There have been plenty of words written on Barry Bonds' 756th home run last night. So many words that to write another article about Bonds - in a Sonic blog, no less - would seem pointless.
But watching Bonds go deep last night in San Francisco, I felt the urge just to add my two cents before the moment disappears into history.
First off, I'm not a Bonds-hater as the rest of the known world seems to be. Sure, he may have cheated, but considering Gaylord Perry and Don Sutton are in the Hall already - and cheating was something they did in front of the full view of the press boxes - I'm not going to lose any sleep over what Barry did or does. And considering that Babe Ruth never faced anyone on the mound with a darker complexion than your average Italian, I don't think it's fair to call Bonds' record tainted, but not Ruth's.
But that said, I was happy for San Francisco last night. You could tell that the entire stadium was delighted beyond belief, as if they got to raise a gigantic middle finger to the entire nation. There are few joys as a sports fan to rival watching the best player on your favorite team succeed, with the exception of watching him succeed when the rest of the country wants him to fail. That extra juice you get from knowing that every other fan in the U.S. hates your guts, well, that's just plain fun.
And considering that baseball is game involving men in knickers hitting a ball, I think just plain fun is something nice to see.