Mike Greenwell was one of my favorite players growing up. The Red Sox left fielder had the many appealing intangible qualities (not to mention quite a few impressive tangibles, too, like a lifetime .303 average and .368 OBP) that often make players fan favorites. Plus, upon running into the left field wall for the umpteenth time, he’d decide every now and then to give it a swift kick in return. That’s good stuff.

Unfortunately, the Gator retired after a season of .295 hitting at the age of 32, well before he’d reached the end of his rope. And in comments made yesterday on his selection to the Red Sox Hall of Fame, we can see why:

“I felt like I was very, very loyal,” Greenwell said. “I never felt like I got that back at the end of my career. ”

“I wasn’t really mad at the Red Sox,” Greenwell said. “I was burnt out. I knew I would never come to Fenway as long as Duquette was there. I really thought what he did to that organization was a shame and I’ll say that right to his face.”

Greenwell also called the Duke’s decision to ban former players from the clubhouse —including Red Sox legends Carl Yastrzemski, Ted Williams, and Johnny Pesky—”one of the worst things I’ve ever seen, not just in sports but as a human being.” But it was not all bitterness—Greenwell relayed his reaction to the news of his impending induction (’What, did you all run out of people?’) and bumped into the press conference’s mini-Green Monster backdrop (’It’s been a while since I bounced off of that thing’).

Yet Greenwell also repeated sentiments he’s made in the past about getting shortchanged as a result of others’ steroid use, though he no longer seems offended by his empty trophy case.

“[Greenwell] said it was an eye-opener when he was told during contract negotiations that the difference between his salary and that of Canseco’s was ” ‘he’s hitting 40 home runs,’ and I knew why. I didn’t tell them I knew why, but I knew why and I always took issue with the fact that I was putting up similar numbers without the power numbers.”

[...]

“…all at once, the numbers got crazy. Well, why? We all know why and I knew why. I did lose the MVP to Jose Canseco and also lost Rookie of the Year. If you’ll look back, the guys that finished in front of me, we would all have doubt.”

“I get a little miffed at people when someone makes the argument, ‘Well, does it make the player?’ Of course it doesn’t make the player, but I promise you as a guy that could hit like I could hit, if the ball would have traveled 20 more feet for me, what kind of player am I then? If I get healthier faster because of that, what kind of player am I then?”

[...]

“Probably if I didn’t have my wife [who is a nurse], I would have done it to try to at least perform at that level. Another reason I retired when I retired was I just didn’t feel like [the playing field] was quite even anymore.”

I hope Mike Greenwell has no regrets, despite getting shafted by Jose Canseco and Dan Duquette. I find his rhetorical question about himself as a steroid user (”What kind of player am I then?”) a bit haunting. Because the answer would be, “just another juicer.” So Mike Greenwell didn’t take steroids. So the ball didn’t travel 20 feet further. He didn’t end up with a closetful of trophies, but he was still a special kind of player. And he did it all by himself. So what kind of player was Mike Greenwell? I think the answer is, “a damn decent one.” One who even manages some sympathy, now, for the players whose ill-gotten success cemented his own second-class status:

“I do not blame the guys. I was very tempted myself, because I understood the pressure to perform,” he said. “It’s tough to have you guys walk up after the game, and I hit a fly ball that got caught 5 feet in front of the fence, and it ended the game with the bases loaded.

“To be criticized when I know that there’s something out there that could solve that, but I just didn’t do it. I’m proud of the fact that I didn’t do it, but I understand the why.”

“It’s not about the [MVP] trophy. It’s about letting people know that there was an issue in the game, and let’s see if we can clean it up. I have a son who’s now in the minor leagues [Bo, 19, in the Indians' organization], and I’d like to know that he’s playing on an even playing field.”

Greenwell says he hasn’t been back to Fenway since the day he retired, but that he’s “definitely” planning to return this year. Looking forward to seeing you there, Mike.

The time for knee-jerk reactions to the Mitchell report has passed. Now it’s time to commence with the backbiting and fingerpointing. Let’s look at some reactions from a few clean players.

For the most part, the players not involved in the Mitchell report have been keeping their heads down and not saying nuthin’. Those who do speak have mostly stuck to banal comments and harmless generalizations. The players named by Mitchell have resorted to a) silence, b) denial, or c) lame-ass apologies, such as those by Brian Roberts (”I didn’t inhale!”) and Andy Pettitte (”If what I did was an error in judgment on my part, I apologize…I accept responsibility for those two days.”)

The most interesting exception to this sit-down-shut-up-boo-hoo-poor-me spectacle has been the former players who were clean, and who are pissed as hell they had to compete against these cheaters. If there is any doubt that using steroids was cheating (and nasty, no-good, dirty, cheateriffic cheating at that), listen to the words of folks like Joe Oliver and Mike Greenwell. As Oliver wrote in an email  to Boston Herald columnist Joe Horrigan,

I had to vie for a job every year and now I know it had something to do with certain players having a competitive edge on me…I spent all that time in the early hours running and lifting weights, these guys would shoot up and be done and get stronger, faster, and the owners knew who they were and the GM’s knew who they were. Every time I argued for a contract, I was competing with juiced catchers in the same boat looking for a job. They got the higher paying jobs and I got screwed.

That reflects the sentiments of Mike Greenwell, another former Red Sox player. He was never the kind of guy who got the awards or the glory or the big-money deal. He just showed up to work and played hard. (In fact, he turned running into the Green Monster into a kind of art, occasionally kicking the wall in retaliation for some of those bumps and bruises.) He had a couple of All-Star game appearances, over the course of his 12-year career, and then faded gracefully from view. His best season was 1988, when he came in second in MVP voting. And who should happen to have beaten him out that year? Why, Jose Canseco, who just that year had his 40-homer, 40-steal season. Now that Canseco has fully admitted to using steroids, shouldn’t the Gator get the hardware? That’s what he said back when Jose’s first book came out:

“Where’s my MVP?” Greenwell told the Fort Myers News-Press. “[Canseco's] an admitted steroid user. I was clean. If they’re going to start putting asterisks by things, let’s put one by the MVP.”

[...]

“I do have a problem with losing the MVP to an admitted steroids user,” Greenwell told the News-Press, adding that not winning the award likely cost him millions of dollars.

Even Curt Schilling, whose comments on the subject have been mostly of the don’t-make-waves variety (for a change) admitted that the idea of an uneven playing field disturbed him.

As a competitor, the one thing I can’t help but think is how different, or if at all different, my career numbers would be if I was playing against a level playing field and in an era that was already offensive-tailored and knowing that a lot of guys, well, everybody that’s been named, has done something against me in the past.

As for my part, I’m glad to see at least some players, current and former, standing up for themselves. Maybe it will help the players’ union remember, the next time they’re tempted to stonewall even the most pathetic, flaccid, symbolic steroid testing program, that it’s not just the Cansecos and McGwires and Bondses that they represent. But (heavy sigh) probably not.

PS—Just look at those pictures of Oliver and Greenwell and compare them with this shot of Canseco. Even with his catching gear on, Oliver looks like the proverbial ten-pound weakling next to Jose. And Mike Greenwell is a dead ringer for my fifth-grade homeroom teacher, Mr. Grosky. You have the Incredible Hulk in a mullet, there, versus Mr. Grosky. This playing field has a steeper incline than the Matterhorn.