Seeing Bonds Up Close Brings New Perspective

By Brian Fitzsimmons: SPM NJ Columnist
Posted Sunday, July 22, 2007

Photo Courtesy of MLB Pressbox.

CHICAGO—Barry Bonds’ brief cameo appearance inside the friendly confines of Wrigley Field this week started out as just another dull and disappointing pit stop on the eventual home run king’s rollercoaster journey. But by the finale on Thursday afternoon, he solidified his name as the talk of the town.

There was no sign of the slumping leftfielder for three straight days. In his defense, I’ve heard lugging an 0-for-21 slump from the Bay Area to O’Hare Airport is quite exhausting, and tough on a player’s 44-year old knees.

Still, Chicago yearned to see the man. Whether to jeer, cheer or maybe just enjoy the adrenaline rush of watching history unravel, Bonds was a walking tourist attraction. But Cub Nation, which consisted of 161,000-plus for the three-game set against the Giants, was robbed of seeing 36 innings of Bonds.

I was one of them.

It raised even more questions about his already controversial trot towards long ball immortality—even if his act Thursday was truly something to see.

Walking toward the plate to lead off the second inning against Ted Lilly, the constant flashing lights from cameras illuminated the gray, overcast skies. A gust of wind blew through the cramped seats inside Wrigley. Before Bonds cocked his bat for the third time, a sixth sense reminded every eager fan of one thing: The man who is hardly ever “due” really was “due.”

Flight 752 cleared the right field fence and landed on Sheffield Avenue, as a touch of guilty pleasure made its way through the stands. More notably, Bonds made everyone forget once again that he is the one they’ve been booing all season long.

I was one of them.

Eventually the clouds gave way to the sunlight, Giants starter Matt Morris gave way to San Francisco's beleaguered bullpen and everyone in attendance succumbed to the euphoria Willie Mays’ godson provided.

Bonds strolled to the plate in the seventh with a different demeanor. Lilly couldn’t get him out, and the baggage of struggling over the past two weeks was presumably dumped behind some alley in downtown Chicago. Barry's legs looked fresh, his spirit seemed somewhat uplifted and there was no indication he paid attention to the boo birds for the first time in, well, a long time.

San Francisco was trailing 9-5 with two outs when Chicago's left handed reliever Will Ohman was summoned by manager Lou Piniella. Any hopes of gaining a statistical advantage over the rejuvenated monster were squashed, as Bonds swung a bit more effortlessly than during his first at-bat, but earned the same result, another homer.

The mini-vacation granted to Bonds by SF manager Bruce Bochy worked wonders, as Bonds inched yet another step closer to Hank Aaron’s mark. This time, Flight 753 barely covered enough ground to cruise over the ivy that hugs the brick walls of Wrigley’s outfield. Still, a not-so-mammoth shot revved up a loud reception of mammoth-like proportions. Oddly enough, the booing was subdued and fans took a more positive approach.

I was one of them.

And so the birth of dealing with No. 756 has hit its infant stages. There’s no avoiding it anymore. Barry Bonds will be the home run king—like it or not. Coping with Aaron’s mark sliding into second place will undoubtedly be painful to handle, but keeping this historic mishap in check can cure the sting.

Enjoying the ride and being a part of history is acceptable. Even in the eyes of deservedly bitter baseball commissioner Bud Selig, this would be true. But celebrating Bonds isn’t. So don’t.

Don’t put Bonds on the cover of Sports illustrated as Aaron was this week. Don’t highlight Bonds on SportsCenter. Don’t entice AT&T Park to build a statue of Bonds’ swinging pose with No. 1 engraved on it. Don’t toy with the idea of writing a book about it (unless the topic condemns a steroid user). To those who will be in attendance when flight 756 soars, don’t add an exclamation point to “I was there” because it is the furthest thing from celebratory. Instead, the occasion is just extremely noteworthy.

Bonds claimed after Thursday’s game that the race is now, “very real.” Many agreed.

I was one of them.

Some will take the stance of hatred towards Bonds for shattering Hammerin’ Hank’s excellence, while others choose to welcome a new record holder without calling the past decade vain.

A small percentage of baseball die-hards will marvel that they saw history (some will be blessed to see it live) right before their eyes. Bonds isn’t a hero or villain, as Piniella called him, but simply a pawn of the baseball gods. Treat him as such and celebrate Aaron, while enjoying for many generations the selfish bragging rights that you saw it happen.

I’ll be one of them.