Seeing asterisks

Ah, baseball. Every April it arrives just in time - the crack of the bat, the stolen base, the green of the outfield and the sweet smack of a fastball in the catcher's mitt.

But this spring, a few other things arrived along with the usual sights and sounds: subpoenas from Congress, a worn down Barry Bonds, suspensions for steroids, a new policy to catch players using performance-enhancing drugs.

A few weeks ago, Sports Illustrated ran a cover story in which the writer asked the following question: "What am I supposed to do with this scrapbook full of memories and the stories I used to tell? Another summer full of moments will soon begin, the biggest home run record of all ripe to fall. What will we do, each of us, now that we know?"

When I first picked up that copy of Sports Illustrated and read those lines, I got the chills. The answers alone to those questions are nothing a fan with baseball in his heart wants to hear, but the fact that we even have to ask these questions is gut-wrenching enough.

But after I untied the knots in my stomach, I realized something that retied them even tighter: I'm not outraged about the steroids scandal. In fact, at certain points, I haven't even cared, and I can't figure out why.

I feel like I should be angry, at least upset, that the game I love is tainted. And I guess to a certain extent I am, but I just can't bring myself to be shocked or mad the way the cover of Sports Illustrated insisted I should be.

For many, all this steroids business has made for an unusual run-up to Opening Day. People turned on their televisions in droves this spring to watch sluggers Sammy Sosa, Rafael Palmeiro, and Mark McGwire testify in front of Congress about steroid use.

In newspapers nationwide the big question this March should have been: will Barry Bonds break Hank Aaron's career home run record this season?

Instead, it was: do Bonds, Sosa, and McGwire all deserve asterisks next to their names? Will Mark McGwire still make the Hall of Fame?

Again, for many this whole fiasco has been enough to almost bring them to tears. Not me. And trust me, I've cried over baseball before. When the Mets lost to the Yankees in extra innings in game one of the 2000 World Series -- that was undoubtedly one of the saddest days of my life.

But shouldn't I be upset over this? Shouldn't all baseball fans be screaming for answers and steroid testing to clear the name of the game? Were we just that jaded when this whole thing started? Are we apathetic because we knew all along they were cheating?

The thing is, I get the feeling that a lot of fans are in the same boat I am. We're still going to watch games on TV, and we're still going to pay to watch monster athletes rock balls out of the ballpark. A majority of fans have said in polls on ESPN that the steroids scandal has not, and will not, affect their love for baseball or the way they perceive the game.

I'm not sure whether this makes us the best sports fans on the planet or the worst ones, though I'd like to think it's the former. One sportswriter said that being in love with baseball is just like any other relationship, and it's getting through the tough times that make the bond stronger and, ultimately, worth it.

But I haven't found these times to be tough when I know they should be, and I still can't figure out why.

I am, however, beginning to think it's because I spend my summers watching the New York Mets. High-scoring games? Because of steroids, you say? Home runs?

Where?