been reached in 1984 under which players could be tested if suspected of illegal drug use, however, neither proposal defined what constituted reasonable cause, making each subjective and difficult to enforce. The league had also made numerous attempts to institute random drug testing over the preceding decades, however these policies had focused primarily on recreational drugs not performance enhancing substances. Regardless, all, including the 1994 proposal, were rejected by the players (Mitchell, 2007).
That said, though the owners appeared to support drug policies, their commitment to enforcing them was weak and easily displaced. For example, future commissioner Rob Manfred, who was baseball’s chief labor negotiator at the time, admitted that after players rejected the 1994 proposal, determining how revenue would be divided between the players and owners was more important than setting drug policy. These priorities would remain in place until the next labor contract was negotiated in the early 2000s (Mitchell, 2007, pp. SR-11, 25, 43-44). Therefore, baseball’s initial solution to the attendance and steroid issue was to maintain the status quo and prioritize money over doping policy.
It wasn’t until 2001, after rumors of steroid use had been picked up by the media, that baseball began a pilot program, testing players in the minor leagues. That program was ratified by major league players in 2002 and formally enforced in 2004. By 2005 baseball’s drug policy had been updated a final time. The first positive test was punishable with a 50 game suspension; a second failed test carried a 100 game ban; and a third infraction resulted in a permanent suspension. In all cases, the player’s name would be released publicly (Michell, 2007). On April 3, 2005, twenty years after the start of the steroid era, Alex Sanchez became the first player to receive a suspension under baseball’s new PED policy (BA, n.d.).
Results
It wasn’t until 1998, a year after the new labor agreement was signed, that rumors first began circulating that St. Louis Cardinals slugger Mark McGwire was taking steroids. At the time, McGwire and fellow slugger Sammy Sosa were pursuing baseball’s single season homerun total. One of the game’s most prestigious records. Indeed, the drama of the homerun chase sparked renewed interest in the game. Pantuosco (2011) writes that the competition between McGwire and Sosa provided the injection of interest that baseball’s owners desired. League-wide attendance numbers further support that assessment. By 1998, over 70 million fans attended games, a number not seen since 1993 (BBR, n.d.). Furthermore, the rise in attendance was accompanied by a “dramatic increase” in offensive output throughout the league in 1996 (Mitchell, 2007, p. SR-14). Renewed interest and offensive output, therefore, positively reinforced baseball’s decision to not control doping and instead, prioritize money and performance.
There were negative consequences as well, however. For example, numerous incidents of steroids, packaging, and syringes being found by team personnel, law enforcement, and others culminated with a federal investigation into an illegal PED distribution center, which had alleged connections to high profile stars including Barry Bonds and Jason Giambi (Mitchell, 2007, p. SR-17). The BALCO investigation, as it was known, ultimately spawned congressional hearings and an independent investigation led by Senator George Mitchell (2007), marking the culmination of baseball’s worst scandal.
Certainly, baseball’s approach to steroids had far reaching implications. On the one hand, it resulted in an era of historical offensive output and rejuvenated fan interest. Additionally, some of baseball’s biggest stars made millions in endorsements as a result of their performances (Pantuosco, 2011, p. 60). On the other hand, baseball traded a PR problem for a moral dilemma. Mitchell (2007) writes, “[t]he problem of performance enhancing substance use in baseball has shaken the faith of many baseball fans in the integrity and fairness of…the records that have been achieve during what has come to be known as baseball’s ‘steroids era’” (p. 12). It has also resulted in players of that era being kept out of the hall of fame. Nearly 20 years after baseball instituted its formal drug testing policies, no player linked to performance enhancing drugs has been inducted into the hall of fame (Uberti, 2016). It must be stated, however, that since baseball instituted its new policy, incidents of steroid use have declined dramatically, though this may simply be due to players opting for newer, non-detectable substances (Mitchell, 2007).
Analysis
It’s easy to criticize baseball’s handling of steroids following the 1994 strike, but as discussed above, the short-term results were exactly what the owners wanted. Mitchell (2007) writes that the league’s initial response to steroids was slow and ineffective, however this is only the case if the outcome is judged through a reduction in steroid use. Both the players and the owners made clear through their negotiations that their chief concern was money, not drug policy. More importantly, both sides chose to prioritize money over player health and integrity of the game. These realities provide important insight into baseball’s decision-making process and whether their decisions were appropriate.
Under the best interpretation of the owner’s intensions, a utilitarian argument could apply. Baber (n.d.) summarizes utilitarianism as preferencing those actions that produce the best overall consequence and least amount of pain. Baber continues, writing that modern, rule-based utilitarianism instructs societies to adopt only those rules that produce the greatest good for all. Hindsight certainly allows one to judge baseball’s decisions over an ever-lengthening period of time. However, leading up to the strike of 1994, it was clear that the players, by voting down various drug policies, preferred the benefits of enhanced performance over the health risks of PEDs. The boost in offensive output and endorsements are aspects of such benefits. Furthermore, such enhanced performance provided a beneficial version of the game to millions of fans, and indeed, baseball’s attendance toward the end of the 1990s supports this conclusion. It’s also true that baseball’s attendance figures did not dramatically decline following the steroid scandal and have held steady for much of the last 20 years. Importantly, over that same period, league payroll has climbed to over $4.6 billion (BBR, n.d.). It’s difficult to argue, therefore, that from a utilitarian perspective the greater good wasn’t served. Player health would constitute a minor stake in the overall good brought to fans, players, owners, and advertisers. And to the extent that baseball’s laissez-faire approach to steroids damaged the integrity of the game, it hasn’t resulted in decreased attendance. Therefore, on these grounds, baseball’s decision to defer testing was appropriate.
In many respects, baseball’s steroid policy is a collaboration between players and owners. Their initial decision to act (or not act) was mutually agreed upon and largely driven by financial concerns. By the time the steroid scandal broke, and the BALCO federal investigation had begun, the two sides had mutual incentive to formulate a comprehensive drug policy, both for legal and PR reasons. Therefore, the cooperation between players and owners was equitable and presents a strong Kantian argument that their decisions were moral. In the early years of steroid use, the players and owners knew the risks of PEDs, and both chose money over doping controls. As the steroid scandal gained momentum, a comprehensive doping policy became both legally and financially prudent. Therefore, neither side used the other as mere means. On the other hand, while the relationship between the players and owners might have followed Kantian and utilitarian principles, certain moral and ethical deficiencies arise when considering the league’s obligation to the fans.
To begin with, there’s a legitimate Kantian argument to be made that steroid use constitutes a lie. Gendreau (2015) writes that an athlete’s physical performance is central to their public persona. Moreover, their public persona is shared, interpreted, and written in part by the fans. In this way, the fans share in who the player is (p. 516). By using PEDs, the player has deceived the fan about the nature of their physical performance and violated their Kantian obligation to always tell the truth. Moreover, as Rachels (2022) write, Kant placed particular emphasis on the intentions behind one’s actions. By failing to disclose illegal drug use, the owners intentionally misled fans in pursuit of renewed profits. The fans’ participation in the player’s narrative and the fact that financial transactions are central to that participation, imply an obligation on ownership to conduct business in an honest, transparent manner. By failing to disclose PEDs, ownership breached this contract while using the fans as mere means. In this way, the relationship between the league and the public was inequitable.
While Kantian principles provide a strong basis for both criticizing and defending baseball’s decisions, cultural relativism provides an alternative defense. Consider, for example, that players have estimated that anywhere from 20 – 50% of their peers used PEDs (Mitchell, 2007). Though this number is unverifiable, it suggests a culture of drug use amongst MLB players that goes beyond official estimates. Strulik (2012) argues that not only does such a culture compel athletes to dope, but it produces two fundamentally different moral frameworks. One for the fans and another for the players (pp. 541-542). In that, few parallels exist in public life for the competitive pressure players face. To fans, baseball is a reprieve from daily life. To players, it’s their livelihood. Not only can doping represent a cultural norm within sports, but it’s necessary to remain employed. Such cultural relativism stands in stark contrast to the moral framework of fans who view sports as a diversion, and players as elite athletic performers. Indeed, relativism is a compelling argument if not for the fact that the league (and players) profit from a dishonest representation of themselves. Therefore, while the players and owners acted ethically with respect to each other, both failed in their moral obligation to the fans, upon whom they depend.
Finally, to the extent that fans may want to claim a moral higher ground, such a position is difficult to support. If voting with their feet is any indication of their morality, the 1994 strike proved more salient than performance enhancing drug use. As mentioned, baseball’s attendance numbers recovered and barely dipped when the steroid scandal was at its height. If anything, fans’ continued patronage brings the Kantian inequity of the steroid era into balance. Regardless, though baseball may claim this argument vindicates their handling of PEDs, it nonetheless constitutes a breach of contract. Their decisions were dishonest whether the fans were broadly outraged by them or not. That said, baseball took an enormous risk in not curtailing steroid use before it became a scandal. There was no reason to think fans wouldn’t react badly to player drug use given how poorly they’d reacted to the 1994 strike. It’s also not clear to what extent broken trust lingers or might surface should baseball encounter a new controversy. For these reasons, the preferable policy would be one of prompt and aggressive anti-doping regulations.
Furthermore, if baseball viewed offense as a means of reinvigorating the sport, they might have considered changing the game itself. For example, baseball’s recent implementation of bigger bases, pitch clocks, bans on certain defensive alignments, and other rule changes have all proven beneficial to the game. It’s worth noting, however, that today’s changes do not entirely fit the historical context of baseball thirty years ago. Nonetheless, there were aspects of the game itself that could have been changed and agreed to by the players without violating their obligation to the fans. In this way, the league would have avoided the ethical dilemma it created by neither disclosing nor curtailing steroid use.
In summary, while baseball’s decision to defer a comprehensive drug policy did not violate codes of ethics between players and owners, it did violate their Kantian obligation to the fans. By not disclosing steroid use, the league misrepresented the game to the public upon whom they depend. Furthermore, though hindsight suggests that this was the correct decision, baseball couldn’t have known this was the case at the time. Therefore, while the outcomes of the league’s decisions can be fully justified on utilitarian principles, the correct course of action would have been to proactively establish a comprehensive drug policy and avoid the risks of a PED scandal.
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