For Glory: A Data-Driven Plea for PEDs in Major League Baseball

Greetings fellow number nerds, it is I, The Brofessor, here to solve the world's problems one asinine scenario at a time. Today's topic: Major League Baseball. For almost 20 years the league has been battling declining interest, ratings, and ticket sales. Games are too long, teams don't spend money, we need a salary cap, umpires don't know how to call balls and strikes blah blah blah.

The MLB has been trying some different avenues to try to combat society's ever-vanishing attention span. Personally, I like the pitch clock. I don't feel like sitting for two minutes in between every pitch watching the batter adjust every nook and cranny of his entire body, step in the box fam. I also like the upcoming ball/strike challenge. I get it, being an umpire in the major leagues is a lot harder than it looks, don't care. It's literally your job. Go to your boss tomorrow and say you can't do something because it's too hard. Let me know how that works out for you.

The issue, in my expert opinion, is that they are treating symptoms and not the real problem. Glad you asked. The real problem is that the soul of baseball is dead. Join me on a journey through the magical data lake of major league baseball over the last few decades and allow me, your captain, to show you the light.

PEDs should be allowed in Major League Baseball, and that fact—no matter how ridiculous—will soon be easier to see than an open seat at a White Sox game. We are going to break down the two big-ticket items that will resurrect this sport from its puritanical grave: Anabolic Steroids (the mass multiplier) and Human Growth Hormone (HGH) (the recovery engine).

We are going to look at the data, calculate the vibes, and draft the literal contract language required to make this a reality. The path to 550 ft homeruns and 110 mph fastballs is just a few easy policy changes away, so let's take a ride my friends.

So many baseball purists clutched their pearls so hard when the steroid era was exposed that their white knuckles could be seen glowing from space. If you're one of them, go inside, grandpa; your tea is getting cold. I want to see guys come into the league at 185 lbs and retire at a gentlemen's 240 lbs of pure muscle.

The purists will tell you the sport is 'cleaner' and therefore 'better.' The data suggests they are lying to you. In 1998, when the players were roughly the size of a Ford F-150, the home run race captivated 43 million Americans. By 2023, the World Series averaged a measly 9.1 million viewers. That is a 64% collapse in the audience.

An outlier in the Post Steroid Era is the 2016 World Series, which completed one of the greatest stories ever told: the Chicago Cubs winning the World Series for the first time since 1908. Peaking at nearly 50 million viewers, Game 7 between the Cubs and the Indians was one of the best sporting events in history.

If you think 'integrity' is a better business model than 500-foot moonshots, perhaps you may be interested in the magic beans I've happened to come in possession of. From the 2007 'Juice Peak' of 79.5 million fans to the 2019 'Natural Slump' of 68 million, the league lost 11 million fans. That is a biological accounting error of epic proportions.

When people hear 'steroids,' they think of 1990s locker rooms and bathtub chemicals. It doesn't have to be that way. We live in the future. We have perfectly synthesized Testosterone Replacement Therapy (TRT), SARMs (Selective Androgen Receptor Modulators), and designer peptides that didn't exist twenty years ago. You don't have to take the liver-melting horse pills of the past; there are plenty of safer, modern options to let guys grow metabolically large without turning their organs into pâté.

But here is the non-negotiable Brofessor caveat: This must be done under strict, expert medical supervision provided directly by the teams. You don't guess your dosage; you have a board-certified team endocrinologist map your bloodwork and prescribe your launch angle.

Anyone in the legal profession may be shouting at your screen right now about legal ramifications. Understandable—teams could be on the hook for billions if someone decided to sue because their body maybe doesn't age so well. That is the beauty of the Glory Waiver. In the upcoming Collective Bargaining Agreement (CBA) negotiations, we add language where players sign a document stating: 'I acknowledge that by partaking in the Team-Supervised Hypertrophy Protocol, my liver may occasionally glow in the dark. I hold the team harmless. I accept the physiological consequences, but I get to keep the records and the $400 million contract. For Glory.' It's freedom of choice, expertly supervised and legally bulletproof.

This is where it starts to get really interesting. Let's dig into some tasty data. I've developed a concrete metric: Vibes Above Replacement (VAR).

VAR measures the rate at which a player makes fans feel the 'magic' that baseball used to offer. I've crunched the data for our current top performers and projected what they could be if we allowed them to reach their 'Optimized State' alongside the legends of the High-Torque Era.

Look at the chasm. Even a generational talent like Aaron Judge is operating at roughly 17% of the Vibes generated by 2001 Barry Bonds. By applying the 'Optimized (PED) VAR' column, you see the true potential of the league. We aren't just hitting home runs; we are providing a public service.

Finally, we have HGH. A 162-game season is a war of attrition. Currently, when a superstar tweaks a 'natural' hamstring, the team's $300 million investment sits on a bench for six weeks. That is a massive waste of capital. We allow pitchers to replace their ligaments with tendons from their own legs (Tommy John surgery) and call that 'progress.' We allow players to take cortisone shots that mask pain so they can keep grinding their joints into dust. So why is a needle that actually heals the tissue considered 'cheating,' while a needle that just hides the damage is considered 'toughness'? From a data perspective, HGH is simply more efficient workplace safety policy.

Look no further than the unfortunate examples of Anthony Rendon and one of my all time favorites, Kris Bryant. Rendon signed a 7-year, $245 million contract in 2019, but the oft-injured third baseman has played only 257 games out of a possible 870. That's 70% of his contract—gone. In 2022, Bryant signed a 7-year, $182 million deal but has only managed 170 games, never more than 80 in a single season. Last year he played just 11.

Now—not speaking for the gentlemen, you understand—but I'm sure they want more than anything to be out on that field. If you think it's 'more honorable' for a star player to sit on the bench for two months because of a Grade 2 strain, please immediately go touch grass. I have receipts.

The league office will tell you that attendance dropped because of 'pace of play.' They are lying. We don't need a faster game; we need a larger game. It's 2026 and the whole world is at our fingertips. We need to stop lying to ourselves that tradition alone will save what is sacred to us. We need to embrace the future and surrender to the data. Give it a chance. I know, they changed the Cracker Barrel logo and made you really angry, but I promise you there is a better world ahead.

The path forward is clear: Supervised pharmacology, modern biochemical compromises, and the legally bulletproof Glory Waiver. It's time to stop treating these athletes like fragile porcelain dolls and start treating them like the apex entertainment vehicles they were meant to be. Follow the data, trust the gains, and for the love of the game, let the boys grow.

The Brofessor — until next time Brochachos. For Glory.