A 10-Point Plan to Save Baseball’s Image

Joe DiMaggio last swung a bat in a major league game 42 years ago, but there he is on the cover of the new Sports Illustrated, taking his cuts in baggy flannel and vintage sepia tone.

Where have you gone, J.T. Snow?

Sports Illustrated wants to know where are all the baseball heroes are. Ignoring the hot flashes of April and brushing back the Louts of Clout--Barry Bonds, Bobby Bonilla, Jose Canseco, Deion Sanders, ad nauseam--the magazine concludes that once Nolan Ryan packs away the Advil in October, the cupboard will be as barren as the outfield bleachers at Jack Murphy Stadium.

Where has Joe DiMaggio gone? When the question was first posed 25 years ago, in the soundtrack for a Dustin Hoffman movie, Willie Mays, Henry Aaron, Ernie Banks, Roberto Clemente, Willie McCovey, Bob Gibson, Don Drysdale and Ferguson Jenkins were all able and functioning superstars. So what were Simon and Garfunkel whining about? Baseball had more heroes than it knew what to do with then.

The real charisma crisis is here and now--and where is the somber generation-defining folk ballad when we need it? We are scrounging in 1993, our expectations so downscaled that even yesterday’s leftovers have assumed a mythic air.

Rusty Staub, a nation turns its lonely eyes to you.

Of course, we’re dealing in nostalgia here, always dicey territory. The passage of time can become a fun-house mirror, distorting what was reality then for the benefit of our amusement today. Nobody called Ted Williams a day at the beach during his playing years, but now he’s the jolly old guy in the fishing cap, tying lures and cracking wise in that TV commercial.

Also, we demand more of our icons today. We probe them, interrogate them, peek behind their living room curtains, report their off-the-field foibles. In the ‘40s and the ‘50s, we preferred to view them from afar--as, no doubt, did they.

DiMaggio didn’t talk much as a player. Then, that was seen as an admirable trait--the strong and silent “Yankee Clipper,” shutting up but putting up. Had he been active in 1993, DiMaggio would be described as “cold” and “aloof” and everyone would be wondering what he’s hiding.

That said, however, there can be no denying that too many of baseball’s would-be heroes fail to hold up their end of the bargain. Where are the Wayne Gretzkys and Larry Birds of the game--great players who willingly moonlight as role models and ambassadors for their sport?

Before a book is written, Barry Bonds threatens to sue the author if his name is used without remuneration.

After a book is written, Bobby Bonilla threatens to punch out the author.

Jose Canseco holds the singular distinction of being the only man of baseball history to hit 40 home runs and steal 40 bases in the same season--and then buries his cache beneath an unsightly mound of tabloid headlines, arrest warrants and “Leave Me Alone” T-shirts. Darryl Strawberry stops hitting and blames the fans. Deion Sanders stops playing altogether. Will Clark broods, Rickey Henderson brays and Jack Morris, after winning the World Series for hometown Minneapolis, bolts at the first sight of a better offer.

Has the game finally turned too surly, straight-arming itself from the fans who are dying to love it but have had chalk dust kicked in their faces once too often?

Yes and no. Yes, the game has become a boor, but, no, it is not beyond salvation. If baseball can ever get off its fat, arrogant wallet and stop living off its past and start promoting its best people the way the NBA does, maybe we all can put “Mrs. Robinson” to rest at last.

Here are 10 names baseball can start with:

Jim Abbott. If the Angels didn’t recognize it, maybe the Yankees will--this is a once-in-a-lifetime story that, in a national scope, has barely been scratched. His very presence on the mound is an inspiration to many, and his talent and personality ought to inspire all of Madison Avenue. The only thing he lacks: Runs.

Roberto Alomar. Dennis Eckersley says he’s the best player in the game. His .430 average in the late innings of close games says he’s a clutch player nonpareil. He is 25 and already owns a World Series ring. Canada has discovered him. What’s keeping us?

Roger Clemens. Belligerent in his early years, true, but intimidation has always been a big part of his repertoire. Flat-out, he’s the best starting pitcher in the world--more than halfway to 300 victories at age 30. If he can repeat last season’s 18-11 finish, Clemens will have more career victories--and fewer defeats--than a mega-icon named Koufax.

Cecil Fielder. Baseball’s marketing problem in a 250-pound nutshell. He’s Barney in cleats--with 130 home runs in three years, to boot--and he can’t even get an All-Star invite.

Juan Gonzalez. He had 75 career home runs before his 23rd birthday. On pace for 600 by his 40th birthday. Only Aaron, Ruth and Mays have hit more.

Jack McDowell. He’s from Stanford, he plays rock and roll, he plays baseball. Bake him an apple pie and he’s Americana personified.

Kirby Puckett. He has won two World Series, he has more 200-hit seasons than George Brett and Robin Yount combined, he signed for less money to stay in Minnesota, he wrote a book titled “I Love This Game!” (exclamation point is his) and he’s built like a grinning fire hydrant. What is This Game waiting for?

Cal Ripken. It seems as if he’s been playing forever, but he’s only 32, he’s won two MVP awards and he’s on line to break Lou Gehrig’s unbreakable consecutive-game record in 1995. Trouble sign, though: He batted .323 in ‘91, .251 in ‘92, .239 in April ’93.

Frank Thomas. He’s not quite 25 and he says “I believe I can do some things that have never been done before.” After back-to-back seasons of .300, 20 homers, 100 RBIs, 100 runs and 100 walks, he’s off to a decent start.

Andy Van Slyke. Baseball’s last great flake, outside the Philadelphia pig pen, and the best quote in the business. Last year’s .324 performance nudged him into the national spotlight, but what he really needed was a World Series platform, and Pittsburgh’s 0 for 3 the last three Octobers took care of that.

Two others could be Eckersley and Ken Griffey, Jr. Eck could become the Nolan Ryan of the bullpen--the older, the better--but this last April required one mighty painkiller. And Griffey, for all his youthful potential, still needs to transcend Seattle, and jogging to first on infield grounders is no way to get that done.