Thursday, March 23, 2006



Fuck You Bud Selig.

That's right. Fuck. You. You will not do a damn thing to Barry Bonds, when doing something might show that you have a modicum of leadership in you.

McGwire, Sosa, Palmiero, Canseco....all gone from the game. And Ken Caminiti is gone from the earth altogether. Steroids have wrecked the credibility of baseball (the Major League version of it, anyway. The game itself will never die.)

Giambi, Sheffield, and Bonds-the BALCO trinity-are a different story. They are all right there for the picking. Make them an example. Restore some trust with the fans. To use an overworked metaphor, step up to the plate.

Babe Ruth hasn't played a game in my lifetime or my father's lifetime. Yet he's the most transcendent player who ever lived. And his number-714-is about to be made a mockery of. Hank Aaron passed the record long ago, but he had to overcome things that Bonds (or the rest of us) could not imagine. He, too, deserves a lot better than to have Bonds, with his insulin and growth hormone and the cream and the clear, breeze by him to the top of the record books. You would think Selig understands that. But no.

A few years back, Selig threw up his hands at the All-Star game in the shiny new stadium built for his team in Milwaukee. And now, in a symbolic way, he's throwing up his hands again. But this a lot more than a meaningless midsummer exhibition game that is being pissed away. This is generations of continuity, from before anybody thought to put numbers or names on the back of uniforms, or to ever "retire" any player's number. Ruth pre-dates all of that stuff (although Lou Gehrig was the first to have his number retired). Bonds, again, makes a joke out of all of that.

You are no leader, Bud Selig.


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