The news this week that Sammy Sosa failed baseball's drug test in 2003 didn't seem newsy at all to me. I rate it a one on the surprise-o-meter. Next thing you know, they'll be telling us Hef violated his marriage vows.

Everyone seems to have used steroids in the last 15 years. There has been a lot of talk about using asterisks in the record books to explain some of the freakish numbers. Which got me wondering: What would Roger Maris — the original asterisk guy — think?

I figure the late, great slugger would be furious.

He spent a career dragging an asterisk around with a chain, and now everybody's going to get one.

In that sense, you could say Maris was way ahead of his time.

Both Maris and today's players like Sosa, Mark Mc?Gwire, Barry Bonds, Manny Ramirez, Alex Rodriguez and Roger Clemens created skepticism about records. And like current all-time homer leader Bonds, Maris was surly with the media.

The big difference is that Maris did nothing to shame the sport. All he did was hit too many home runs — sans steroids.

Bonds and his contemporaries cheated their way to the top.

In 1961, Maris was the Bonds of baseball. He hit home runs in prodigious numbers and had many detractors. The Yankee outfielder was chasing Babe Ruth's single-season record of 60 home runs.

Maris was unpopular partly because he was disliked by the New York writers. They not only didn't want Ruth's record to fall but they preferred rival Mickey Mantle. Thus, Maris became sullen and defensive. Stories said the stress of the chase caused clumps of his hair to fall out.

Commissioner Ford Frick stated that to officially set the record, Maris would need 61 homers in 154 games, rather than 162 (Ruth played only a 154-game season). Turned out Maris hit just 59 in 154 games but went on to hit his 61st home run on the final game of the season.

A quirky side note is that Frick didn't literally include an asterisk on the official record, because there was no record book 48 years ago. Reports say the asterisk was only figurative. But it was effective nonetheless. Maris could have been less popular, but only if he had admitted to being a Khruschev-loving commie.

He remarked nearly two decades later, "They acted as though I was doing something wrong, poisoning the record books or something. Do you know what I have to show for 61 home runs? Nothing. Exactly nothing."

Which is exactly what today's steroid cheats have, too.

The answer to baseball's dilemma about "juiced" records is unavoidable: Give everyone who's a cheat an asterisk. The record book could include previous milestones, such as the one set by Maris, but also note those set by Bonds, McGwire and Sosa.