Nobody ever said that being able to fire a 97-mph fastball was a prerequisite for Mensa membership, but every so often, a professional athlete manages to floor me with their absolutely unbridled stupidity.
On Feb. 12, New York Mets relief pitcher Jenrry Mejia became the front-runner for Knucklehead of the Year, failing a third drug test to become the first MLB player ever to incur a lifetime ban for repeated violations of the league’s performance-enhancing drug policy.
This, dear reader, is just about as dumb as it gets.
As far as baseball goes, numbskulls are never in short supply. Some of my favorite historical anecdotes prove that common sense clearly takes a backseat to ERA, RBIs and whatever other advanced metrics you want to use when it comes to judging our stars of the diamond.
John Smoltz once injured himself trying to iron a dress shirt while he was still wearing it. Carl Everett famously denied the existence of dinosaurs, simply because he had never seen a T-Rex in the wild. Rickey Henderson once told Mets teammate John Olerud that he used to play with a guy in Toronto who also wore a batting helmet in the field, apparently forgetting that the player in question was, in fact, Olerud himself.
In the grand scheme of things, these are fun, harmless stories; the kind of tales, apocryphal or not, that lend some color to the game.
But Mejia’s latest suspension? That’s just a bridge too far.
Let’s recap: Early last season, Mejia was suspended for 80 games for testing positive for Stanozolol, an anabolic steroid used by humans and horses alike. He returned from his suspension in July, played for about a week and was then hit with another suspension—this one for 162 games—for having Stanozolol in his system once again.
Two weeks after the Mets resigned him in January—a puzzling move for the Amazin’s given Mejia’s history—he failed his third PED test, and was banned from MLB for life.
“A Beautiful Mind,” this ain’t.
I’ve never been one of those pearl-clutching anti-steroid guys. I get why people use it. I don’t condone it, per se, but I can understand the draw. If a few more miles per hour is going to be the difference between a multi-million dollar contract and throwing pregame batting practice in Peoria, Illinois, I can sympathize with ballplayers who think they need that little extra edge, and I’m willing to forgive a mistake. Or two. But three failed tests in less than a calendar year? That is some next-level bonehead stuff right there.
I’ve never met Mejia. He may be a fine human being for all I know. But his decision-making leaves a lot to be desired. Whether he’s gotten some bad advice from family and friends or simply took it upon himself to cook up a few horse steroid cocktails is irrelevant. He got a second chance and boy, did he blow it.
If Mejia ever plays another major league game—he’s eligible to apply for reinstatement next year and could be back on the field as early as 2018—it’s going to be because someone in the league office feels bad for him and because he can still throw a baseball at superhuman speeds.
But I wonder how many teams will be lining up to give the much-maligned closer another shot at greatness. I’m sure he’ll say the right things, he’ll profess to be a changed man, and he’ll say that he’s put this childish and irresponsible behavior behind him.
But if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this: you can’t fix stupid.
