In the NFL, human growth hormone is there but it isn’t there — or, at least, it wasn’t there until Rodney Harrison got suspended for using it. Only a fool, of course, would have believed the league was free of performance-enhancing drugs, given the size of these galoots. And you had to figure HGH enjoyed a certain popularity, inasmuch as it isn”t tested for (yet).
Harrison, the Patriots’ boom-lowering strong safety, claims he never used the stuff to gain a competitive edge, only to “accelerate the healing process of injuries I sustained while playing football” — a familiar refrain among athletes who get caught using banned substances. “I wasn’t trying to turn myself into Superman, I just wanted to get back on the field.” Still, there’s no denying HGH has magical powers, even if it doesn’t enable you to run faster than a speeding bullet.
Which makes Rodney Harrison, by any definition, a cheater — no ifs, ands or hypodermic needles in the butt about it. The issue now is: What circle of hell should he be consigned to? Does he belong on Barry Bonds’ rung? Floyd Landis’? Ben Johnson’s? All cheaters, after all, are not cremated equal.
And there are certainly some mitigating factors in Harrison”s case. For starters, he immediately and unequivocally confessed his crime, admitted to being “disappointed in myself” and “very, very embarrassed.” Better still, he regretted the message it might send to aspiring footballers everywhere. “I would ask and would want to be the example to them to never jeopardize what they believe in and never jeopardize their health,” he said.
Harrison also refused to cast aspersions on others, refused to fall back on the everybody-does-it excuse. Not only did he insist his actions were “nothing that my teammates were involved in,” he asked the media not to badger the Patriots with questions about him. “This is something that Rodney Harrison did … alone,” was how he put it.
So in the mea culpa department, Harrison gets high marks. Much higher than Bonds (who has never apologized for anything), Landis (whose business manager threatened witness Greg LeMond before a hearing) or, initially, Johnson (deny, deny, deny).
But there might be other reasons why we feel differently about Harrison, more tolerant of his misdeed. Such as: Whatever benefits he might have derived from performance-enhancing drugs, he didn’t end up knocking Hank Aaron out of the record book (or Babe Ruth, for that matter). Nor did he “win” the Tour de France or “break” the hallowed 100-meter-dash mark. In other words, he hasn’t messed with history.
At last glance, Harrison had 32 career interceptions, putting him well down the all-time list. Given his advancing age (34), he probably won’t catch record-holder Paul Krause, who finished his Hall of Fame career with, uh, 81. Yes, Rodney has two Super Bowl rings — and made a major contribution to those Patriots clubs — but it’s uncertain whether he was using banned substances that far back.
Should such things matter in the court of public opinion? Should there be first-, second- and third-degree shades of gray? Or should Harrison be herded into the same cell with Bonds, Landis, Johnson and all the rest? How should we distinguish among sport’s scoundrels — the drug cheats, the spitballers and the non-conforming-equipment types?
Then there’s the mathematics of it. A starter in football is just one of 22 — 24 if you count the kicker and punter. A strong safety, in other words, can only have so much impact on the winning of a game or championship. A starter in baseball, on the other hand, is one of nine. And a slugging outfielder, a guy who hits 73 homers, can have a huge impact on the winning of a game or championship.
For competitors in individual sports like track or cycling, the effect of cheating is even more pronounced. If you’re juicing and your closest rivals aren’t, how much easier is it to steal their glory? So how should we parcel out our admonition? How should we dispense our scorn? Equally across the board, or according to some sliding scale?
Rodney Harrison done wrong, no doubt about it, but I suspect he’ll get off more lightly than the others. After all Shawne “Muscles” Merriman spent four weeks in Roger Goodell’s pokey last season and still made the Pro Bowl. Besides, Rodney, from all appearances, is still Rodney. There are no reports of his feet mysteriously growing 2½ sizes.
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