Is Barry Bonds ready to be loved?
The “greatest living player” is going into the Pirates Hall of Fame this weekend and his long-term public persona is about to be decided
It’s been two months since the wonderful Willie Mays passed away at age 93. As we mourned his death, we contemplated who should now be bestowed the title of “Greatest Living Ballplayer.”
We don’t have formal elections for these titles. I don’t think we reached a consensus as a country. From the straw polls that I’ve read and the conversations I had with people, I’m pretty sure most of us have settled on Ken Griffey, Jr. and I’m alright with that.
But if we’re being honest, the greatest living ballplayer, unquestionably, is Barry Bonds. It’s not even close. But everything is complicated with Barry Bonds because: one, his use of performance enhancing drugs; and two, he never really seemed to care what people thought of him.
Here’s the thing about the “Greatest Living Ballplayer” title. You need to be egotistical enough to want the title … and humble enough to embrace the ambassador responsibilities that come with the title.
Over at JoeBlogs, he wrote the quintessential recap of who’s been considered the Greatest Living Ballplayer – let’s just call it GLB – over the last century and when the title started to matter.
GLB became a big deal with Joe DiMaggio. Joltin’ Joe wanted the title. He demanded the title. He would not be introduced at an Old Timer’s Game, or any function, unless he was introduced with the GLB title. And he always had to be introduced last.
Willie Mays didn’t insist on getting introduced as the GLB. But everyone knew he was, Mays understood his role, and just knew how to make people feel special.
Over the last few months, Bonds has been in the spotlight more than the last decade. Willie Mays was his Godfather, and upon his passing, we looked to Bonds for stories and perspective about what The Say Hey Kid meant to him and baseball.
Bonds was among the legends in Birmingham for “MLB at Rickwood Field: A Tribute to the Negro Leagues” in June. That’s where Mays once played and it clearly meant a lot to Bonds to be there. Bonds was the captain of a celebrity softball team.
Fellow baseball legends showed their reverence for him. Bonds was in the middle of most photographs. Bonds seemed at ease in this Ambassador role.
How does Pittsburgh feel about Barry Bonds?
This weekend, Barry Bonds returns to Pittsburgh for the Pirates Hall of Fame ceremonies. I’m not sure what reaction he’ll get. But I’m thinking back to May 2001.
This was a full eight-plus years after Bonds left the Pirates as a free agent to join the San Francisco Giants. Bonds hit nine home runs in April that year, but we were months away from breathlessly reporting Bonds’ pace to break Mark McGwire’s single-season record.
The Giants went to the Pirates new home, PNC Park, for the first time. Someone rented a plane that flew above the stadium that dragged a sign:
“Barry. Nice Throw. Sid Bream.”
It was a reference to Bonds’ throw on the final play of the 1992 National League Championship Series, a single by Francisco Cabrera that scored Sid Bream. Bonds couldn’t throw out a gimpy Bream at home plate. Eight-plus years later, a Pirates fan wanted to remind Bonds of it.
[For new readers who don’t me — hi, I’m Josh, thanks for subscribing — I used to cover Major League Baseball and I’m now the play-by-play announcer for the Triple-A Albuquerque Isotopes.]
I remember seeing the plane and that sign in the press box. I knew us reporters would have to ask Bonds about it after the game. I was dreading the conversation. I mean, what’s he supposed to say? You know he’s not going to show any weakness and say the sign hurt his feelings and he wishes the Pirates fans would still love him.
“Waste of money,” was Bonds’ reaction. I decided not to make it part of my game story, but it was the lede item in my notebook. Here’s a copy of my story.
The reaction in Pittsburgh for Bonds this weekend will be telling for his long-term public persona. He debuted with the Pirates, spent seven years with them, won two MVP awards, was a Silver Slugger three years in a row, and led the Pirates to their greatest glory since the 1970s.
Ultimately, the Pirates came up short in the playoffs three straight years and Bonds didn’t perform in October. He was the scapegoat for losing the series, then the Pirates made no attempt to keep him once he became a free agent, and Bonds signed with his hometown San Francisco Giants.
I covered the Giants as the traveling beat writer for The Oakland Tribune from 2000-03. I also wrote a book, “This Gracious Season” about his 73-homer season from 2001.
It wasn’t easy covering Bonds — he was occasionally charming, overwhelmingly surly — but I always thought of him as a fascinating subject. It didn’t seem like he wanted to be loved. He often lamented why can’t athletes perform, then just go home like movie stars do, and not have to interact with the public?
I remember one year, he was trying to quit dipping. He went a few days without it. He didn’t get many hits. He went back to dipping because he felt like he lost his edge at the plate. He needed to be mean in the batters box.
I remember the end of the 2001 season. It was Tony Gwynn’s farewell season. Every night, it was a love fest at Jack Murphy Stadium for Gwynn’s final games. The Giants came to San Diego. News broke that Gwynn was going to become San Diego State’s volunteer coach for a year, then replace the retiring Jim Dietz as the head coach.
Bonds joked about becoming Gwynn’s power hitting coach. It wasn’t real. But it was fun. It made for good newspaper copy.
Gwynn and Bonds were asked plenty about each other. I remember Bonds even saying that Gwynn has advised him numerous times over the years that he should lighten up, smile more, let people into his orbit, and just enjoy his standing in the sport.
“That’s just not me, dude,” Bonds said, with his awkward half-laugh. [I always thought Bonds was kinda socially awkward and didn’t know how to just be a regular dude.]
In 2002, after his single-season record of 73 home runs, Bonds reported to spring training with a new outlook on life. He gave a bunch of interviews. He welcomed visitors to his locker with a smile. He interacted playfully with his teammates. He seemed to be enjoying his status as baseball’s most important player. Even fans in other cities couldn’t help appreciate his greatness. But it didn’t last.
I remember one day he walked by me in the clubhouse. I said something innocuous like “Hey Barry” and he barked back with anger. I walked over to his locker, wondering what I might have done to piss him off. Bonds told me something like, “I suck at the plate right now. I can’t be nice. I have to be mean to be good.”
And all of these stories are before we learned about Balco, “The Cream” and “The Clear” and the FBI’s investigation into Bonds’ chemist Victor Conte. After all that went down, Bonds was more guarded than ever, nobody was coming inside, and the narrative for the rest of his career was not just steroids, but STEROIDS.
So, are we ready to love Barry Bonds?
For most people, the immediate answer is no and will always be no. It’ll just never happen.
But times change, people grow older and softer, they stop trying to be the villain, and we just remember the performances more than the interactions.
Ted Williams wasn’t cherished by the public and fought with the press as a player. By the end of his life, he was beloved.
Can the same thing happen to Barry Bonds?
Outside of San Francisco, he was never revered. He did not radiate joy when he played (like Ken Griffey, Jr). He did not regale reporters with stories (like Tony Gwynn). He did not sign autographs for hours (like Cal Ripken, Jr). He didn’t host a popular kids TV show (like Johnny Bench). He didn’t do backflips (like Ozzie Smith).
He never even had a nickname. Think about that. What was Barry Bonds’ nickname? Has any athlete in any sport ever dominated like Barry Bonds and didn’t have a nickname? No reporter ever gave him one that stuck. No broadcaster did. The witty bloggers and super fans never made a sign that stuck in our lexicon. [Chris Berman called him Barry “US Savings” Bonds but that wasn’t a real nickname.]
Frank Thomas was The Big Hurt. Cal Ripken was the Ironman. Griffey was The Kid or Junior. Greg Maddux was The Professor. Randy Johnson was The Big Unit. Mark McGwire was Big Mac, and along with Jose Canseco, they were The Bash Brothers. Will Clark was the Thrill, and along with Kevin Mitchell, they were the Pacific Sock Exchange.
Bonds never had a solo nickname. Nobody ever thought to give him and Matt Williams a nickname, or him and Jeff Kent a nickname.
That’s why I think this weekend is pivotal for how Bonds will be embraced for the rest of his life. I intentionally use the word “embraced” because it’s different than “remembered.” We’re going to remember Bonds for taking PEDs and breaking records that are tainted. But embraced is different.
Somehow, Alex Rodriguez is embraced in a mostly positive way. A-Rod was busted twice for taking steroids after testing began, but he was married to Jennifer Lopez for a few minutes, he’s dancing on the field at Super Bowl halftime shows, and he’s the lead analyst for Fox’s national postseason coverage.
Everything that comes out of A-Rod’s mouth seems phony to me. I don’t know if A-Rod is loved, but he’s no longer loathed. If A-Rod can be embraced, so can Bonds.
So this weekend, will a Pirates fan rent a plane with a “Nice Throw” banner? Will the Pirates fans give him lengthy heartfelt standing ovation? Will it move Bonds to tears? Will he find the right words to convey what the city of Pittsburgh meant to him, win over the doubters, and make his devoted fans want to defend him more?
We’re about to find out if Bonds wants to be loved, knows how to be loved, and can reflect that love back onto the public.
If you follow Bonds on social media, you see a guy who seems pretty at ease in his life as middle-aged retired ballplayer. His posts reflect a proud father and grandfather, beauty shots of Lake Tahoe, his golfing buddies, attending the Janet Jackson concert, mourning the death of Giants legends, and celebrating his former manager Jim Leyland getting into the Hall of Fame.
If there is an attempt to rebuild his public image, I’m more than alright with that. Bonds should not be a social piranha. Before the PEDs, he was the best all-around player in baseball. After the PEDs, he broke the sport with the most impossible numbers we’ll ever seen.
It’s been 17 years since Bonds last year in the majors. He’s mostly stayed away from the sport and the public eye. He was briefly a hitting coach for the Miami Marlins. I’ve heard he still gives lessons to a number of active players. He really got into cycling and lost the weight from his PED days. He’s become of a fixture at more Giants home games, as he should, the same way Mays and McCovey and Cepeda were fixtures when Bonds played.
Baseball is filled with crooks and scoundrels and hotheads and beanball artists and cheaters who rebuilt their reputation once they got old and no longer needed to fight every day to thrive.
I hope Pirates fans give Bonds a rousing ovation that leaves us all misty.
And I hope Bonds will further embrace being an Ambassador for baseball … and how that’s what really makes you the Greatest Living Ballplayer.
If you liked this essay, you’ll probably enjoy these from the archives:
This was such a well-written and thoughtful piece on Bonds’ legacy. Appreciated the insight. Maybe the PEDs made him angry/grumpy too.