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Friday, March 25, 2005

How Can We Miss You If You Won't Go Away?

It would be tremendously difficult, if not literally impossible, to recall the last time a crybaby of Barry Bonds' magnitude lit up the public radar. Not that it matters any; we gave up on baseball after the 1994 strike, only checking in to watch the Red Sox come back to bury Steinbrenner's tired-ass collection of mercenaries and end The Curse. But we do pay attention to the more newsworthy aspects of the game, and last season Bonds actually earned some sympathy, having to confront a seemingly endless array of pussy pitchers and managers that would just as soon intentionally walk the guy (intentional walks are another good reason to despise baseball in general) as throw some heat at him.

And that's also why we didn't give the steroid talk too much thought; it is assumed that a certain percentage of players (particularly power hitters) are at least a little juiced. So is the ball. So are the fans. People continuously bring up Babe Ruth and Hank Aaron, but Ruth and Aaron didn't always have to face fresh pitchers -- who might even be a little juiced themselves -- who worked in five-and six-man rotations.

So it was six of one, half-dozen of the other, as far as we cared. Baseball is a number-diddler's game anyway, and is amazingly boring to watch.

But Bonds' most recent tirade, coming as it does on the heels of recent revelations about his complete lack of marital fidelity and disregard of tax codes, is quite enough. The man is pampered beyond belief, even by his own team. He makes no effort to even pretend to be a team-oriented individual; he is aloof and pissy to his teammates as well as the media. He makes an amazing amount of money to hit, catch, and throw a fucking ball.

No doubt the media are invasive. No doubt Bonds, like most sane people, is ill-suited to a constant barrage of cameras and microphones. Again, he is incredibly well-compensated for these inconveniences. He has all the money and pussy he could possibly want. People pick on George W. Bush once in a while (as you may have heard), and for all the man's faults, you don't hear him constantly bitching and whining about that. And his salary is 1/40th of Bonds'.

So grow the hell up, Barry, or fucking leave already. Really, no one gives a shit one way or the other, no one with a bit of sense anyway. It's only a game, and your constant whining has to have made it infinitely more unpleasant for the few people who haven't yet moved on to the NFL or NASCAR.

Don't go away mad, Barry....just go away. Honestly, life will go on.

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