It's time for players to talk

Twice in the past week, White Sox manager Ozzie Guillen criticized Jason Grimsley for reportedly naming names to federal authorities who are investigating the use of performance-enhancing drugs in major-league baseball.
"Only thing I can say is that a former player should shut up and go," Guillen said of the recently released Diamondbacks pitcher. "Shut up and move on."
And Grimsley's loose lips really angered Sox pitcher Jeff Nelson, who seems a lot more upset that baseball's Mafia-like code of silence was broken than he is by the idea his sport might be filthy with cheaters.
"For him to get caught and then basically throw other guys under the bridge, that's just wrong," Nelson said. "Even though we're all on different teams, we're all a big family. This is a big fraternity, and you just don't do that. It's something the sport doesn't need."
The reaction
Now, is that a normal, healthy reaction? If police broke up a major crime ring in your neighborhood because of information supplied by a neighbor, would your first impulse be to rip the informant for being a rat? A reasonable person would be happy his neighborhood was getting cleaned up.
A reasonable person forgets about the fraternity for a second and starts thinking about the bigger picture.
I'm guessing that if investigators asked the clannish Nelson about steroids in major-league baseball, he would say, "Major-league baseball? What's that?"
What's the greater sin: that someone gives up names to federal investigators or that the national pastime remains bulked up while a huge audience of impressionable youth gawks?
The culture of silence Nelson so admires has forced the government to get involved. Baseball no more can police itself than a classroom of kindergartners can.
I know: We're all sick of this. Eyeballs roll back in their sockets whenever the word "steroids" shows up in a headline. We would like to concentrate on Our Game. But the facts seem to point to a sport that doesn't want to admit that it's sick.
Role models
And you can scoff at the sentiments of those of us who are concerned about the message being sent to children. Don't let Barry Bonds be your kids' role model, you say. Being a role model is your responsibility, you say. Fine.
But the statistics are alarming. A 2004 study by the National Institute on Drug Abuse showed that 3.4 percent of 12th-grade students had used steroids at least once in their lives.
If you're not frightened by that, you must be Jeff Nelson. And if you believe teenagers aren't influenced by other people besides their parents, you must not have teenagers.
This is not a victimless crime. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Kids see the home runs and the money. They don't see the potential for heart and liver problems down the road caused by steroid use.
I would like to believe that Bonds' situation might be helping. There has been such widespread disgust over his behavior, his haughtiness and his appearance that there's a chance it will turn kids the other way. Maybe being grotesquely muscled won't be so cool.
It's clear the feds are after Bonds, the big fish in the big pond. But they also are interested in whoever else floats to the surface. According to reports, Grimsley gave investigators the names of players he suspected were users -- this after officials had tracked a package containing human-growth hormone to his home.
Trying to outwit testers
As the Olympics have shown us, some athletes always are looking for ways to stay a step ahead of the testers. Baseball's drug-testing program screens for steroids, but not HGH. It's a huge hole in the league's policy.
The sport already is tarnished by the steroids scandal. Years from now, people will look back and dismiss an entire era as a chemical lie. And the guess here is they will remember it took the power of the federal government to get ballplayers to tell the truth.
If you're looking for what's wrong with baseball and why it can't seem to clean itself up, you now have a pretty good idea. Players don't tattle on each other. Isn't that noble? Meanwhile, some kid who sees a superstar hitting homer after homer thinks he has found the secret to success, health be damned.
Once and for all, let's get to the bottom of this, no matter how slimy it is, no matter how hard it is to get players to talk. There's too much at stake.
Rick Morrissey is a columnist for the Chicago Tribune.