A Grave Mis-Scape

On a serious note:


Barry Bonds has worn many hats during his 21-year playing career. He's donned the crown of baseball's greatest and most hated home run hitter of all time. He's sported the cap of media curmudgeon while whipping up a 24-7 frenzy surrounding his every move. He's even proudly displayed his cap as San Francisco's athletic darling during many-a-curtain call. And he's done all of this for more than two decades while trotting into the outfield with only a Pirates and Giants hat atop his head (size 7 1/8 and size 7/14, respectively, of course).

But most importantly, and perhaps unfairly, America's most hated athlete has shamefully worn the hat of baseball's scapegoat for the most tarnished decade in America's pasttime. Bonds' march to 756 (or crawl, as it is unraveling at this moment) has become so disgraced that the sport's commissioner, the slimy Bud Selig, has contemplated a leave of absence from the sport's greatest individual achievement of all time. In sum, Barry Bonds has become baseball's most loathed pariah since the Pete Rose era.

And it's a total shame.

With a personality as hardened as the protective armor that clings to his elbow before during each at-bat, the San Francisco slugger has shunned even the most diehard of baseball fans. A resounding chorus of boos has followed the soon-to-be home run king ever since he left the bay for a short road trip. And it is even hard to imagine that amongst the thousands of fans exclaiming their displeasure during every Bonds at bat, Pedro Gomez is probably chiming in somewhere in the stadium.

Given, there's plenty to hate about Bonds. He's adamantly decreed that he will not become the face of the steriod scandal, instead letting such low-life former players as Jose Canseco and Ken Caminiti to take the brunt. He's about as friendly as a former Alcatraz inmate, and probably twice as guilty. The Giants outfielder continues to idly stand by as his former trainer, Mark Anderson, idly waits in jail for refusing to sell out the man who has sold out stadiums across the nation.

But for all the hatred spewed towards the tainted titan of baseball, Bonds, more than likely, is just one of tens, or even hundreds, of the inflated athletes who have deflated the game's image in the past decade. Somewhere, Mark McGwire looks in the mirror and ponders his place in the game's history, given his refusal to answer to Congressional hearings regarding his past use of performance-enhancing drugs. His former smash brother, Jose Canseco, toils in sleazy obscurity, left only with his self-authored books and memories of his time on VH1's wholesome "The Surreal Life" (a time of his life he shared with such upstanding members of society as Janice Dickinson, half of the girl group Salt N' Pepa, and that she-devil from "The Apprentice"). Even at home, Detroit Tigers designated hitter Gary Sheffield has heard his name tossed around among the steroid debate. And for my money, catcher Pudge Rodriguez has yet to explain the 25 pounds he dropped one particularly scandalous summer.

Yet while McGwire has faded into total oblivion, Canseco has continued to make a monkey of himself, and Sheffield has gone on spouting about racism in baseball, Bonds has kept on hitting home runs. In that same time period, the baseball fan base has kept on jabbing at Bonds and his pending record. True, Bonds proves an easy target — his power numbers are still relevant, he's about the dethrone one of baseball's greatest heroes, and he's still a callous jerk — but he's not the only target. Piled atop Bonds' comic-book-like superhero shoulders is the blame for all of baseball's problems. But while the Atlas look alike continues to stand, commissioner Bud Selig keeps slithering away from his role in allowing the growth of performance-enhancing drugs. Members of the player's association are still as mum as the years when steroids crept their way into the muscles of league's players. And most importantly, many current and recently retired players who are as guilty as Bonds is assumed to be retain their innocence in silence (save such disgraced athletes as Canseco and Yankee left-hander Jason Giambi).

So when you watch Barry Bonds hit his historic shot in the days to come, if you look closely enough, you'll see an entire era resting on the shoulders of baseball's home run king. Bonds will not only solidify his asterisk in the record books soon, but also establish himself as the sole scapegoat of baseball's greatest scandal. And that, for what it's worth, will go down as one of sports' greatest and gravest mis-scapes.