I’ve got to tell you how much I don’t care about the “hallowed home run record.” That’s not exactly fair, I do care about it. I just don’t care about Barry Bonds. And I don’t think he cares about the record as much as he cares about himself getting all the attention for it. (Maybe that’s why his pace toward it recently slowed down; so he can extend the camera time.)
I’ve read the polls about how many blacks want him to do it and how many less whites want to see him do it. I don’t care what color Berry Bonds skin is, he just seems to be a jackhole (stolen term from my friend Dan). I loved the single season home run race between Mark McGuire and Sammy Sosa in 1998, that is until the 2005 Senate Hearings on Steroids In Baseball, I throw both of those guys under the “jackhole” wheel. Hank Aaron, a classy and humble man who hit 755 homers, is who I’m a fan of.
Strike One: Where there’s smoke there’s steroids. I don’t care if what he used wasn’t illegal at the time. It’s decision time when you stick stuff into your body that could possibly give you an advantage. I know, I know, I know you still have to put the bat on the ball. Most athletes are pretty aware of every nutrient they digest within 24 hours before game time...I assume the same goes for any drugs they take. Currently, everything is in the allegation area for Benny Bonds, so he is safe. But this umpire already called it a strike...and you can’t argue with the ump on that.
Strike Two: Hey batta, batta, batta...swing! Babby Bonds isn’t the first MLB player to carry on secret relationships (hiding it from both his wives). Gads, he’s not the first professional athlete to do so. And to be fair (not foul), he’s not the first man to bed down with someone outside of his marriage. Well, I never used the word cheater in this blog yet, but I think it would be appropriate now. It’s hard for a young man with millions of dollars to turn down “performance enhancement” when you’ve been on the road for two or three days. It gets lonely in five star hotels. And what coach would say no to Brody Bonds if wanted to share the sweetest swing in baseball.
Steeerike Three: Warning track power. I watch the way Bevis Bonds struts around during whenever he’s caught on camera. This is probably to make sure we think all this doesn’t bother him. Okay, fine. All this doesn’t bother him. That swagger is so putoff-ish, it seems like he wants about a ten foot gravel swath around him so no one touches the merchandise (see Strike Two above). This guy has the power now, and everyone around him acts like it. The way someone uses this power is how I’m impressed. I’ve seen Bono with the same aura, but it isn’t the same. When Brutus Bonds decides he’s going to better the world for the sake of bettering the world, I will no longer think about all his strikeouts or walks or stolen bases or home runs. And will extend him some blog grace.
It may not be fair to Bella Bonds. But I wasted too much time in 1998 watching a home run record chase that I thought was fun. Fun. And turned out to be a couple of doctored-up men hitting the ball 5,000 feet. Pete Rose did it to me too. It will be tiring for, who knows how long, to have cutaways on TV to see all his ABs. I just struck Baby Bonds out with a spitter, here in this blog. I will be more impressed in five or ten years if he comes clean. And I can prove it, because I used to think Jose Conseco was a jackhole, but not so much anymore. Plus, I wouldn’t think it would be much fun the rest of his life defending his image, rather than being able to talk freely about his accomplishments.
Take a seat Beebe Bonds, you’re out in my scorebook.