The Dirty Diaper
Because the web is full of it.Wednesday, May 10, 2006
How Barry Bonds Can Reduce Gasoline Prices
I feel compelled to chime in on this whole Barry Bonds home run thingy that all you crazy people are talking about these days. I think I owe it to my reader (I have only one...me) to provide thoughtful insight on what is apparently a hot topic. So here goes:
I don't care about this at all. I don't care if Bonds did or continues to do drugs or steriods of any kind. I don't care if Bonds is a charter member of the Bionic Man Club and is good friends with Steve Austin and Oscar Goldman. I won't care when Barry sails past Babe Ruth on the home run list. I won't care if Bonds breaks Hank Aaron's MLB record of 755, or Sadaharu Oh's professional record of 868. I don't care if Bonds allows the Major League Baseball Players Association to use his likeness in video games so I can break every home run record in the galaxy.
Why am I apathetic? The answer is simple really: Not one single thing in my life will be altered because of his feat. Not my job, or my family, or my dogs, or my car. Even if the dirty laundry got up and walked itself right into the washer, I wouldn't care.
It won't change my love and appreciation for what I consider the greatest game ever invented, a game where, after 100 years, players still fail an average of three out of every 10 tries. Still.
And it won't change my opinion of the man: A whiny, crybaby a-hole who plays for the name on the back of the jersey instead of the name on the front.
Most people who are are in love with the idea of watching Bonds break the record are also in love with vilifying Bonds. But, like death and taxes in life, there are two certainties in sport: Players will try to bend the rules, and records will be broken.
I do have a slight bias. I worked in professional baseball and saw Bonds more times than I can count. And I saw him hit some unbelievable home runs. Balls hit so hard they had a stewardess on them, hit so hard they had a blue flame shooting out the back, so hard they were named on the International Star Registry, so hard that astronomers are looking for a new constellation, and astrologers need a new sign.
But what makes him so mythical is that most people don't get to see players do this kind of thing every day. Even fans who would see a perfect game by a Giants pitcher would feel empty if Bonds didn't go yard.
I will make no effort to watch any games where he might hit a home run. I won't avoid it, because baseball is baseball. But it will never register in my mental rolodex of "where were you when" moments. Unless his home run causes gasoline prices to drop to the price when he was a rookie in 1985, $1.23 per gallon. Then I shall jump for joy.
Then I will go to work.
I don't care about this at all. I don't care if Bonds did or continues to do drugs or steriods of any kind. I don't care if Bonds is a charter member of the Bionic Man Club and is good friends with Steve Austin and Oscar Goldman. I won't care when Barry sails past Babe Ruth on the home run list. I won't care if Bonds breaks Hank Aaron's MLB record of 755, or Sadaharu Oh's professional record of 868. I don't care if Bonds allows the Major League Baseball Players Association to use his likeness in video games so I can break every home run record in the galaxy.
Why am I apathetic? The answer is simple really: Not one single thing in my life will be altered because of his feat. Not my job, or my family, or my dogs, or my car. Even if the dirty laundry got up and walked itself right into the washer, I wouldn't care.
It won't change my love and appreciation for what I consider the greatest game ever invented, a game where, after 100 years, players still fail an average of three out of every 10 tries. Still.
And it won't change my opinion of the man: A whiny, crybaby a-hole who plays for the name on the back of the jersey instead of the name on the front.
Most people who are are in love with the idea of watching Bonds break the record are also in love with vilifying Bonds. But, like death and taxes in life, there are two certainties in sport: Players will try to bend the rules, and records will be broken.
I do have a slight bias. I worked in professional baseball and saw Bonds more times than I can count. And I saw him hit some unbelievable home runs. Balls hit so hard they had a stewardess on them, hit so hard they had a blue flame shooting out the back, so hard they were named on the International Star Registry, so hard that astronomers are looking for a new constellation, and astrologers need a new sign.
But what makes him so mythical is that most people don't get to see players do this kind of thing every day. Even fans who would see a perfect game by a Giants pitcher would feel empty if Bonds didn't go yard.
I will make no effort to watch any games where he might hit a home run. I won't avoid it, because baseball is baseball. But it will never register in my mental rolodex of "where were you when" moments. Unless his home run causes gasoline prices to drop to the price when he was a rookie in 1985, $1.23 per gallon. Then I shall jump for joy.
Then I will go to work.
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