Barry Bonds: The End

Anybody who’s asked me what I think of Barry Bonds in the last five years knows I have stood by the man for a long time. I witnessed home runs # 500 as well as # 71, 72 and 73 during that amazing 2001 season (the story of how I got those tickets is a post in itself, for another time). I still believe it’s absurd to make one player the poster boy for an unfortunate trend that affected the entire sports world, including hundreds of players he competed against. And I will always be grateful for the thrills he provided me as a fan of the San Francisco Giants.

But after reading the following quote in my morning paper recently, referencing the oft-filmed inlet of water that lies out beyond the right field wall at the Giant’s home park (a.k.a. The Big Phone), I am done defending the man:

“They call it McCovey Cove, but I’ve re-written it a little bit.”

If Bonds wants to disrespect holier-than-thou sportswriters, I don’t have a particular problem with it. There’s been enough unwarranted arrogance and venom in that decades-long tiff to go around.

If Bonds wants to disrespect the Giants’ ownership, there are a lot of Giants fans who will join him in doing that, even ones who think Magowan & co. made the right call by not bringing him back for another year.

But you do not disrespect your elders, and you especially do not disrespect Willie McCovey. Willie McCovey is ten times the man Barry Bonds will ever be, and after this latest outburst of swollen-head syndrome, I sincerely hope the City of San Francisco never names so much as a manhole cover after Barry Bonds.