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Crossing the line Fans pull no punches with Public Enemy No. 1 Rocker
SEATTLE -- During Monday's Game 1 of the AL Division Series between the Mariners and Indians, a man at Safeco Field accused Cleveland's John Rocker of throwing water on fans near the Tribe bullpen. They probably earned it. This, of course, is only a guess. But it's an educated guess. Yesterday afternoon, in the midst of Seattle's 5-1 Game 2 drubbing of Cleveland, I strolled past the visitor's bullpen, where Rocker -- as usual -- was standing alone, stretching his arms and legs in case of a late-game situation. No Indians were speaking to Rocker. No Indians were looking at Rocker. He was hardly alone ... ROCKER, YOU SUCK!! RACIST! ROCKER -- YOU'RE CRAP! This is what it is to be John Rocker, wearing a major league uniform and pulling down a decent salary. It's minute-to-minute taunts and jeers and putdowns of the worst kind. About your family and your profession; about your abilities and your anatomy.
I was there for less than 10 minutes. Rocker puts up with it every day. He is -- without question -- the most hated, most despised, most targeted man in baseball (think Albert Belle, multiplied by 1,000). Compared to the venom-soaked shores of New York or Chicago or Philadelphia, Seattle is Candyland. Fans treat players with love. Or at least respect. Yesterday, it didn't matter. GO TO HELL, ROCKER! BITE ME, JOHNNIE! KKK! KKK! In particular, there was one large man in a plaid shirt and blue Mariners cap. He was bullhorn-loud and Tom Arnold- obnoxious. Repeatedly, he made it clear that Rocker was a no-good $$%%$%!@# who could #^%^%**#% in his #@%^%%$ with $%^$%@#$. There were little kids standing nearby, watching as if the carnival had come to town. Indeed, it had. It is not fair. It is not right. Two years ago, Rocker made several insensitive statements about various minorities to Sports Illustrated. They were the stuff of ignorance, and they were wrong. But, again, they were two years ago. Like all of us not named Osama bin Laden, Rocker deserves a second chance. He deserves to have his Cleveland teammates assume that, over time, he has learned. That -- just maybe -- Rocker was speaking the way he thought a young shock-jock should. That perhaps John Rocker has changed. Certainly, Rocker does not merit the buffet of buffoon-spewed obscenities he received in Seattle and, throughout the season, in every major league city. In marital relationships, verbal abuse is just as serious as physical abuse. Although very few fans could topple the 6-foot-4, 225-pound specimen with fists, the words Rocker has heard are as vicious and powerful as a Mike Tyson uppercut to the chin. A person listens to YOU SUCK! once, and it's upsetting. A person listens to YOU SUCK! 25,000 times, and it's maddening. I am a funny person to be writing this column. Two years ago, I was the SI writer who drove around Atlanta with Rocker and, inevitably, published his comments in a four-page story. I've seen him twice since then. Neither time has been pretty. John Rocker wishes me pain. That's fine. I don't particularly like John Rocker. But neither do I like the way people treat him. Paying $45 for a ticket to a baseball game gives you the right to cheer and scream and yell and boo. It doesn't give you the right to abuse someone to the point of inevitable retaliation. Even someone named John Rocker.
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