The Man We Love to Hate

In preparation for next month's Virginia Ten-Miler, I was running the course last week, stopwatch in hand, striving for eight-minute miles, and, in a word, I was laboring--the same word I would use to describe Barry Bonds' grim pursuit of Hank Aaron's home-run record. Except for HR #754 on July 27th, a two home-run outburst against the Cubs on July 19th has been followed by two weeks of thunderous silence, punctuated by the expectant query: did he, or didn't he? Play today, that is, as opposed to hitting it out of the park.

Baseball holds many attractions for me: the dusk of a summer evening brightened by short sleeves and tank tops; the controlled athletic grace of a pitcher's windup and delivery, a third baseman's sudden dive for a ground ball, followed by an effortless throw to first, and an outfielder tracking down a line drive in the gap; the tranquil nature of a contest not defined by organized violence or intermittent bursts of speed or jump-shooting; the regularity of a season played out day-by-day for 162 games, long enough to separate the contenders from the pretenders, but still too short.

Appreciation for those aspects of the game came with maturity. What lured a cerebral kid who lacked the coordination to catch, much less throw, a baseball were the numbers: the box scores, the batting averages, the ERA's, the won-lost records, the home runs, the RBI--and every day the numbers changed, and the percentages had to be recalculated.

Some numbers were etched in stone, or so we thought: .367--Ty Cobb's lifetime BA; .406--Ted Williams magnificent .400 season; 511--Cy Young's career wins; 56--Joe DiMaggio's hitting streak; 60--Babe Ruth's single-season home-run record; and 714--his career record.

And now another number is about to change: 755.

I don't find Barry or his achievements as tainted as so many others do.

In recounting Barry Bonds' metamorphosis, I reference the Mark Fainaru-Wada/Lance Williams expose: Game of Shadows.

"Packing an unusual combination of speed and power, Barry Bonds considered himself better than any other player he had ever encountered," and most observers agreed, until 1998, when he and they watched Mark McGuire and Sammy Sosa wage an epic struggle for the single-season home-run record. McGuire won it, pounding 5 homers in his last 11 AB'S, to finish with 70, four ahead of Sosa.

Bonds has never admitted "knowingly" to using steroids, nor has it ever been proven that he has used them. But if he did, he began over the winter of 1998-1999, when he undertook a rigorous muscle development and strength conditioning program under the tutelage of Weight Guru Greg Anderson, during which he gained 15 pounds of muscle in 100 days, transformed his physique, and prepared to reassert himself as the greatest hitter of his generation--perhaps of all time.

Although it was illegal to use performance-enhancing drugs without a prescription, baseball had never banned steroids--nor did it start testing for them until 2002. Ken Caminiti, the NL's MVP in 1996, has said that 50% of Major Leaguers were using subsequently banned substances during his playing days; Jose Canseco put that number at 80%. Although these figures have yet to be verified, it is safe to say that a large number of players were using these drugs--while team owners and the sport's governors, who presumably had some idea of what was going on, turned a Blind Eye, thrilled to see juiced baseballs jumping out of packed ballparks.

If he used steroids--and the evidence is overwhelming that he did--I submit that Barry Bonds, jealous of his stature, his reputation, his place in history, and of the millions of dollars being paid to home-run hitters, was treading a slippery slope already well-worn by his peers, with the silent blessing of his employers. And now, for any number of reasons--his arrogance, his abrasiveness, his evasiveness, his feigned innocence, his disdain for the press, his on-the-field success, his off-the-field behavior, his attack on baseball's most hallowed records--he has been made--unfairly, I believe--the poster child of the Steroid Era.

Consider these facts, assumptions, and numbers.

Bonds was already a Hall-of-Fame baseball player before he began his conditionng program. In 1998 he batted .303 with 37 home runs, and made the All-Star Team for the eighth straight year. In 1993 he had signed baseball's most lucrative contract: $43.75 milllion for eight years.

Suppose 100 players used performance-enhancing drugs from 1995 to 2002--and we have no way of knowing what that number is (There are 50 admitted users.)--none put up numbers as grandiose or as consistent as Barry Bonds. You still have to hit the ball. It amuses me how many admitted users--and most of those who have tested positive--are journeymen, whose careers are best characterized as mediocre. The infamous Jason Grimsley, outed last year as an HGH user, played for seven teams over a 17-year period,winning a total of 42 games and losing 58.

Pitchers--like Grimsley--were not immune to the steroid epidemic. Sixteen have admitted use; more have been implicated or are suspected. No one knows how many times Barry Bonds homered--or struck out--against a pitcher who was using steroids.

When Barry Bonds retires--which, mercifully, should be at the end of this year--he will hold the Major League single-season and career records for walks. He has been walked intentionally over 700 times. Exhibiting remarkable patience at the plate, he has set his home-run records while opposing pitchers have been trying to pitch around him at an astonishing rate. Regardless of the drugs he may have been using, it is difficult to hit a baseball when it is nowhere near the strike zone.

Before his pace slackened considerably two weeks ago, Barry Bonds was on track to hit 30 home runs this season, at the age of 43. In his last season in the Major Leagues, at the age of 42, Hank Aaron hit ten home runs. Willie Mays hit 10 home runs in his last season, at the age of 41. And Ted Williams hit 29 home runs in his last season; he was 41 years old.

Bonds played only 14 games in 2005, succumbing to knee problems which required surgery. To come back from an injury like that and play a full season at the age of 41--hitting 23 home runs--is, I believe, a tribute to his willpower and training regimen, which his critics have all but ignored.

As this painful drama slogs towards its inevitable denouement, Bonds-bashers continue to revile him as a cheater, a liar, and the illegitimate usurper of the home-run throne. More objectively, as with other giants of the diamond, I choose to place him squarely in the context of the era in which he played. Viewing him in this light, I marvel at and celebrate the unmatched level of skill, power, and excitement he brought to a game which, however blemished, remains the greatest of all.