Don't hate on Barry Bonds for cheating, love him for his entertainment value
I don’t like Barry Bonds.
But not because he did steroids.
Bonds is arrogant, egomaniacal and seems to have a bit of a God complex. Those are bigger reasons to dislike a man than taking advantage of a loophole.
In fact, Bonds hasn’t negatively affected my life one bit. Since he allegedly began using steroids in 1998, the San Francisco Giants outfielder and former surefire hall of famer has done nothing but entertain on the levels of Paris Hilton, Lindsay Lohan or any other uniquely American treasure.
In 2001 Bonds smashed 73 home runs en route to the single-season home run record. While that mark might be subject to scrutiny now, at the time it was something special that had not been seen in at least, oh, three years.
After that, a televised Bonds at bat became must see TV. The only negative about watching Bonds in the last seven years is that a walk was more likely than a home run. For that, National League pitchers should be booed, not Bonds.
In recent years, Bonds’ steroid saga has provided more than enough interesting reading. And no earlier than last night, he provided me with a column idea.
Is it surprising that Bonds took steroids? It seems on the surface that he cheated the game and, worse, the fans. But a juiced Barry Bonds hit 73 home runs in a season. A non-juiced Barry Bonds hit 46, his pre-steroid career high in 1993. Which season would you rather witness?
The fact that the public and media would play holier-than-thou is a result of one simple fact: Bonds is a jerk.
He refuses to give outright answers to legitimate questions. There are stories about Bonds walking past preteen autograph seekers. And in an excerpt from the new book Game of Shadows, Bonds threatens to kill his mistress if he ever finds her with another man.
And that says, “This isn’t a very nice guy.”
Because of that Bonds never seduced the country like fellow home run kings Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa. He never even came close to winning over fans like Big Mac or Slammin’ Sammy.
Is it any coincidence that McGwire and Sosa have largely avoided the steroid backlash, though, in a congressional hearing, neither could deny using performance enhancing drugs?
And why do steroids concern the fans so much anyway? Do these drugs denote a loss of innocence for baseball fans who used to identify with players? Or is it the players who lost their innocence? Or the game itself?
No.
In the end, baseball is only entertainment. George Lucas doesn’t catch any flak for using special effects to make 8-foot tall, hair-covered beasts interact with humans. Maybe fans should cut Bonds the same kind of slack. Isn’t it enough to simply appreciate the show performed by Bonds and baseball’s other faux home run champs?
If anything Bonds should be celebrated for his entertainment value. He has provided the American people with a chance to watch, over the course of a few short years, his head grow large enough to eclipse the sun.
Isn’t that worth it?
If need be, keep Bonds out of the hall of fame. But keep him on the field for as long as possible. The next round of uproar is scheduled early this season when Bonds goes for career home run 715. With that he will pass Babe Ruth for second on the all time list.
And that will almost surely provide the greatest show on earth.
Vince Guerrieri, who used to derive pleasure from songs like Evil Woman and Love Stinks, finds himself engaged. He can't believe it, and he's sure he's not the only one.
"Since I've met you I've noticed things that I never knew were there before: birds singing, dew glistening on a newly formed leaf...
stoplights."
--Frank Drebin, "The Naked Gun"
By Vince Guerrieri
210 west Managing Editor [send email]
Dear God, it's finally happened.
I'm engaged. How the hell did it happen? I'm one of the most unromantic people I know!
I come from a long line of unromantic men. My father's proposal to my mother involved throwing a jewelry box in her lap and said, "Here, hold this." (She's still pissed.) His father gave my grandmother a lawn mower for their anniversary (functional, but not what she had in mind).
Valentine's Day never held a lot of appeal to me. After getting past that phase where you get a Valentine from everyone in your class (I believe the last time that happened to me was sixth grade), I spent most Feb. 14s (the birthdays of Jimmy Hoffa and Mel Allen...how 'bout that?) unattached. Once I went to college, I spent most of them unattached and loaded, usually listening to songs that let out my inner misogynist..."Love Stinks," "Evil Woman" or anything off of "Tunnel of Love."
I was sober last year for Valentine's Day...and attached. Same with this year...albeit attached to a woman who's 200 miles away. I don't enjoy the same songs I did. For the love of God, I start grinning like an idiot when "Maybe I'm Amazed" comes on. IT'S WINGS! DO YOU HEAR ME, PEOPLE?!? WINGS MAKES ME SMILE!! THIS ISN'T RIGHT!
What is going on?
Little things have been happening. I've actually had to buy a woman flowers. I mean for her. Before I met my girlfriend, I had to buy flowers exactly once in my life.
My friend Mike had just started going out with Kristy, who was going to school with me in Bowling Green. Mike was still in Youngstown. He was thinking of buying Kristy flowers, and letting his inner romantic out.
But he called FTD, and when they told him that it would cost only slightly less than the car he'd just bought, the Legendary 6000, he said, in less diplomatic terms, that he wasn't interested. Instead, he called me and said to buy flowers. Of course, he was good for it. He dictated a card, and it went off hitch free.
Kristy was cooing about how romantic her boyfriend (now husband) was. "I know," I told her. "I wrote the card." I've never seen someone go completely white in that short of a time. Until last year, I never had to buy flowers for anyone else. Then I met a girl.
Don't get me wrong. I've met a lot of girls. It never worked. I've heard them all: I can't date you, I'm misanthropic. Boys are icky. Kissing you feels like incest.
The only reason I kept dating was just to see what happened next. Then I met Shannon.
She's ridiculous. She watches football. I saw her suck down a pint of beer in 30 seconds. She watches Family Guy.
"Dude, you sure she's not a dude," a friend asked. In the first couple of months, people asked me about her, curious about the type of woman who'd go out with me more than twice (the list is short). "Does she get you," one friend asked.
Strangely, she does.
Maybe there really is someone out there for everyone. I bought a ring. I walked into my cousin's jewelry store, just shy of spontaneous human combustion, and said, "Help me!" It worked. Her friends are impressed, and I didn't have to return it. Now that I'm engaged, three people have already expressed an interest in planning my bachelor party. They've suggested Vegas or Atlantic City. I'm actually kind of geeked about that.
But then I realize that the next step is marriage. I'm going to get married. All that's missing is a Browns Super Bowl victory. Then come the Four Horsemen.