Manny being Manny? How about baseball being baseball?

If there is one guy from whom I might buy the "They told me it was flax seed oil" defense, it would be Manny Ramirez.

But a female fertility drug? I guess it is an apt choice, given Manny's quirks, bugaboos and general eccentricities.

Good for you, Manny. You live in America - you have the right to bear as many children as you can afford. And with those millions in the Cayman Islands, fertility drugs might become necessary to reach that quota.

Are you sick of steroids in baseball? So am I, but probably because of a different reason - I'm just sick of hearing about it.

And I'm beginning to think that perhaps the role of steroids in baseball has become overemphasized.

Drugs could help a player drive the ball over the fence even if he gets jammed a little bit. So could Creatine, lifting weights and Coors Field.

It really comes down to this: either you can hit a 95-mile-per-hour fastball or you can't - in no way do performance-enhancing drugs increase your bat speed or sharpen your pitch selection.

Either you can keep you weight centered and your hands back long enough to drive a breaking ball to the opposite field or you can't - in no way do performance-enhancing drugs help you stay balanced in the batter's box.

Pitchers on steroids do not suddenly add 10 miles-per-hour to their fastball. According to a story on Giants ace Tim Lincecum in Sports Illustrated last July, 110 mph is beyond the maximum speed a human being can throw a fast ball. A hanging curveball doesn't suddenly become a 12-to-6. A splitter doesn't suddenly fall off the table.

Performance-enhancing drugs might speed up a player's recovery time and maintain a player's peak performance for a longer than normal period of time.

Again, so can a nutritionist, Tommy John surgery and a good night's sleep.

Babe Ruth, Mickey Mantle and Reggie Jackson - who is from my dad's generation - didn't have the science, the video swing analysis and the weight room instruction we have today.

The game has always evolved. Performance-enhancing drugs are just one of the dozens of advantages that players have today: ballparks are smaller, 30 teams (up from 26 in 1992 and 24 in 1976) have diluted the pool of quality pitchers, and salaries are so astronomically high that players no longer have to work in the offseason (OK, it's been half a century since they had to, but the point is still valid).

Batting helmets and the elbow, shin and forearm body armor players can wear today enables them to stand right on top of the plate and force the pitcher to throw in the strike zone.

Back in the day, Bob Feller and Bob Gibson would throw at your head if you stood within three feet of the plate. Last week, John Lackey was ejected two pitches into his season debut - two pitches the umpire deemed were intentionally thrown at the hitter.

Ultimately, the so-called "Steroid Era" is the game's own fault. Baseball was desperate to rebuild its image and place in America after the 1994 strike. And allegedly steroid-fueled Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa gave it to them with their pursuit of Roger Maris' home run record in 1998. Now the pair are two of the ultimate pariahs of the Era.

Steroids were not banned by baseball then. Sure they were illegal, but apparently there are scores of anonymous doctors in South Florida willing to prescribe them to you if the money is right.

And that's what it all comes down to. Even if Manny Ramirez never plays another game, he has two World Series rings and Scott Boras-knows how many millions of dollars. What is his incentive?

If Ken Caminiti is to be believed, half of ballplayers were on the juice in the 1990s anyway. Probably a number of us would be also if it meant the difference between a five-year career where you make barely more than the big-league minimum or a 12-year career that includes an $86 million dollar contract.

I don't want to hear the other 103 names of players on the list that tested positive in 2003. All that can do is further damage the game and its heroes in my eyes and the eyes of millions of other guys in their early-to-late 20s who came of age during the Steroid Era.

And for crying out loud, get your nose out of it, Federal Government. Is it really necessary to spend taxpayer money prosecuting Barry Bonds for perjury? Should senators really waste their time grilling former home runs hitters about steroids in baseball?

I think not. After all, Congress has more important things on its agenda.

Like bringing down the BCS.