Dominican Republic has doping epidemic

Maybe you’re surprised that a star infielder would test positive for a banned substance and be suspended for 80 games just as he was about to return from injury in the heat of a playoff race, with his team bolstered by tradedeadline acquisitions and primed to make a World Series run in a city desperate for its first major sports title.

But don’t be surprised that a player from the Dominican Republic was ensnared by Major League Baseball’s anti-doping net, porous as it is. We’re way beyond coincidence.

Padres shortstop Fernando Tatis Jr. was the 58th player hit with a doping ban of at least 50 games since the advent of the Joint Drug Prevention and Treatment program in 2005. He is the 33rd born in the Dominican Republic, or 57 per cent. And it’s been even more striking since 2017; of the 20 sanctions, 16 have involved Dominicans.

Doping cultures grow and thrive in specific ecosystems. You need abject poverty. You need sport to offer a financial Xanadu. You need cheap, effective, accessible drugs. You need lax oversight. You need unscrupulous guidance.

The Dominican government reports 24 per cent of its 10.7 million people live below the poverty line. The World Food Program says it’s 40.4 per cent. The average hourly wage is $2 (U.S.). The average annual household income (for 3.2 residents) is under $10,000.

Now take an island full of athletic boys and pair them with buscones, the street agents who take them as young as 12, feed them, clothe them, house them, train them and place them in one of the dozens of baseball academies churning out majorleague hopefuls that sign six- and seven-figure contracts at 16 — generational money to most families. The catch: You sign away 20, 30, 40, even 50 per cent of your future earnings.

Now pair that dog-eat-dog scramble with the ability to buy testosterone and other anabolic steroids at the local farmacia, sometimes even in the local bodega on the shelves next to milk and bread, sometimes veterinary grade.

Major League Baseball explored the issue in 2009, with a committee headed by New York Mets executive Sandy Alderson. He reported that PED use represented a “serious problem” and “the role of buscones facilitating drug use by players remains an impediment to further progress.”

MLB increased testing and got the Dominican government to circumvent labour laws precluding suspensions in its winter league. It also created mandatory educational sessions at youth academies and ran public service announcements about the evils of drug use on TV.

The result: Sixteen of the last 20 players sanctioned are Dominicans.

When MLB sanctioned 14 players in 2013 for their role in Biogenesis, a Florida health clinic surreptitiously selling human growth hormone and other PEDs, nine were Dominicans. Five of the six players suspended for 100-plus games as second offenders have Dominican roots.

Tatis is the son of a former majorleaguer. He didn’t grow up in squalor, and he claims his positive test for the anabolic agent clostebol was from a cream he inadvertently used to treat ringworm. But he did grow up immersed in the island’s doping culture, where steroids flow freely.

“You have to understand where they’re coming from,” a former baseball scout said this week. “There’s USA poor, and there’s real poor. This is real poor. They don’t have running water. They’re worried about where their food for that night is coming from …

“I wouldn’t recommend it myself, but I certainly wouldn’t judge anyone for doing it. I mean, even if they sign for $50,000 or $100,000, that’s life-changing money for those families. It’s an advantage, and you take any advantage you can get.”