Feel-good stories used to have staying power. They grabbed our hearts and wouldn't let go, hanging on for months, years, decades.

Bobby Thomson's "Shot Heard 'Round the World" has lived blissfully in baseball lore for 56 years, free of suspicion and speculation. No talk of steroids, syringes or secret sideline cameras - just an otherwise forgettable player doing the unforgettable.

Similarly, time has not tarnished Jesse Owens' four gold medals in Berlin in 1936, Don Larsen's perfect game in the 1956 World Series, Team USA's 1980 "Miracle on Ice" upset of the Russians. No blood tests, urine samples or gambling probes to dim the spotlight.

Fabulous first impressions were reinforced, the celebrations pure and lasting.

Feel-good stories are far more fleeting now, whisked away by scrutiny and scandal. See something extraordinary, and immediately we must ask, "What's the catch?"

It was easier to accept feats at face value, to marvel at them unconditionally. Events of the last decade won't allow it anymore. Blind faith has given way to a wary eye.

Seven years after their captivating 1998 home run chase, Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa were before Congress, sidestepping questions on steroid use. McGwire was maddeningly evasive, Sosa suddenly unable to speak English.

Their "feel-good" summer died that day. Only the rumors live on.

Lance Armstrong's comeback from cancer had us teary-eyed. It was heartwarming and inspirational to watch him win the Tour de France, soon after defeating a deadly disease.

Yet, before he could win another - and ultimately a record seven - there were whispers and allegations of performance enhancing drugs.

He has denied reports and refuted test results, having never been proven guilty. Still, his place in history has a cloud overhead, with "feel-good" becoming "well, OK."

Floyd Landis' fall from grace was much quicker. A day after winning the 2006 Tour de France, news of a positive drug test surfaced. His feel-good story blew up in less than 24 hours.

Now we have Rick Ankiel, the St. Louis Cardinals' pitcher turned outfielder. Forced to give up pitching because of wildness, Ankiel thought, "Hey, why not give the outfield a try?"

The rest of us thought, "Hey, he's certifiably nuts."

We were wrong.

Ankiel worked his way back up the minor-league ladder, overcoming injuries along the way, and took the big leagues by storm in August. He woke up a week ago today with a .358 average, nine home runs and 29 RBIs in 23 games, coming off a two-homer, seven-RBI effort against Pittsburgh.

His "feel-good" quotient was off the charts, not just in St. Louis, but throughout baseball.

Then came the thud - a New York Daily News report that Ankiel received eight shipments of human growth hormone in 2004 from Signature Pharmacy, which is under investigation of illegally distributing prescription medications.

HGH was banned by Major League Baseball in 2005, but MLB still does not test for it. Ankiel said the drugs were prescribed by a licensed physician to help him recover from elbow surgery. True or not, the damage was done.

Ankiel is 1-for-23 since the report came to light, flailing at pitches amid chants of "HGH!" during a disastrous 0-7 road trip. While his off-field problems may be only partially to blame - pitchers have found holes in his swing as well - another feel-good story has gone up in smoke.

This one lasted almost a month, not bad by today's standards. The question now becomes when, or if, Ankiel will regain his form and the spotlight. He showed mental toughness in getting back to the big leagues. It will take more to stay there, though the list of baseball's HGH users is likely to grow.

Soon, Ankiel's name could be one of many, shifting the focus to others.

Not exactly a feel-good story, but it may be all we have.

Randy Kindred is a Pantagraph columnist. To leave him a voice mail, call 820-3402. By e-mail: rkindred@pantagraph.com. The Randy Kindred Blog is at www.pantagraph.com/blogs.