It was Ty Cobb in the early 1900s, Pete Rose 50 years later and now it is Barry Bonds.
Congratulations, Mr. Bonds. You are currently baseball's MHP: Most Hated Player.
When GQ Magazine named Bonds the most hated player in baseball in February (and second in all pro sports behind only Terrell Owens), it surprised no one. Since entering baseball in the late 1980s, Bonds has been known as an arrogant, self-centered and unpleasant teammate, and now, thanks to leaked grand jury testimonies and a new, scandal-revealing book, he is also known as a cheater.
This season, Bonds will be the villain of baseball. The media hates him, his teammates hate him and the fans hate him, too. He'll be booed at every ballpark he plays in this year, including the one his home runs built in San Francisco, and almost nobody, especially not Bud Selig and his buddies at Major League Baseball, will be cheering for him to break Hank Aaron's home run record, perhaps the most prestigious record in all sports.
But count me out as one of the Barry-bashers.
I love Barry Bonds, although I should hate him. A San Francisco native, I grew up rooting for the Oakland A's, the fan-friendly, low-budget underdog team that directly contrasts with Bonds' $20 million salary, his "I don't run out routine grounders or play on Sundays" attitude and his vibrating leather recliner - the only one in the Giants clubhouse.
Why do I love Barry? Well, let me count the ways.
1) The game. The first time I visited Pac Bell, or SBC or whatever-Park-they-call-it-now was in 2000, the summer before I entered high school. The first time Bonds went to bat he yanked a ball into the San Francisco Bay just a few feet foul. The very next pitch? He splashed it again into the bay, but managed to keep it between the poles. It was unforgettable.
Watching Bonds hit is the most exciting thing in sports today. When he steps up to the plate, the crowd, be it home or away, rises to its feet, and it seems as if time has stopped. The cameras flash as Mighty Barry takes his practice swings. Then, during the at-bat, the crowd oohs and aahs at every cut he takes - no matter if he makes contact or not. A swing and miss is almost as exciting as a homer - the crowd gasps, momentarily stunned by the reverberations from Bonds' gargantuan hack at the ball.
And when Barry does send one up, up and away? Well, the crowd, be it home or away, witnesses history and reacts accordingly. Add the ridiculously successful gimmick of him hitting the ball out of the best ballpark in baseball and into the waterfront, and the fans have themselves the most beautiful feat in sports.
So fans, why complain about the steroids? Sure, Bonds is a cheater - "Game of Shadows" makes it clear that Bonds knew he was using more than "flaxseed oil" - but how does that affect the average fan? (Unless, of course, you are a National League West fan, in which case your team shouldn't be pitching to him, anyway.) But his steroid use doesn't affect the personal lives of most fans, so why complain about the Greatest Show on Earth? (Apologies to Barnum and Bailey, but Bonds has definitely one-upped you and your circus act.)
2) The arrogance. My favorite thing about watching Bonds is not watching him hit home runs, but watching him watching him hit home runs. The way he holds himself on the follow-through, as his eyes gaze admirably at the flight of the ball he just walloped, is statuesque.
Add that to his refusal to run out routine ground balls, his now half-hearted play in left field and his request to sit out Sunday games, and Bonds is the ultimate package.
My personal all-time favorite moment: after Bartolo Colon struck him out three times in a game in 2003, Bonds blasted a game-tying home run in his last at-bat. After the game, he was told that he had never struck out four times in a game against a pitcher. His response: "That ain't never gonna happen."
One may ask, shouldn't that type of behavior be frowned upon? I answer nay; it simply adds more mystique (and hilarity) to the myth and legend that is Barry Bonds.
3) The clubhouse character. They say no man is an island, but Barry Bonds most certainly is one. He has taken the bad teammate stereotype and run with it, making himself a caricature of himself.
He talks about his teammates behind their backs (remember Jeff Kent?), he hates talking to the media (even using his son at one point to shield himself) and has his own personal wing in the Giants' clubhouse, complete with the aforementioned leather recliner, a big-screen TV and his own personal group of assistants who know just how Barry likes his flaxseed oil rubbed in.
Now he's trying to paint himself as the clubhouse good guy on "Bonds on Bonds," his new reality show on ESPN (over which, by the way, he has editorial control). One of his first acts this spring was to don a dress and wig a la Paula Abdul for the Giants' own version of American Idol. See? He can be Barry fun!
Oh, and he also doesn't like to tell his manager things, which leads me to the next reason I love Barry...
4) The blog. Last season, when Bonds sat out about the first 148 games of the season because of knee surgery, he refused to tell poor Giants manager Felipe Alou about the progress of his rehab. But he didn't want to keep everyone in the dark, no. So he decided to get with the rest of us in the information age and keep us informed the way most college students today know best: a blog.
Can you picture beat writers continually checking barrybonds.com every hour, on the hour, to see if his knee got drained that day? Can you imagine Alou in the dugout, trying to answer reporters' questions about the slugger's return with a printout from Bonds' Web site? Well, that all happened last year, because that's the way Bonds wanted it to be. At least it gave Alou a chance to learn to use the Internet.
Barry Bonds may be a despicable cheater and human being. Okay, he IS a despicable cheater and human being. But couple his game with his off-field antics, and Barry has become the ultimate entertainer.
He generates as much news on the front page of tabloids as he does on the front page of the sports section. Every clubhouse spat is as exciting as a home run, every grand jury testimony as thrilling as a strikeout and every blog update as entertaining as a misplayed fly ball. Barry is Anna Nicole Smith with more game, Joe Namath with more pizzazz.
Barry may be a bad man, but he is the best thing we have in sports right now.
Stu Woo '08 also roots for the Yankees in his spare time.
