Bonds Turns Juice Into Whine

Woe is Barry Bonds. Barry Bonds is tired. Tired. Tired. The media has made him jump off a bridge (the Golden Gate?) Everyone is against him. It's making his children cry. Boo-hoo, woe is me, nobody likes me, everybody hates me, guess I'll go eat worms.

I gotta agree with Gary Peterson, in his article on MSNBC today: No one's buying Barry's pity party: Star has nerve to blame media for image he created

His concluding grafs:

For him to attempt to invoke pity is as impressive a feat as his low-orbit home run off Troy Percival in the 2002 World Series. Because, when you get right down to it:

Nobody told him to associate with trainer (and childhood friend) Greg Anderson, and nutritionist Victor Conte, two of the four targets in the BALCO case.

Nobody told him, when questioned by the BALCO grand jury in November, 2003, to give the literally unbelievable testimony (later leaked to the San Francisco Chronicle) that he used cream and clear substances thinking they were flaxseed oil and arthritis balm.

Nobody told him to keep a mistress for 10 years, an arrangement that is currently biting him in the hinder as she rats him out as a potential felon.

Nobody told him to sneer and scowl his way through the summer of 2001, when he set the single season home run record.

Nobody told him to loaf on ground ball outs to the point that local radio broadcasters were criticizing him on the air.

These are choices Bonds made, as is his right. The shocking thing is, he can't see how those choices have led to his stature as the least-loved player in the game.

But there he was on Tuesday, strapping on his pity party hat above sad, boo-hoo eyes. That's just another reason why, should this be the beginning of the end for Bonds, should he fail to hit the 53 home runs he needs to become baseball's all-time leader, a lot of people will be partying for another reason.

And they won't all be at Hank Aaron's house.