Baseball’s Anti-Race is On

Baseball fans, you are about to go on a long, strange trip.

Think 1998, only the heroic, Bunyanesque figures racing and chasing history have long been torn down. Think 2001, only the questionable figure threatening to enter the hallowed record books, a man who was once beyond reproach, is now beyond accusation.

These are strange times indeed, when a modern athletic great is setting out to break the granddaddy of them all in terms of home run records in what is sure to be a pulsating and compelling chase and yet we the nation will most certainly be inclined to root heavily against him.

Over the past few seasons, and especially this past offseason, Barry Bonds has become the anti-hero (as if he wasn't already for many). Baseball's equivalent to Snidley Whiplash is 48 homers away from The Record. He has admitted to the public that he feels he has but one season left on knees that have been drained of fluid more often than your toilet bowl. Hank Aaron will be watching intently, but he probably will not show up to the ballpark if Barry gets close. Baseball will be watching intently, but what matter of celebration or acknowledgment could possibly take place should Barry break it?

It is the top storyline of the season, a subplot so rich, so perfectly imperfect: Bonds needs 48 home runs to break the all time record, yet he only has one season with which to do it before retiring. Pitchers will almost certainly walk him regularly as they have in years past, milking away the at-bats. (Some self-righteous souls may even take it upon themselves to walk him each time they face him out of protest, who knows?)

The juicemaster himself will be extra motivated to jolt more home runs than he ever tried for before, if just for another opportunity to play the bitter spiteful rebel again to the fans and media. All he really needs is one good swing and another ball is lost in McCovey Cove. The way this is unfolding appears to be very much in the fashion of a heart-stopping mesmerizing race to the final day complete with photo-finish. Can he break it? Will he fall short?

Yet for the love of the game, we can only hope that man with the ominously oversized head never finds his way to the party. You see, we have matured a lot as a baseball public as this saga has unfolded. Eight years ago, we watched with delight, awe, and joy as Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa chased down Roger Maris' mark of 61 home runs.

On that magical night that 62 was attained, we cheered ... and then we teared. The celebration of that McGwire home run seemed to go on forever during that Sept. 8th Cardinals game against Sammy Sosa's Cubs, and it all seemed warranted to us. McGwire would reach the ungodly number of 70, and we felt he was just the man for the job.

Then, five years ago, the Antihero swooped in and did McGwire one (or more specifically, three) better. Bonds' act of 73 in a single season more or less divided a nation and provided dissension among fans of history. Detractors said he was a lousy role model and modern prima-donna unworthy of immortality while many others insisted that whatever you say about him, the constant displays of Bonds' raw, ungodly, freakish talents made it okay for him to steal that record. Comparisons were even made to the ornery-but-brilliant Ted Williams, rest his soul (and his head).

Today, we know better. In the five years since, we have gone from naiveté to suspecting something to all but knowing this man is dirty, and many others with him. With the library of new anti-Bonds books, it is now only a matter of time before the smoking syringe is found to remove all doubt. Does this poser really belong at the top of the list, above Babe Ruth and Hank Aaron? Wouldn't you suspect some foul play if Pamela Anderson signed up to try to win a "best natural breasts" contest? The crisis point we have reached here bears a striking similarity.

Have you ever watched a game and rooted for a historical record not to be broken? Hoping that instead of this athlete on stage triumphing in an apparently glorious moment, the league simply maintains its old standard? Ever rooted for the house to win at a fancy blackjack table in Vegas? Well, if you haven't before, you're probably about to experience something new.

So step right up, baseball fans. Fasten your seat-belts, it's going to be an awkward, tension-filled ride. Just keep your fingers crossed that, for the sake of the game and all its hallowed records, you never see the climactic finish.