Barry Bonds is not a nice person. He will degrade you, dismiss you and steal your confidence if he can. The smile. The arrogance. The smugness. It's who he is. Let's just say I don't feel sorry for him. I've been on the business end of his abuse.
But I'm not the only one who has a problem with Bonds. These days it's the federal government. Yet despite my personal dislike for the man, I still have to wonder why he's being targeted.
This week, the long-awaited trial of the 46-year-old home run king, who was originally indicted in November 2007 for lying to a grand jury about the use of performance-enhancing drugs, began in a San Francisco federal courthouse.
Bonds faces four charges of perjury and one charge of obstruction of justice, all in connection with his testimony before the grand jury that investigated the BALCO sports steroid scandal in 2003.
Is it because he's black? Probably not, but you still have to wonder. Consider that Mark McGwire has come through this steroid scandal virtually unscathed. Which is amazing, given that he essentially lied by omission before Congress. Yet he's not sitting before a firing squad. McGwire is the hitting coach in St. Louis, Mo., for the very same club he played for when he allegedly cheated baseball.
And it may be possible that Bonds lied to the grand jury. I can't say with absolute certainty that he did, and nor can anyone else, because grand jury testimony is secret. But I have learned that where there is smoke, there is fire. But even if he did lie, his perjury trial seems to be overuse of taxpayer money and government abuse just to prove that he did.
No one should lie under oath, but this is ridiculous. The prosecution's star witnesses: a mistress, a former business partner and a boyhood friend who refuses to testify. I'm sure the federal government has issues far more pressing than to spend a few million dollars to imprison Bonds.
If Bonds is guilty of anything, it's being difficult. He's the perfect example of misplaced pride and hubris. Bonds' trial is the direct result of some of the choices he made: Whether you use steroids, cheat on your wife or treat people badly, it all comes back to haunt you at some point. Some people call it karma.
My first encounter with Bonds was at Shea Stadium in New York in 1997. I was the only black member of the press corps at the time, and the only one covering national baseball for a metropolitan daily newspaper. I was there to write a column about his greatness. He not only proceeded to humiliate me in front of a clubhouse full of my colleagues, but he also capped it off by calling me an Uncle Tom for covering baseball.
It's one thing to be called an Uncle Tom in a documentary about a group of guys who were teenagers trying to find themselves; it's another to be called one by Bonds, who at the time was good and grown, had cemented a Hall of Fame career and didn't know me at all. I would have much rather he called me a nigga.
Yet despite my feelings about his bad behavior, I think he's being railroaded. This is not about liking him; this is about what's right and what's wrong. When I covered baseball in the summer of '97, Sammy Sosa and McGwire engaged in an epic home run derby that essentially saved baseball. What's even more interesting is that Major League Baseball had yet to institute drug testing with penalties. A steroid testing policy with serious consequences was not implemented until 2003. And darn near every journalist who covered these guys knew they were juicing.
It was the biggest joke among the reporters, clubs and commissioner's office, and we all kept quiet. You know why? Because after the cancellation of the World Series in '94, baseball was dead. Attendance was down, viewership was down and the sport needed something. These guys were it.
I would argue that the assault committed on Roger Maris' single-season home run record, and on Hank Aaron's all-time home run record, was good for baseball. Without McGwire, Sosa and Bonds, you have a sport still searching for an identity. Yes, steroids saved the game. Knowing all of this, I find it hard to believe that the government really cares about cleaning up baseball.
Last year, while visiting a colleague in New Jersey, I drove through neighborhoods of multimillion-dollar homes owned by financial executives who had crashed our economy and scooped up nice bonuses in the bargain. These guys were mowing their lawns and playing catch with their kids. I find that far more offensive than anything Bonds could ever say or do. And as a taxpayer, I would much rather see my money spent punishing their misdeeds. When I look at my wallet, Bonds didn't make it thinner. These guys did.
The deeper question is, with two wars (at least), an economy in flux and a plethora of domestic issues, why doesn't the government just walk away and save taxpayers millions? Someone once said to me, "The best sign of maturity is the ability to walk away from the deal." The damage has been done. Despite his greatness, Bonds' character is in ruins. It could not have happened to a (not so) nicer guy.
Zack Burgess is a communications consultant and freelance writer operating out of Philadelphia, where he writes about everything from sports to politics.