Rambling thoughts on recent news

Because It Just Doesn't Make Sense, That's Why

To the great joy of all who believe in basic human rights, San Francisco County Superior Court Judge Richard Kramer ruled on Monday that withholding marriage licenses from gays and lesbians violates California's Constitution.

Quoth Judge Kramer - who is not only a Republican but also Catholic - "It appears that no rational purpose exists for limiting marriage in this state to opposite-sex partners." Amen, Yer Honor.

No rational purpose has ever existed for any form of discrimination against the gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgendered community ... but it's certainly nice to hear it from a relatively conservative judge.

The ruling will be appealed. We know that. The issue will eventually make its way to the Supreme Court, where the issue will have to be decided on the merits of the law - not on religion or tradition or whether half the country freaks out at the thought of gay people having the same rights as their own selves.

Until that day comes, however, we celebrate victories wherever we find 'em.

A Case for Living Wills

The tragedy of Terry Schiavo continued, with the Florida legislature and both chambers of Congress rushing last-minute measures to a vote, all in an effort to keep Schiavo's husband from having her feeding tube removed against the wishes of her parents. In a breathtaking example of Congress's penchant for theater of the absurd, House Republicans issued a subpoena for Schiavo to appear before a congressional hearing - a blatant attempt to subvert a court order allowing her feeding tube to be removed.

The Florida judge presiding over the case finally told Congress where to stick their subpoena, and the feeding tube was removed at 1:45 EST this afternoon.

There is no happy ending to this story. None. But it serves as a potent reminder that every adult should make out a living will.

No Guts. No Glory. No Wonder.

My seamhead husband and I spent a couple of hours last night watching C-SPAN's rerun of the congressional hearings on steroid use in baseball. My beloved had never actually sat down to watch C-SPAN - and probably never will again - but for a while there, it was more entertaining than an episode of Mystery Science Theater 3000.

After listening to a pack of obsequious congressmen lob softballs that Mario Mendoza could have jacked, and hearing Jose Canseco, Sammy Sosa, Mark McGwire, Rafael Palmeiro and Curt Schilling make statements that ranged from pugnacious to pathetic, we came to a few conclusions:

• Jose Canseco is a clown.
  
• Sammy Sosa looked like he got lost on the way to Camden Yards and somehow wound up in the Rayburn building.
• Sammy also managed to conveniently forget he knows how to speak English.
• Jose Canseco is a clown.
• Raffy Palmeiro is one heck of a handsome man.
  
• Curt Schilling needs to make up his mind whether steroid use in baseball is or isn't a problem, because he contradicted himself half a dozen times.
  
• Jose Canseco is a clown.

But what saddened me most was Mark McGwire's non-testimony. The man who kept us glued to the screen in 1998 as he and Sosa chased Roger Maris was a mere shadow of his former self - and I'm not just talking about the considerable change in his physical appearance (which could be explained by the fact that retired ballplayers don't need to retain all that muscle, couldn't it?).

My respect for McGwire came not only from his talent at the plate, but from the way he conducted himself during that remarkable season - with dignity, humility, and a refusal to feed the rivalry the press kept trying to cook up between him and Sammy. Most of all, I gave him huge props for speaking openly about going through therapy - an admission that most athletes wouldn't make if you held a .45 to their heads. He had integrity, and we loved him for it.

The Mark McGwire I saw at yesterday's hearing was not the Mark McGwire of 1998. This Mark McGwire stammered and stalled, feebly refusing to answer questions about whether he or any player he knew had used steroids. Over and over again, he bleated, "I'm not here to talk about the past." "I'm a retired player." "I can't answer that." "It's not for me to determine." "My lawyers have advised me that I cannot answer these questions."

After a couple of hours of that, how can anyone not think that Big Mac was ducking the questions because he was, in fact, juiced while he was playing? That those 70 runs, and the entire magical season, were the result of - let's say the word - cheating. By choosing to all but plead the Fifth, McGwire forever tarnished his legacy as both a great player and a man of integrity. Moreover, as today's Washington Post noted, McGwire's crowning achievement will now be tagged with an "unwritten asterisk."

It's enough to make me wonder whether the notion of the baseball hero has gone the way of the dodo bird. And to thank the gods for Cal Ripken.