Barry Bonds is a miserable human being.
To anyone who has followed the BALCO steroids scandal or noticed the superstar's absence from early spring training and the WBC, this assertion may not come as much of a surprise. But for me, the grudge is personal.
Growing up as an avid Colorado Rockies fan (pathetic isn't it?), my family went to several games a week at Coors Field. Our tickets were on the third base side, just under the second deck awning and right above the visitors' dugout. It was a family routine to pack a picnic dinner, fight rush hour traffic into downtown Denver and sit in section 143, row 39, seats 1 through 4 to enjoy the great American pastime.
As adorable blonde all-American kids in baseball caps, my little brother and I would lean on the wall next to the dugout during batting practices with our pens and scorecards in hand. We waited patiently for real-life major league baseball players to come over to the wall after shagging fly balls or running pregame sprints to sign autographs. It didn't matter if the player was a rookie just called up from the minors, a back-up catcher, or a three time all-star; all we cared about was the thrill of getting a signature.
And many of these professional athletes took the time to sign. My autograph collection from those years consists of such stars as Greg Maddux, Sammy Sosa, Chipper Jones, Kerry Wood and Trevor Hoffman, to name just a few. Those players who offered their autographs exemplified what all pro athletes should: common decency and an acknowledgement to the fans that not only pay their salaries, but elevate them to near-hero status.
One player whose signature never found its way onto my scorecard, however, was Barry Bonds.
Now it's true that many players are so focused on their pregame rituals that they don't want to break their routines to sign autographs. And that's okay. Though it is a nice gesture to the fans, players are under no obligation to sign. However, no player should ever have the gall to do what Bonds did when I asked him for his autograph.
It was the summer of 1996 and I was a 4'10'' almost-seventh grader about to leave the comforts of elementary school for the hostility and awkwardness that awaited me in junior high. I had stationed myself next to some pretty teenaged girls near the visitor's dugout before a Rockies' game against the Giants. (The pretty teenaged girls were a crucial strategic factor in where to stand in hopes of autographs. For some reason, the players always seemed to gravitate towards them.)
I saw Bonds shagging flies in the outfield and got excited because a) he was an amazing baseball player and b) the girls I was standing next to were prettier than normal, making my odds at getting a signature that much higher.
As BP wrapped up, Bonds began to jog in towards the dugout. I chirped out in my most innocent, I'm-an-adorable-kid voice, "Mr. Bonds?!! Will you please sign an autograph!?" When Bonds turned to look at me, my heart skipped a beat and my palms began to sweat. Was the great Barry Bonds really going to sign my scorecard?
Fat chance.
Slowing his jog just enough to make sure I knew he was acknowledging my existence, Bonds yelled back, "Hey kid, you got five thousand dollars?" Before I could even choke out a reply, Bonds answered his own question. "Didn't think so," he said, slightly shaking his head in annoyance as he proceeded to trot down the dugout steps.
As the other autograph seekers around me booed, I stood in shocked silence trying to come to grips with the fact that Barry Bonds had not only just spoken directly to me, but that he basically had just slapped a cute little idealistic kid in the face with his demand for payment.
Maybe Bonds was just having a bad day and decided to take it out on me to boost his confidence. Maybe he thought I was just a stooge some autograph scalper had hired. Or maybe he's just an ass.
I'm going with option C.
Bonds made me feel silly that day, but it wasn't until I grew up a little more and saw him continually through the media over the years that I realized just how miserable a human being Barry Bonds actually is.
Anyone who monopolizes an entire corner of his team's locker room to make space for his three consecutive lockers and giant fluffy easy chair obviously has a slightly inflated ego. A public figure's refusal to speak to the press is akin to slapping his fans in the face. Using a trainer who is now in jail for prescribing illegal performance-enhancing drugs to his clients is just plain unethical. And then to skirt the issue by selectively communicating with the public through his own website? Pathetic.
While upstanding players like Maddux and Jones who signed my scorecard out of respect for their fans and respect for their roles as professional athletes go largely unrecognized for their decency as citizens, players like Barry Bonds hog the spotlight and give professional athletes a bad name.
Bonds' actions and attitude epitomize the commercially motivated, overly-inflated athlete. He and Terrell Owens should start a fraternity of sports prima donnas who fail to acknowledge the fact that they would not even have jobs without fans. And that fraternity should be kicked off campus, or at least put on double secret probation until it gets over itself.
