Today's 756th commentary on Barry Bonds
I've been following with great interest the media's fixation with whether Barry Bonds deserves to be celebrated or reviled for his breaking Hank Aaron's home-run mark last night. Eric Zorn's "what should I tell my kid" column is a fine example of this kind of professional hand-wringing, which may or may not reflect the public mood but certainly represents the media's occupational disdain for public jerks.
A 2006 poll found that most Americans were either OK or indifferent on the matter of Bonds surpassing Aaron. A more recent poll of baseball fans found that some 73 percent of African-Americans are fine with Bonds breaking the record, which number apparently includes the 73-year-old Hammer himself, who gave his blessing by video to the man whose 73 home runs will likely stand as the all-time single season mark forever. Whichever poll you parse, the public's mood seems to be respect mixed with resignation. They're not outraged like most sportswriters about Aaron's record falling. At the same time, now that it's history, they're ready to move on.
Though I am a journalist, I find myself a lot closer to the fan's POV than to the beat writer's.
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If Barry Bonds were a genial cheater, like Gaylord Perry or Sammy Sosa (I'm thinking corked bat, not corked body), he'd have had a lot softer landing this morning than he got. Even today, many baseball beat writers had Bonds in their crosshairs. He has been an easy target all these years, with his ginormous head, winning personality and O.J.-like proclamations of innocence.
I think Bonds besting Aaron's home run mark is fitting penance for Major League Baseball ... to have one of the grandest records in the game broken in large part because the establishment turned a blind eye to drug-enhanced play. That it will stand for a few years, at least, until Alex Rodriguez or someone else breaks it is the hair-shirt that MLB deserves for creating the playground for HGH and steroid use and then leaving it unattended for nearly a decade.
As it happens, Bonds's body-enhancement plan was too good, and those thousand-plus at-bats he never got because pitchers threw around him instead of to him mean that his record may not stand for 33 years, may not even stand for 10 years. It may well be broken by A-Rod, who possibly also cheated but had the good sense to grow his physique gradually over the years. Whatever his problems with the fans, Rodriguez will garner loads of sympathetic publicity if and when he makes a run at Bonds' mark because, well, because he just will.
Ironically, as A-Rod's date with destiny approaches, I can predict with almost total certainty that the saturation media coverage (which by then might be beamed into our skulls for $99/year) will be accompanied by some long-overdue reassessments of Bonds ... by an admission from sportswriters that they were too harsh on him and too easy on MLB owners and executives ... by a realization that, as Bob Costas was generous enough to point out in the course of indicting Bonds for steroid use the other day, surly old #25 was the greatest player of his generation, even if it was the chemical generation. Move over, Burleigh Grimes, you've got company.
