Chris Cotillo of MassLive.com recently published a thought-provoking quote from Alex Cora, the current manager of the Boston Red Sox and former bench coach of the Houston Astros’ infamous 2017 World Series-winning team. Cora was reflecting on Alex Bregman and the legacy of that Astros team following Bregman’s decision to sign a three-year contract with the Red Sox.
Cora’s words carried a sense of shared hardship and regret: “With all those guys, we went through a lot. We’re still going through a lot. We made a mistake in ‘17. Some of us paid the price and we’re back in baseball. A.J. (Hinch) got a second chance; I did too. Carlos (Beltran) is being penalized because he did that. He should be a Hall of Famer already. He should be managing, too.”
The notion that Cora is attempting to generate sympathy for the individuals involved is striking. For many, his comments sound like a deflection, an attempt to downplay the severity of what transpired in 2017. Labeling the Astros’ actions as a mere “mistake” implies a single misjudgment rather than a systematic, deliberate, and continuous campaign of deception. It’s one thing to make an isolated poor choice; it’s another to knowingly engage in thousands of dishonest acts over an extended period.
The Astros’ scandal unraveled due to a lack of preventative measures within Major League Baseball at the time. In 2017, there were no MLB personnel assigned to monitor clubhouses for illicit electronic device usage, nor were there regulations preventing players from analyzing real-time television feeds to decipher opposing teams’ signs. There was no oversight on potential signal relay methods such as banging on trash cans to communicate stolen signs to hitters.
Fast forward to today, and MLB has implemented rigorous protocols to prevent such activities. Each team is now required to have multiple compliance officers—essentially in-game watchdogs—to ensure no illicit behavior occurs. Clubhouse televisions no longer provide unfiltered live feeds; access is restricted to a designated group of MLB-approved video personnel. These individuals are identified, documented, and thoroughly vetted before every game. Moreover, their workstations are in locked, windowless rooms, where their activity can be monitored to prevent any illegal assistance to players.
Dugouts have also undergone a transformation. The days of freely accessing live video are over. Today, teams communicate with their video personnel via landline phones that are monitored by league officials. Two separate lines exist—one for the bullpen and one for replay review purposes—to ensure transparency and legitimacy.
In 2017, MLB was not inspecting dugouts, bullpens, training rooms, or other parts of the stadium for unauthorized communication devices, illegal cameras, or foreign substances. No one anticipated that a team would resort to such elaborate measures to gain an unfair advantage. The extent of the Astros’ deception was stunning when uncovered.
Now, every approved camera in an MLB stadium is meticulously documented and mapped. No undisclosed camera angles or hidden devices can be utilized. The league has cracked down on potential external signals, prohibiting anything from scoreboard flashes to secret walkie-talkie communications that could influence players on the field.
Despite MLB’s crackdown, the lingering effects of the Astros’ scandal remain. Video evidence exists of specific Houston players appearing reluctant to have their jerseys ripped off in celebration of crucial moments—raising questions about whether they were wearing unauthorized devices to receive signals. While no definitive proof has surfaced regarding buzzer usage, the skepticism persists, further tainting the legacy of the 2017 championship team.
The Astros’ scandal ironically led to job creation within MLB, as compliance monitors now serve as in-game integrity enforcers. While this is a positive outcome in terms of league oversight, it does not erase the stain left by Houston’s actions. The Astros did not just cheat—they engaged in an ongoing, calculated scheme that required daily execution and refinement. This was not merely about stealing signs, which has long been a part of baseball’s strategic gamesmanship. Traditional sign-stealing relies on keen observation and clever decoding; the Astros’ method relied on technology and an elaborate system designed to remove any element of subtlety.
Sign-stealing, when done without technological aid, can be considered an art form. The ability to decipher an opponent’s signals through careful observation and strategic thinking is a skill honed by experienced players. Conversely, having one’s signs stolen due to carelessness or predictability is often seen as a failure on the opposing team’s part. However, the Astros’ use of electronic devices to gain an advantage crossed an ethical line that baseball had never witnessed on such a scale.
Cora’s recent comments have reignited a discussion that many hoped would fade. Instead of expressing genuine remorse, his statements seem to attempt to rationalize or downplay the severity of what transpired. By implying that Carlos Beltrán is unfairly being punished while others received second chances, Cora shifts the focus away from the damage inflicted by the scandal itself. The reality is that Beltrán, who was a veteran leader on that team, played a pivotal role in implementing the system. Whether he should be a Hall of Famer or a manager is a separate debate, but his current exclusion is, at the very least, a direct consequence of his participation in one of baseball’s darkest chapters.
For historical context, baseball has handed out severe penalties for rule violations before. The 1919 Chicago White Sox, known as the “Black Sox,” were banned from the game for conspiring to throw the World Series. Pete Rose, the all-time MLB hits leader, remains permanently banned—not for cheating, but for gambling on games. Yet, Cora, one of the key architects of the Astros’ cheating operation, is back in an MLB managerial role while some of his former players continue to deal with the fallout.
While the Astros’ scandal did prompt MLB to implement new safeguards, one cannot ignore the damage it did to the integrity of the sport. Fans, players, and analysts alike have had to grapple with the uncomfortable reality that an entire championship season was tainted by dishonesty. The credibility of the 2017 World Series title remains in question, and Houston’s legacy will forever be associated with one of baseball’s biggest scandals.
Ultimately, Cora’s attempt to reframe the narrative feels hollow. His words, instead of fostering reconciliation, serve as another reminder of the deep wounds left by the scandal. Whether the Astros’ former players receive forgiveness or continue to be scrutinized, one fact remains clear: what happened in 2017 was not a mere mistake. It was a deliberate and sustained campaign of deception, one that altered careers, reputations, and the trust of baseball fans worldwide.
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