From USA Today:
Bonds better start looking for nearest exit
Updated 7/18/2006 9:32 PM ET
As Barry Bonds awaits the next revolution from the grinding wheel of our justice system, he surely has arrived at the same inevitable conclusion we have: The ninth inning fast approaches for the aging baseball superstar who is destined, it seems, to slink away a leper.
If that is not true in the legal sense, it appears increasingly so regarding the game he professes to love. For even if the feds don't nail the self-persecuted slugger to a cross of perjury and income-tax evasion, the San Francisco Giant is caught in the old squeeze play against time, public sentiment and, yes, Henry Aaron.
Despite the hysterically funny, transparent boast by his agent last month that Bonds could finish with 1,000 home runs, these could be the final 10 weeks in the career of one of the game's all-time greats, disgrace and all. That is especially true if a federal grand jury indicts Bonds, who two months ago said, "I'm supposed to be the biggest cancer around."
There is no cure for Bonds — or any tainted team that signs him. At best, he is guilty of following the crowd and (unknowingly?) using ill-gotten pharmaceuticals in search of further glory through trumped-up statistics. At worst, he is a perjurer, tax cheat and philanderer whose hubris and jealousy consumed him and cast shadows on the game's authenticity. A trial and potential conviction would make matters worse.
It seems like yesterday that the ball exploded off Bonds' favorite maple lumber. No more. After proclaiming in spring that this season would be his last, then waffling, it is hard to imagine a Bonds farewell fireworks "party" in '07. He still needs 35 homers to pass Aaron as the game's most prolific power hitter, leaving that pursuit — and much else — in doubt.
He is hitting a very un-Bondsian .246 with 13 home runs and 40 RBI. Only his bombarded psyche may hurt more than his aching joints. He awaits possible criminal prosecution with the knowledge that a former mistress of nine years and a decade-long business associate and friend testified against him. Baseball virtually ignored his chase of Babe Ruth even as his reality cable TV show was panned. Moon shots no longer come once every nine at-bats; more like once every nine games. The Giants appear to be taking the same path the New York Yankees did when they were finished with the Babe — the search for graceful separation.
Meanwhile, the commissioner weighs potential "for the good of the game" sanctions against Bonds.
But, really, does it matter anymore? Do we care?
And does any team think Bonds will be productive enough, healthy enough to risk the ire of customers, even for a potential investment windfall?
This season, Bonds is completing a five-year deal worth $90 million, but he will take a monumental pay cut if he plays again. Can he swallow $5 million a season, plus incentives? (Perhaps he can sell more of his autographed bats for $1,500 a pop.)
Because of age, injury and his implication with steroids, there figures to be minimal interest. Right off the bat, scratch off 16 teams — the entire National League. Reduced mobility dooms him as a left fielder. His only value is as a designated hitter in the AL. If you owned a team full of promise, would you sign him? What about a team with high-priced veterans? If you had a last-place team, "could" you sign him?
Only a true desperado would get near Bonds, or a dumb, star-struck owner (yeah, none of those are left). Or maybe a maverick who loves to defy conventional wisdom, if not only to beat the marketing drums and inflate ticket sales.
Ideally, if Bonds weren't lugging the baggage of a New York bellhop, he could've ended his incredible career with the Yankees. With that inviting right-field porch, the Boss' open wallet and the guarantee of Sinatra-like adulation, the old George Steinbrenner would have signed him. Maybe Artie Moreno of the Los Angeles Angels is that man today (Bonds has a home in L.A.).
If Baltimore signed him, he could stay in black and orange — and the franchise would wear a black eye for a Bonds-Palmeiro-Sosa triple play of accused dopers.
Tampa Bay and Kansas City, averaging only 17,000-plus fans at home, need an injection of fan frenzy. But it is extremely unlikely that Bonds would sign with a languishing bottom-feeder. Detroit is managed by Jim Leyland, Bonds' former skipper in Pittsburgh, and could use a power-hitting lefty. However, Bonds and Andy Van Slyke, his ex-teammate and Tigers first-base coach, get along like a boa constrictor and a mongoose.
The GM with the most interest may be Oakland's Billy Beane, a roll-the-dice kind of guy. Bonds could remain in the Bay Area, where he remains popular. After all, what could be more satisfying for the A's — or maybe Bonds — than sticking it to the neighboring Giants?
Over the years, Bonds has treated many with contempt and disregarded those who have challenged him. During his waning days, he must attempt to defy not only the baseball gods but the looming scenario that there is no place for him to go but quietly home.
Bonds better start looking for nearest exit
Updated 7/18/2006 9:32 PM ET
As Barry Bonds awaits the next revolution from the grinding wheel of our justice system, he surely has arrived at the same inevitable conclusion we have: The ninth inning fast approaches for the aging baseball superstar who is destined, it seems, to slink away a leper.
If that is not true in the legal sense, it appears increasingly so regarding the game he professes to love. For even if the feds don't nail the self-persecuted slugger to a cross of perjury and income-tax evasion, the San Francisco Giant is caught in the old squeeze play against time, public sentiment and, yes, Henry Aaron.
Despite the hysterically funny, transparent boast by his agent last month that Bonds could finish with 1,000 home runs, these could be the final 10 weeks in the career of one of the game's all-time greats, disgrace and all. That is especially true if a federal grand jury indicts Bonds, who two months ago said, "I'm supposed to be the biggest cancer around."
There is no cure for Bonds — or any tainted team that signs him. At best, he is guilty of following the crowd and (unknowingly?) using ill-gotten pharmaceuticals in search of further glory through trumped-up statistics. At worst, he is a perjurer, tax cheat and philanderer whose hubris and jealousy consumed him and cast shadows on the game's authenticity. A trial and potential conviction would make matters worse.
It seems like yesterday that the ball exploded off Bonds' favorite maple lumber. No more. After proclaiming in spring that this season would be his last, then waffling, it is hard to imagine a Bonds farewell fireworks "party" in '07. He still needs 35 homers to pass Aaron as the game's most prolific power hitter, leaving that pursuit — and much else — in doubt.
He is hitting a very un-Bondsian .246 with 13 home runs and 40 RBI. Only his bombarded psyche may hurt more than his aching joints. He awaits possible criminal prosecution with the knowledge that a former mistress of nine years and a decade-long business associate and friend testified against him. Baseball virtually ignored his chase of Babe Ruth even as his reality cable TV show was panned. Moon shots no longer come once every nine at-bats; more like once every nine games. The Giants appear to be taking the same path the New York Yankees did when they were finished with the Babe — the search for graceful separation.
Meanwhile, the commissioner weighs potential "for the good of the game" sanctions against Bonds.
But, really, does it matter anymore? Do we care?
And does any team think Bonds will be productive enough, healthy enough to risk the ire of customers, even for a potential investment windfall?
This season, Bonds is completing a five-year deal worth $90 million, but he will take a monumental pay cut if he plays again. Can he swallow $5 million a season, plus incentives? (Perhaps he can sell more of his autographed bats for $1,500 a pop.)
Because of age, injury and his implication with steroids, there figures to be minimal interest. Right off the bat, scratch off 16 teams — the entire National League. Reduced mobility dooms him as a left fielder. His only value is as a designated hitter in the AL. If you owned a team full of promise, would you sign him? What about a team with high-priced veterans? If you had a last-place team, "could" you sign him?
Only a true desperado would get near Bonds, or a dumb, star-struck owner (yeah, none of those are left). Or maybe a maverick who loves to defy conventional wisdom, if not only to beat the marketing drums and inflate ticket sales.
Ideally, if Bonds weren't lugging the baggage of a New York bellhop, he could've ended his incredible career with the Yankees. With that inviting right-field porch, the Boss' open wallet and the guarantee of Sinatra-like adulation, the old George Steinbrenner would have signed him. Maybe Artie Moreno of the Los Angeles Angels is that man today (Bonds has a home in L.A.).
If Baltimore signed him, he could stay in black and orange — and the franchise would wear a black eye for a Bonds-Palmeiro-Sosa triple play of accused dopers.
Tampa Bay and Kansas City, averaging only 17,000-plus fans at home, need an injection of fan frenzy. But it is extremely unlikely that Bonds would sign with a languishing bottom-feeder. Detroit is managed by Jim Leyland, Bonds' former skipper in Pittsburgh, and could use a power-hitting lefty. However, Bonds and Andy Van Slyke, his ex-teammate and Tigers first-base coach, get along like a boa constrictor and a mongoose.
The GM with the most interest may be Oakland's Billy Beane, a roll-the-dice kind of guy. Bonds could remain in the Bay Area, where he remains popular. After all, what could be more satisfying for the A's — or maybe Bonds — than sticking it to the neighboring Giants?
Over the years, Bonds has treated many with contempt and disregarded those who have challenged him. During his waning days, he must attempt to defy not only the baseball gods but the looming scenario that there is no place for him to go but quietly home.
