BASEBALL, DEAL WITH THIS ISSUE ONCE AND FOR ALL STEROIDS FOR GOOD OF THE GAME.

Byline: STEVE DILBECK

Bloated and ignorant, they almost make you want to turn your head. Puffy and seduced, they are blinded by ambition.

Athletes who take illegal performance-enhancing drugs need to be called out as criminals, as cheats.

Every day it gets worse for baseball. Every day it's Turk Wendell or Mike Scioscia or John Smoltz or Bobby Valentine begging baseball and the players to open their eyes.

Now comes a report in the San Francisco Chronicle that Barry Bonds, Jason Giambi, Gary Sheffield and three others were named in a federal grand jury probe as athletes who obtained steroids from the infamous BALCO nutritional lab.

This is about as surprising as dog bites man, ``Lord of the Rings'' wins Oscar. Bonds and Co. have repeatedly denied taking steroids, but the denials from their attorneys Tuesday were suspiciously close to the non- denial denial category.

Sheffield's attorney, Paula Canny, said the ex-Dodger ``never knowingly ingested a steroid.'' David Cornwell, the attorney for Benito Santiago, another player named in the story, said, ``I know that many of the athletes involved did not know they were being given banned substances.''

Just spare us. Continued blather only makes it worse. Guess they thought they were just taking really special vitamins. There are the naive out there, but for most, the ignorance routine is dulling.

Our eyes and simple logic have long made it difficult to believe them. Bonds is all puffed out, rounded and looks uncomfortable in his own skin.

He never hit as many as 50 home runs in a season until 2001, the year he broke the record with 73. And according to the Chronicle story, that same year he started receiving both steroids and human growth hormone.

Maybe Bonds really is clean. Maybe he took steroids when his buddy and personal trainer, Greg Anderson, just kind of winked and told him they were fine, really, just the latest and greatest supplements. And maybe he is just completely juiced.

Maybe Giambi really did lose only three or four pounds this offseason, even though it appears he lost more than that in his face. Maybe he should write a new diet book, ``How to Lose a Couple of Pounds and Look Like You Dropped 30.''

Steroids in themselves, of course, are not going to turn you into a great hitter. It didn't seem to do much for Randy Velarde, another player named in the Chronicle story. Randy Velarde? Who's next, David Eckstein?

But they can give more power to an already-great hitter, give an unfair edge. Fans deserve to know it's an even playing field, and perhaps more important, so do the players.

Whether it's Jose Canseco's 80 percent or something closer to 20 percent, there is no doubt players have been using the juice. And it casts a pall over every player in the game.

Every time a player makes a significant leap, do we have to wonder? Eric Gagne, Esteban Loaiza, Aubrey Huff, Carlos Lee, Richard Hidalgo, Javy Lopez, Jason Schmidt?

It's unfair to every player in baseball. The players have to recognize this and approve serious drug testing. It's not something to be feared, something to use as a bargaining chip in union negotiations. It's something good for them, good for baseball.

As in most cases involved with drugs, the U.S. government is more interested in chasing down the manufacturers and distributors of illegal steroids than the actual users. Which is why its four indictments include Anderson and the owner of BALCO, Victor Conte, and none of the 30 athletes who testified last September.

If Bonds is guilty, there is nothing that can really be done about 2001 now. You can't take away the home runs. Can't subtract them from games like they never happened.

But baseball can do something about future seasons. It can lift the cloud of suspicion currently over every player with a decent bicep. It can summit on testing right now. Can join the new millennium.

Some scoff when the word ``integrity'' is used in conjunction with sports, but it remains essential to every game we follow. If you can't believe the game is being played fairly, why watch? To see who the biggest cheat is?

On Sunday, I was at a Little League umpires clinic and the region's head ump was explaining the three stages of being an umpire.

First, you're tentative and nervous you'll make a mistake. A second- stage umpire starts feeling pretty good about himself and becomes quick to eject a manager. A third-stage umpire is cool, tries to keep players and managers in the game, tries to manage it.

``I'm actually a closet stage-two umpire,'' he said, ``but I'm taking drugs.''

About 80 percent of those at the clinic were parents, and most of the adults laughed. The other 20 percent were the 11- and 12-year-olds who play in Little League.

One youngster with classic cherubic cheeks, looking mystified, turned to another and said, ``I thought drugs were supposed to be bad for you.''

Yep, they are. Bad for players, bad for baseball.

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Photo:

Maybe Jason Giambi really did lose only a few pounds this offseason, though it appears he lost more than that in his face.

David Kadlubowski/Associated Press