Why I Don’t Hate Barry Bonds

Have you ever heard of John Dowd? I found out who he is last weekend when my son brought home a new baseball video game. Usually, I thought my son and I could spend a few summer hours relaxing, talking about baseball and why my Angels are better than their Diamondbacks. This particular day featured a game on the video screen between my son’s Diamondbacks and the San Francisco Giants. The Giants’ lineup featured a cleanup hitter named John Dowd. He was a portly figure who hit and threw left-handed and played left field. I shook my head and laughed out loud when I first saw this image. I then proceeded to explain to my son that Barry Bonds does not allow his likeness to be used in video games like this. The reason escapes me. Maybe Mr. Bonds doesn’t get paid, or maybe he feels like this particular game is beneath him, but in any case, I had to explain to a 14-year-old boy that John Dowd is, in fact, Barry Bonds. My son’s gut reaction was, “How stupid!” It’s unfortunate that in a simple video game like this, we, the fans, are once again reminded of the biggest monster in baseball. Sounds like Karma should give Mr. Bonds a serious kick in the pants?

So, I started to think about this situation. Mr. Bonds must be a miserable human being. How else would you explain John Dowd? Every kid in the country who plays baseball would love to have his name on a video game as a tribute to his talent. It’s easy to see that Mr. Bonds has a serious image problem. It’s not just the John Dowd thing though. As some people watch in amazement as he approaches one of baseball’s most hallowed records, I wonder how many people will miss the broadcast thinking he’s off to “rest” that day. Good grievance. Can you imagine Cal Ripken taking a day off to “rest”? Any of the old school baseball players we remember from our youth should laugh at this idea. I won’t even mention the legal problems, the fights with previous managers or the stories of his treatment of people in his own locker room. But as far as my opinion of Mr. Bonds breaking the great home run record, all I can say is that Cal Ripken and his record were better. Nolan Ryan and his seventh no-hitter was better. Seeing the Angels win the World Series was better. Even Craig Biggio and his 3,000th hit was better.

Do you get the feeling that Mr. Bonds would love to retire with 754 home runs just to cheer up the baseball fans who have waited so long to see the record finally broken?

I don’t hate Mr. Bonds because that would imply that I care about him. I feel for him above all else. I feel sorry for him because this should be the happiest moment of his life. He is about to eclipse a great record, but he will always have an asterisk. He’s ready to retire and ride off into the proverbial sunset, but he may soon have to face federal charges. He has no reason to smile. As a son of wealth, he can’t even give back to his community. When all is said and done, Barry Bonds isn’t likely to have fond memories to look back on. He will have no championships, a tarnished record, and the hatred of the vast majority of baseball fans. I’m sorry for him. He’s gotten to the point where he hangs on like an aging hipster who doesn’t know when to put his bell-bottoms away forever.

Why do people hate Mr. Bonds so much? The simple answer is that he owes us. We made it big. Without us fans, Barry Bonds would be just another flabby office worker who cleans up for his church league softball team. He doesn’t deserve to be the one to break the record. There’s something unnerving about this whole scene for us baseball fans. He feels like Karma is messed up somewhere in a big way. Other than meeting Hitler in heaven, there’s little else we mortals can experience that can come close to seeing this home run event. As a result, I protest Barry Bonds in the only way I know how. When he appears on my television, I change the channel. Period. No questions asked. His record doesn’t make sense to me, and the reason is because my devotion as a fan seems meaningless to him. When the big home run is about to hit, I hope to see John Dowd strike out in a video game. When Barry Bonds refuses to hold a press conference after the big bang, I promise not to take a jab at the reason. Barry Bonds will never be more than a footnote in my baseball history book. Yes, he will have records, but it’s only a matter of time until he breaks them. Yes, he will be the home run king, but he can’t and won’t affect me.

We fans should measure athletes by their ability to give us what we ourselves cannot achieve, like that elusive dream of sporting glory. We should measure them as an ideal of how we would play if given the chance. We should measure greatness by intangibles, like the one player who has that X factor who can heroically bring our team a championship. Hmm. Championship. You know Barry Bonds doesn’t have any. And you know, I don’t think many kids dream of having the glory of a rest day when their team needs a win. And I made my dream come true when the Angels finally won the series in 2002, beating the Giants. Hmm. Maybe Karma knows what he’s doing.