This doesn’t appear to be on YouTube yet, so I will have to post the link to CNN, but after watching Wolf Blitzer’s interview with Bob Costas, I can’t find much to disagree with when it comes to Costas’ views on Barry Bonds as well as the case against Michael Vick.
When the Vick charges first emerged, I was sickened by the details of what was described of the dogfighting ring that took place on Vick’s property. But after stepping back from the articles and CNN and all other kinds of media outlets that have already seemed to put Vick in prison, I realized that at this point these are just allegations. Allegations that have yet to be proven unequivocally as fact.
Whether the exposure/over-exposure of this case is race related or not is hard to tell. I would like to think that it isn’t. Fact is, people in this country love their animals more than human beings. Not all people, but a lot of people would save a dog before a person. I honestly do believe that. A reporter was reprimanded for saying that Vick would have been better off raping someone than being charged with dogfighting. I’m not sure I would go that far. Because of the stereotypes branded onto African-American men in this country, I think the rape charge would have been just as bad for Vick as the dogfighting charge. However, if Vick had shot a man or been with his entourage when a man was killed, I don’t think he would be crucified the way he is being crucified now. I do think the reporter’s comments support my sentiments, however. Animal life in this country is often held as being equal and sometimes above the value of human life.
Don’t get me wrong. I love animals. I love them even more since I’ve gotten my cat. And I think that if the charges against Vick are true, he should be put under the jail. But until then, put down the “Neuter Michael Vick” signs. That is wrong on so many levels.
And regarding Bonds, I must agree with Costas again. Do I think Bonds belongs in the Hall of Fame? Begrudgingly, yes. Before he was a cheat, he was an astounding player, and I think his numbers before he started down the road of impropriety more than justify his being honored at Cooperstown. However, you will never, ever convince me that Barry Bonds did not cheat. Nor will you ever convince me that he was unaware of the fact that he was cheating. I will take that belief to the grave.
Why this whole Barry Bonds issue haunts me, I can’t explain. There’s something so disingenuous about it. Some people feel that this wasn’t cheating because there were no rules against it. But if men played a game the same way for over a hundred years — and when I say the same way, I mean, games were won and lost based on skill, strategy, and god-given talent — then, suddenly, a liquid in a syringe gives some of these men superhuman strength, whether there are laws written against it or not, it’s cheating. If you have to hide these needles in your locker and buy this crap on the sly, then you know what you’re doing is wrong.
I promise that I will eventually tire of this subject, but segments like the one below and the fact that a fraud is about the become a king keep me chomping at the bit, hoping that justice will eventually become the victor.
Barry Bonds sat out again tonight in the San Francisco Giants game against the Cubs. He claims his legs, feet and toes are swollen. So are your head, arms and ego, Barry, but that never stopped you before.
Barry hasn’t hit a homer since July 3rd. He’s in a hitting slump, batting 0 for 20, and I have to admit that there is a tiny sliver of me that hopes that the slump continues, at least until I make it out to San Francisco next month. Barry is four homers away from tying Hank Aaron and five away from breaking the record. If his slump continues or if he has a few more slumps in the upcoming weeks, I could actually be there when the record is broken. That excites me! Do you know why? Because I could actually tell my grandchildren — or at the rate that I’m going, someone elses grandchildren — about the time I was at the game when Barry Bonds broke the most coveted record in the history of sports. And how, as bulbous Barry made his way around the bases and the crowd ejaculated adulation and cheers, I stood stone-faced with my arms crossed and bile dribbling down my chin.
I would love to say that I would boo Barry as he circled the bases, but hey, I’m going to be in San Francisco, Barry’s red-headed step-child. I don’t want to come home singing, “I left my ass and a quart of my blood in San Francisco.” But I wouldn’t cheer. I promise you that.
Bonds, speaking about the Dodgers’ sweep of the Giants and his locker room explosion after the game, stated
“I did everything but bite myself and spit on myself”
Need help with that Barry?
I kid.
When asked about his problems at the plate Sunday, Bonds answered: “It’s an embarrassment for me to be wearing this (expletive deleted) uniform ’cause of the way I’m playing. There, that’s it. Now go away.”
Actually, it’s an embarrassment for you to be wearing the uniform for other reasons. You go away! But I digress.
He proceeded to flip over a laundry cart as he walked through the clubhouse.
Yelling, “Hulk smash!” along the way.
Sidenote: For a brief time today, the CNN website had a link to the N-Word/Ralph Papitto blog from yesterday. A little validation and fifteen minutes of fame. Like Elia Kazan said, “Now I can fade away.”
Tonight I purchased tickets to see the San Francisco Giants play the Milwaukee Brewers next month in San Francisco. I’m excited about this for many reasons. 1) Buying the ticket forces me to stick to my desire to visit SF. There’s no backing out now. 2) I’ve never been to San Francisco, so I will get to visit a new place. 3) I get to go to — from what I have heard — one of the nicest facilities in major league baseball. For these three reasons, I am very excited about my purchase. What doesn’t matter to me in the least is the fact that I may see Barry Bonds play during the season in which he broke Hank Aaron’s record. Truth is, by the time the game rolls around at the end of August, Aaron’s record will most likely have been demolished, and Bonds, with his deteriorating knees and increasingly codger-like state, will probably not even take the field that night. And that doesn’t matter to me one bit.
I read this article which gives a few excuses as to why it is okay to root for Barry Bonds. One such excuse is that he was a hall of fame player before the steroid controversy ever darkened his door.Yes, but the steroid controversy did darken his door. Such a controversy, especially on the eve of achieving immortality, is pungent in the stench that it leaves in its wake. Bonds was one of the purest hitters the game has ever seen, and on top of that, he was quite proficient in the outfield, winning eight golden gloves. But he won’t be remembered for that. Perhaps if he had retired after passing Willie Mays or even Babe Ruth, the criticism wouldn’t be so searing. But he doesn’t want some of the glory. He wants all of it. And as a result, he must pay the price of compromising his integrity.
The article also suggests that Babe Ruth and Hank Aaron had advantages given to them as well. Ruth need only hit the ball 295 ft. to homer out of Yankee stadium during his day, and the pitching mounds were lowered during Aaron’s time, giving batters a better advantage. Can’t argue with that. Only…Ruth didn’t build Yankee stadium and Aaron didn’t lower the mound. If (and in my mind WHEN) Bonds injected or applied or ingested performance enhancing drugs, he did it on his own or told someone to do it for him. Bonds was in control. Ruth never played black pitchers. I hate that. We will never know how truly great he was because not all men were allowed to play the game during his time. Aaron had to endure the indignities thrust upon him by bigots and Neanderthals. One can only imagine what it must be like to play with the cloud of hatred and potential physical harm following you wherever you go. But again, these things were out of the control of the men who played the game. Bonds was and has always been in control.
Bonds’ fans in San Francisco are like the little kids who are constantly neglected by their deadbeat dads but refuse to accept the fact that the man ain’t no good. How they could vote Bonds into the All-Star game is unfathomable to me?
Most of us struggle with our integrity from time to time — with making the right decisions, the most ethical decision. I’m not above sin. But for some reason, the hubris of this one man really bugs me. I am especially bugged because this man is placing a stain on, in my opinion, the greatest sport America ever created, as well as devaluing the greatest sporting record. Hank Aaron will not be there to celebrate Bonds’ feat when 755 becomes the second best number of homers hit in a career. My only other hope is that Barry is on the road when the record is shattered. Circling the bases beneath a deluge of boos would seem to me to be the most appropriate moment for a sham.
This past weekend I visited the local bookstore in hopes of finding a decent book on ghosts and the paranormal. Don’t ask me why, but suddenly I have taken a sincere interest in the subject and wanted to know more. Perhaps it is because the existence of ghosts would be some proof to me that there is an existence, whatever it may be, beyond this tepid life we live here on earth. Anyway, more on that later.
Needless to say, I did not find the book. However, I did run across the audiobook of Game of Shadows: Barry Bonds, BALCO, and the Steroids Scandal that Rocked Professional Sports for $7.50. I looked at the black cover with the white lettering and the photo of the bulky back of #25 and I was instantly intrigued. I’d heard of the book before. Anyone who enjoys baseball and despises what drugs have done to the game has heard of the book. It pretty much rocked the sports world upon it’s release and cast a very harsh light on baseball and Bonds in particular. I snapped up the audiobook, left the store and immediately popped it into my car’s cd player.
I’ve written about Bonds before. Quite recently, in fact. So, why am I revisiting this subject? I think it is for a myriad of reasons. The main reason being the utter ambivalence I hold towards Barry Bonds. As an African-American male who grew up watching baseball and studying the history of the sport (although I am not even close to an expert), I took great pride in watching Bonds smack 73 homers in 2001. It was one of the most exhilarating events I had ever watched. Five years ago you couldn’t turn me against the Giants outfielder. Although I had always been a Phillies fan, I was suddenly becoming a Giants fan simply because of Bonds. In my eyes, he was becoming the greatest player the sport had ever seen. He was a hero. And like most mortal men, once he ascended to his throne, he was summarily toppled.
Now, one could blame the media. It could be and has been often said that the media is particularly eager to bring down African-American sports greats. And perhaps that is true in some instances. But some men are ensnared due to ambiguous reasons — Steve McNair and the drunken driving case was one, in my opinon — and some men seem to beg for the gauntlet. Should Bonds be treated harsher than Mark Mcgwire? No. If it weren’t for Mcgwire and his own use of performance enhancing drugs (legal or not), who’s to say Bonds would have ever gone that route? Shadows implies that Bond’s was enraged by Mcgwire’s success and I am sure that was the impetus to Bonds finding that competitive edge.
What bothers me most about Bonds is that in a way he is spitting on all of the great men who came before him, the men who literally had to fight to play the game. Before Jackie Robinson played the game, baseball was not truly America’s game. Baseball was a divisive game with two separate but equal entities. To me, one can never say that Babe Ruth or Ty Cobb were the greatest, nor can one ever say that Josh Gibson or Satchel Paige were the greatest. They were great in their own realms, but they were separated by ignorance and hate. And because of that we will never know how truly great they were. People like Gibson and Paige, Buck O’Neil and thousands of other Negro league players were proud of playing in the Negro leagues, but they also wanted to show the other side what they could do. After Robinson came along, African-American players got that chance. We got to see Willie Mays and Frank Robinson and Reggie Jackson. All naturally gifted players. Barry Bonds was just as gifted as they, but he has decided (allegedy, right?) to not only besmirch the game, but in a way blurry the achievements and struggles of those who came before him.
Today, two new players were elected to Cooperstown and the illustrious baseball Hall of Fame — Cal Ripkin Jr., a great shortstop and a dedicated player who never missed a game, and Tony Gwynn, one of the best hitters to ever play the sport. Gwynn never hit a lot of homers, but he was a near guarantee to get on base or move a runner over or knock in a run. Neither Ripkin nor Gwynn were big, physically or in the way of prestige, and you never heard a disparaging word about either man. And neither has ever been a victim of the kind of allegations Barry Bonds and Mark Mcgwire have endured. They played clean and hard and years later they were rewarded with a trip to baseball immortality. Voted in #1 and #2 respectively, Ripkin and Gwynn received two of the highest percentages in voting history.
And where did Mcgwire end up on the list? Ninth. He wasn’t even close to making it in. He has fourteen more years of eligibility, if I am not mistaken, and because fans are often forgiving and forgetful, he will probably make it in. But should he? Should Bonds when his day arrives or Canseco or any of the bulky juicers who made the game of skill and natural ability and hard work a sham?
Today Mcgwire was shown the door and silently told that he made a mockery of the game. Perhaps next season, when and if Barry Bonds breaks Hank Aaron’s cherished home run record, a series of boos and bad press will tell Barry what fans think of him and his game. Put down the needles and pick up a bat. These two could learn a thing or two from Mr. Gwynn and Mr. Ripkin.