Time for Giambi to Step Up

I’d like Jason Giambi to give the $82 million back.

Not because he cheated the game for it, which he did.

And not because that money was skimmed from the paychecks of a lot of ballplayers who actually did go to the weight room and lived with what work and nature granted, which it was.

And not because George Steinbrenner deserves an $82-million player for his $82 million, which, I suppose, he does.

Now, for a man to request $82 million and offer nothing in return, he would have to be former Enron boss Kenneth Lay. To submit to that request, Mike Tyson.

But, presumably, Giambi will tire of being the face of steroids in baseball, if he hasn’t already. What I propose is for Giambi to become the face of baseball’s recovery from steroids.

It will cost $82 million, or what remains on the contract he signed three years ago, assuming the New York Yankees terminate the moment the S-word escapes Giambi’s lips.

That’s a big hit. If Giambi truly is sorry for his steroid use, for the example he set, for the toll on his sport, his teammates and those who once looked up to him, he could do some good with $82 million. He could educate teenagers on the perils of steroids.

With pamphlets.

Maybe a short educational series with doctors and scientists enumerating the side effects.

With videos.

No good. Kids won’t read, they won’t watch, they won’t learn, and they won’t get it.

What the next generation of ballplayers needs is Jason Giambi. Unplugged. He needs to go to the children, tell them about the last decade of his life, from big league prospect to big league All-Star to big league steroid freak to this, whatever this is, the rest of a career spent in apology and shame.

What’s a clean body worth? What about a clean conscience?

Is $82 million too much? For a man who has already made $45 million? For a man who could still make a clean and decent living in baseball?

This is not to say Giambi should rat out his steroid brethren. One book is enough. We get the idea.

This is a plea for him to do the right thing, to place honor above paycheck, to be the guy who gets it, who is sorry for his deeds and not for getting caught.

Men tell truths about illegal substance abuse and are not whisked to jail. Sometimes, they become heroes.

Sadly, the Yankees won’t be behind Giambi on this.

A few weeks ago, Steinbrenner defamed agent Arn Tellem over Giambi’s reluctance to come clean, Steinbrenner clearly frustrated by the contractual line Giambi had toed but not crossed.

Hours later, a Yankee executive listened patiently to a plan that would allow Giambi to tell his story, and the Yankees to benefit from it. The public would get Giambi’s message, the Yankees would be praised for allowing him to tell it, and a few kids would make decisions they wouldn’t have otherwise.

“If nothing else, think of the positive publicity and the long-term good it might do.”

The Yankee executive nodded.

“It would be great publicity,” he admitted. “But not $82 million worth of publicity.”

Giambi is on his own.

Life gets tougher.

So, Giambi sits in front of his locker one day and tells his story, from the first needle to the last. He talks about the changes, from the euphoria to the depression, from the overblown muscles to the outsized pituitary, from the humiliation of buying illegal drugs to the humiliation of finding a sterile syringe to the humiliation of having it all blow up in a courtroom in San Francisco.

Let the Yankees do what they have to do.

Giambi goes out looking for work. Back to Oakland, maybe. He submits to drug tests, like everybody else in the clubhouse. He reworks his game into what it was, to 45 doubles and 25 home runs, rather than the other way around, with what remains a glorious swing and an uncommon sense of the strike zone. He bats sixth, or third, not fourth.

And on his days off, he finds a weight room in a high school and sits in front of other people’s lockers and tells his story, just the way it happened.

He gets his honesty back. He gets his journey back. And he saves some Taylor Hooton, some Rob Garibaldi, their parents and their friends and their brothers and sisters, from terrible, terrible journeys.

I don’t know, to me, that seems worth $82 million.

*

For a guy who testified he had never seen a syringe in a clubhouse, wasn’t mentioned in Jose Canseco’s book, and yet three years ago told Sports Illustrated steroids had “become a prominent thing” in baseball, Curt Schilling appeared to have some real issues with Canseco during the recent congressional hearing.

Schilling called Canseco “a liar” during testimony, and in his opening statement referred to Canseco as a “so-called author” twice and his book and its views as “a disgrace.”

Even Mark McGwire, who was skewered in the book and had the most to lose, pretty much ignored Canseco.

Schilling once told Sports Illustrated that he no longer patted teammates on the rear end after a play.

“They’ll look at me and go, ‘Don’t hit me there, man, it hurts,’ ” he said. “That’s because that’s where they shoot the steroid needles.”

What, no more jokes?

According to an industry source, Schilling’s repugnance for Canseco did not start or end with steroids, or with Canseco’s transparency in outing baseball and its biggest names.

About a decade ago, the source said, Canseco sold Schilling his Lamborghini for “a couple hundred thousand dollars.” A few months later, the car “melted down,” perhaps as a result of Canseco’s taste for supercharged fuel. The engine required extensive work.

Schilling apparently blamed Canseco, who assumed a buyer-beware attitude, leading to a feud that was rekindled when they were fellow witnesses before the House Government Reform Committee.

Presumably, Canseco got his own ride home.

*

Sammy Sosa and Dusty Baker never did get along, and then Sosa reported late for the Chicago Cubs’ final game last season, then left early, hastening his departure to, as it turned out, Baltimore.

This sort of insubordination wouldn’t play on a high school team. It should be noted, however, that Sosa left the Cubs’ final regular-season game of 2003 before it was over -- a meaningless loss to Pittsburgh -- and nobody got his Harry Carays in a bunch over it.

The difference: Those Cubs weren’t crummy, they were good -- two days later, they opened a division series in Atlanta, a series they won -- and Sosa had 103 RBIs, not 80.

*

In case you missed it, Johnny Damon sat out a week of exhibition games because of something like flu. When he returned, he had shaved his beard and trimmed his hair. The “Queer Eye” guys -- five Red Sox players were to participate in the show -- were said to be apoplectic.

*

In 16 exhibition games for Seattle, Adrian Beltre (five years, $64 million) has one homer (inside the park), but he has doubled four times and was batting .364. Richie Sexson (four years, $50 million), recovering from shoulder surgery, is batting .283.

*

Congress cannot believe that threats of legislation will persuade Commissioner Bud Selig to strengthen baseball’s drug policy. Baseball got as far as it did because the union sensed public and congressional opinion moving against it.

Selig would like nothing better than to have congressmen Tom Davis, Henry Waxman & Co. save him the aggravation of bargaining with union boss Don Fehr over blood tests, stricter penalties and more frequent testing. Actually, he showed considerable restraint in not saying so during the hearing.

*

The popular opinion is that Barry Bonds doesn’t play another game, and so leaves Hank Aaron and Babe Ruth alone at 1-2, and saves himself the aggravation. More likely, he’ll split the difference; pass Ruth because he believes that would bother sportswriters and fans, play out the season, then quit before the BALCO investigation gets any hotter.