McGwire can follow these steps all the way to the Hall

McGwire basked in the cheers of St. Louis fans throughout the summer of '98, but it's doubtful he'll ever do the same in Cooperstown. Walter Iooss Jr./SI

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Overlooked somewhat in the announcement of Rich Gossage's election to the Baseball Hall of Fame, and the debates it triggered over Class of 2008 runners-up such as Jim Rice and Andre Dawson, was the fact that Mark McGwire received precisely 128 votes -- identical to his 2007 total.

Percentage-wise, the needle on McGwire's support scale barely twitched; he was named on 23.6 percent of the 534 ballots cast this time, compared to 23.5 percent of 545 a year earlier. While unlikely, it's as if the exact same 128 voters put an 'X' in McGwire's box again, with the in/out positions on the tainted slugger's case for Cooperstown hardened on both sides of the electorate.

The bad news for the former Oakland and St. Louis strong man is that it's clear that the majority of voters weren't simply sending a one-time rebuke to McGwire in his first year of Hall eligibility.

The good news for McGwire, though, is that 128 people (and no, I'm not one of them) still think he deserves enshrinement, suspicions of performance-enhancing substances be damned.

That is no small number, 128, and 23.6 percent is no small share. Dale Murphy, who topped McGwire in MVP awards 2-0 and hit 398 squeaky-clean home runs in a more innocent time, has never topped 23.2 percent in nine years on the ballot. Shortstops Dave Concepcion (16.9 percent in his best showing) and Alan Trammell (17.7), models of consistency on good-to-great teams who manned a far more demanding defensive position, also have never received McGwire's early support.

So 128 votes, with 13 years of eligibility remaining, is a nice start, something to build on. If McGwire cares enough to try.

He might not. Given the thoroughness with which he has shrunk from public view -- the guy these days makes J.D. Salinger look like Ryan Seacrest -- McGwire presumably is content with his legacy. He had his career, made his money, had that unfortunate afternoon before Congress in March 2005 and has moved on. His prodigious power exploits and duel with Sammy Sosa seem like tall tales now, growing an inch or two each year.

Still, at age 44, he has a chance not only to merit re-consideration for the Hall but to chase away, for the 40 or 50 years he has left, some of the clouds hovering overhead. If, that is, he is willing to embrace The 12-Step Mark McGwire Program to Public Forgiveness, Image Rehabilitation, Fan Acceptance and Overall Second-Chanceness.

Here is what the big lug needs to do to get back into the hearts of America's baseball fans and the good graces of Hall-voting baseball writers:

Step 1: Come out of your hole.

This Greta Garbo act ain't cutting it. It makes you look as if you have something to hide, beyond your diminishing trapezius muscles. In today's popular culture, even the most shamed and notorious figures (think O.J.) brazenly live their lives in the open.

Groundhog Day is fast approaching, so step outside, blink into the light and say . . .

Step 2: "I am here to talk about the past''

You'll get a laugh, break the tension of the moment and endear yourself to some of the American people who remember your clumsy, embarrassing, backpedaling testimony before Congress.

By playing off your sad mantra from that afternoon, you'll erase it, while distancing yourself from those who have chosen at various times to invoke their legitimate but fishy Fifth Amendment rights.

Then start talking about the past, for real.

Step 3: Apologize. For everything.

That means for using performance-enhancing substances that were a) illegal, b) against the rules, c) unhealthy, d) all of the above or e) any of the above. Don't split hairs about what was or wasn't spelled out in the collective bargaining agreement or in the major league rule book. The court of public opinion obviously considers all of that stuff -- anything beyond a banana smoothie with wheat germ, frankly -- some form of cheating.

So just say you were sorry, a bunch of times, for anything you "knowingly or unknowingly used.'' That should cover you on pretty much everything from Flintstones vitamins to bovine hormones.

Step 4: Do not cry.

No one will believe the tears, whether they're real or not. There are so many media coaches and P.R. spin-meisters out there these days that your first priority is to look eminently uncoached. (You can send your check for my uncoaching fee after achieving the desired results.)

Appearing relaxed will go a long way toward winning over skeptics. You're done playing. Bud Selig can't take your job away, fine you or suspend you. No one, not even Mike Wallace, will mention a polygraph test to you. And that asterisk thing, attaching it to certain unpopular statistics, is just a big ol' baseball myth. Won't happen, no matter what.

A little self-deprecating humor, something we so rarely see at these image-rehab opportunities, would be nice, too.

Step 5: Now apologize again. Specifically to the Maris family.

Roger Maris had held the single-season home run mark of 61 for 37 years -- three years longer than Babe Ruth's total of 60 in 1927 held up. As part of the hype in your and Sosa's chase, and subsequent shattering, of that famous number, MLB made sure to have members of Maris' family on hand for some of the milestone moments.

Indirectly, you -- or at least the questions about your legitimacy -- have done the Maris crew a favor; many fans have given up on identifying the currently clean vs. cheating sluggers, instead writing them all off, and again consider Maris to be the single-season leader. Directly, though, you still should apologize to the family for all the travel and airport security lines.

Step 6: Show and tell.

Explain what your life has been like these past six years, since you fizzled out hitting .187 in 299 at-bats (with 29 home runs) in 2001. Do you get heckled at the grocery store, especially in the juice section? Are there moments when you occasionally chuckle, realizing that the invectives you just unleashed on a fellow motorist were the result of simple road rage, rather than 'roid rage?

Share with us your opinions on topics near and dear, like baseball's Steroid Era, Barry Bonds, Roger Clemens, Sosa, Jason Giambi, your Hall of Fame chances, your thoughts on Cooperstown in general and the great players already enshrined there, that 1998 circus and your unusual career (one homer every 10.6 at-bats, 583 home runs vs. 785 singles).

Don't worry, you won't be "ratting out" anyone -- these will just be your opinions. But be honest.

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