“Sports, perhaps better than any endeavor except politics, has become adept at a type of cleansing more commonly associated with authoritarian governments. With surprising regularity and ease, once-popular figures … have been erased like disgraced leaders from an old Soviet photo album, whitewashed from history to preserve an institution’s image or to abide by a governing body’s sanctions.” Richard Sandomir, The New York Times (January 5, 2014)
Courtesy: Crossing Board.com
Joe Paterno, football icon. Then…. Penn State tore down his statue. The Big Ten removed his name from a championship trophy. He died. Improbable as a Hollywood script, it was all real, happening before our eyes.
Paterno isn’t alone in a fall from grace. Alex Rodriguez, Lance Armstrong, and Reggie Bush are recent examples, as are O.J. Simpson, Pete Rose, and Shoeless Joe Jackson from across the decades. We know the names of many. Others, like Paul Robeson, we may not know at all.
They share a commonality: accomplished sports figures cast to the shadows. Some had reputations diminished, others lost careers. Some did whatever-they-did while connected to sport, and others transgressed later in life. A few violated sports regulations, others broke the law. Many lied and protested their innocence, others told the truth. Some did deplorable things, others enacted lesser offenses.
The outcomes never varied, though: considerable distance was forged between before and after.
Their stories aren’t all the same. Some are straightforward and clear. Others are matters of circumstance and context, where guilt seems more propositional than certain.
Courtesy: Western Free Press
Take Shoeless Joe Jackson. Whether he actually took a bribe in the 1919 World Series is debatable, but we know that the trial-adjudicated verdict was “not guilty.” Despite that ruling, Jackson was banned from baseball for life by commissioner Kenesaw Mountain Landis. Context figured in that decision. “The Black Sox Scandal” scared owners into action, and they named tough-guy Landis as the game’s first commissioner. Landis mandate was to restore public confidence in the game, and he did: Shoeless Joe’s banishment became a symbol.
The outcome haunted Joe, an illiterate man whose life chances were diminished significantly by losing his athletic livelihood. Testimony to his shame is a story about a chance encounter in the ‘30s with legendary Ty Cobb. Cobb recognized Jackson while checking out at a liquor store that Jackson owned down South.”Don’t you know me, Joe?” Cobb asked. “Sure, I know you, Ty, but I wasn’t sure you wanted to know me.”
Joe tried to set the record straight, but it never happened. The U.S. Congress intervened, the House passing a resolution in 1999 encouraging MLB to reverse its stance. But Jackson’s name remains on baseball’s ineligible list meaning that he can’t be listed on the Hall of Fame ballot. Shoeless Joe would be a shoe-in otherwise: he had a lifetime batting average of .356 and a 42% on-base percentage. His plate management was extraordinary. In 5000 at bats he struck out only 160 times and walked 500 times.
One of baseball’s most historic tales belongs to Joe’s saga, too. It reportedly happened on courthouse steps after a long day at trial. A boy saw Jackson coming down the steps and asked: “It ain’t true, is it, Joe?” (“Say it ain’t so!”) Some say Joe said yes and others say an enterprising reporter made up the story. We’ll never know.
Then there’s the case of Paul Robeson. Robeson, one of the first African-Americans to enroll at Rutgers, was an outstanding football end at Rutgers in the 1910s. He was very good, too, gaining All-America honors in each of his last two years. After graduation he went on to become known nationally for theatrical work as singer and actor.
Courtesy: PBS.org
Robeson was a social activist, too, and by the early 1950s his views didn’t sit well with some. He advocated for civil rights and social justice, not unlike what Jackie Robinson did a few years later. The timing was just different.
Robeson’s perspectives were interpreted by certain politicos as sympathy for Communism. The outcome was blacklisting, a common occurrence during “The McCarthy Years.” Robeson had TV appearances cancelled and an application for a U.S. Passport denied. Magazine articles were critical of him. When a history book of college football was published in the early 1950s Robeson’s saw that his name wasn’t included—either as a Rutgers player or as an All-America.
McCarthyism loosened its grip by the late 1950s and, with it, the targeting of Americans who held certain views. Admiration for Robeson’s contributions followed—in athletics, entertainment, and civic life. An Academy Award-winning documentary was made about his life (1980); he was inducted into the College Football Hall of Fame (1995); a star was placed on The Hollywood Walk of Fame (1998); and a U.S. postage stamp was issued in his name (2004).
But Paul Robeson never experienced any of those accolades: he died in 1976.
Although some sports figures, like Robeson, may have been “done wrong,” many others did wrong. There are court adjudications, sport sanctions, and self-admissions to prove it. The recent list includes O.J. and Armstrong. While each story is different, none can be told without getting into matters of character, personality, and life circumstances.
While those factors may explain why these figures misbehaved, searching for “why’s” only gets at causes and influences. What Jhonny Peralta did was answer another question: “What should I do now?”
Peralta never tested negative for drug use, but his name was implicated in the Bio-Genesis performance-drug scandal. Peralta admitted guilt and MLB suspended him for 50 games. It came in the middle of the 2013 season as his team, the Detroit Tigers, battled in a pennant race. Peralta was having a great year, too, making the All-Star team and batting .305 in 100+ games. Peralta’s indiscretion meant the Tigers would lose their starting shortstop for the stretch run.
Courtesy: My Fox Detroit
Peralta responded by giving a public lesson in post-fall management. First, he apologized publicly to his teammates, the organization, and to the fans, calling it a lapse of judgment for which he was very sorry. He then went to Lakeland (Tigers’ FL base) to work out and get ready to return—even though his General Manager didn’t promise him a roster spot. What the GM did, though, was replace him at short, acquiring a younger glove (José Iglesias) and giving up a promising outfielder (Avisail Garcia) in return.
Peralta worked hard, including learning to play a new position, left field. He was called up at season’s end. Upon returning he made the rounds, going to every person in the clubhouse, saying (again) how sorry he was for what he had done. Inserted in left field, Peralta delivered. His 3-run HR figured prominently in the Tigers’ ALCS win against the Athletics. Peralta went on to hit .330 in ten post-season games with 5 extra-base hits and 6 RBIs.
Even though Peralta had played his last game for the Tigers, his career wasn’t over. In the off-season he signed a 4-year, $50 million dollar free-agent contract with the Cardinals. Knowing that his reputation is still under repair Peralta showed up early for 2014 Spring Training. ”I want to know everybody here in the clubhouse before everything starts, meet every coach and every training guy,” Peralta said (Yahoo! Sports). His position coach gave him advice: work hard. Peralta will.
Peralta fessed up. He apologized and then tried—as best he could—to make things right. No defensiveness. No blaming other people. No excuses. His is a textbook response, consistent with self-help advice given across time. The title of Megan McCardle’s new book says it well: The Upside of Down: Why Failing Well is the Key to Success.
While there’s much to be gained that way, that’s not the way it’s often done. After being at the pinnacle of success it’s difficult to look into the mirror and find fault with what you see. It’s easier to go on the defense, to blame others, and to talk about “circumstances.” But think about the answer to that famous question, the one posed in the ancient fairy tale: “Am I not the fairest of them all?” the Queen asks the Magic Mirror. The answer isn’t always, and forever, yes.
Image. Brand. Public identity. They crumble with a fall from grace.
That brings us back to Paterno. What really happened at Penn State? Perhaps the more important question is: Why? Protect the brand? The university’s culture? The president’s management style? Administrative incompetence? The head coach’s failure? All of the above? Something else? We may never really know.
We do know this, though. What happened at PSU represents a cautionary tale for all organizations: the transgression of one becomes the responsibility of many. How an institution handles a crisis makes public dimensions of its organizational culture; and the response also tells us a lot about an institution’s character.
“WE ARE PENN STATE!” It just doesn’t have the ring it once did. That’s because the institution is in remake mode—image tarnished, brand under repair, and public identity diminished. Such is the fall from grace….
Joe Paterno. O.J. Simpson. Tiger Woods. Lance Armstrong. Alex Rodriguez. Shoeless Joe Jackson. Pete Rose. The list goes on. These aren’t just any names: they’re the names of accomplished sports figures. They were all at the top … and then ….
What can be learned? For one thing, it’s this: if it happened to them, it can happen to anyone. The words of 16th Century Englishman John Bradford apply well, spoken as he watched fellow prisoners march toward their execution: “There but for the grace of God walks I.” And if a fall from grace does occur, then another aphorism seems right. “God helps those who help themselves,” declared the ancient Greeks.
Jhonny knows. He hit a Grand Slam.
