The Chicago Cubs seemingly got what they wanted this week when Sammy Sosa issued a statement alluding to his use of performance-enhancing drugs (PEDs) during his playing career. Sosa’s statement, which stopped short of a full admission but implied regret, was viewed as an effort to mend his strained relationship with the Cubs.
For years, Cubs owner Tom Ricketts has made it clear that Sosa needed to address his alleged PED use publicly if there was to be any reconciliation between the franchise and its former star. On Thursday, Sosa took a step in that direction by apologizing for the controversy surrounding his rumored PED usage. However, his apology has ignited criticism, with some calling out the Cubs for their stance.
ESPN’s Buster Olney was among the most vocal critics, labeling the Cubs’ demand for an apology as hypocritical. He argued that while the team insists on accountability from players like Sosa, they fail to acknowledge their own complicity in profiting from the Steroid Era.
“Organizations that insist upon apologies from the Steroid Era players in return for entrance into team events should be required to issue their own apologies, for looking the other way while cashing checks. The sanctimony is ridiculous,” Olney wrote on X (formerly Twitter).
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Olney’s perspective resonates with many who remember the late 1990s as a transformative period for Major League Baseball, largely driven by the historic home run race between Sosa and Mark McGwire in 1998. That season, Sosa smashed 66 home runs while McGwire hit 70, both eclipsing Roger Maris’ long-standing record of 61. The electrifying chase drew massive crowds, boosted television ratings, and reinvigorated public interest in baseball following the damaging 1994 players’ strike.
While Ricketts did not own the Cubs during that time, the franchise—and baseball as a whole—reaped significant financial and cultural rewards from the Steroid Era. Ticket sales soared, merchandise flew off the shelves, and the Cubs enjoyed heightened relevance thanks to Sosa’s thrilling performances.
Critics like Olney argue that the Cubs, along with other teams, were more than willing to look the other way as players pushed boundaries with PEDs to deliver unprecedented on-field achievements. Now, those same organizations are distancing themselves from players like Sosa, a move some see as disingenuous and opportunistic.
The debate surrounding Sosa’s apology reflects a broader conversation about how the Steroid Era should be viewed within baseball’s history. Many fans and analysts, including Olney, believe that PED use is an undeniable part of the game’s story—a period that cannot be erased or rewritten.
“Letting it go” may be the most pragmatic approach, especially as the majority of fans seem to have accepted the Steroid Era as a complicated but essential chapter in the sport’s evolution. Sosa’s contributions to baseball during his prime are undeniable, and some argue that his achievements should be celebrated in the context of his era rather than diminished by moral posturing.
The Cubs’ insistence on an apology has sparked further division. While Sosa’s statement may have been intended as an olive branch, it also underscores the lingering tension between players of the Steroid Era and the organizations that once benefited from their success.
For many, the question remains: Should teams like the Cubs be asking for forgiveness—or offering it?
