Trying to Befriend Barry

Poor Barry Bonds, it seems wherever he goes he gets booed. No one seems to give any love to the guy who is now in second place for the all-time home runs in Major League Baseball. It’s incredible the polarization that Bonds brings out in people. There are those who think he can do no wrong and is a victim of some kind of conspiracy that is stopping him from getting the recognition that he deserves for all of his baseball accomplishments. Then there is the other side where people blame Bonds for everything from the decline of the fan’s interest in baseball to global warming. Over the past two nights at Chase Field you could immediately tell when Barry would come to the plate. You didn’t need a scorecard and you didn’t have to wait for the public address announcer to call out his name. As soon as he walked out of the on-deck circle towards the plate the fans would begin to boo and would not stop until his at-bat was over. If he somehow reached base they would boo as he meandered towards first. If he got out the fans would cheer until he reached the dugout. If he recorded an out as a strikeout they would whoop and holler. If it was a strikeout looking, the pitcher received a standing ovation. Barry could not have garnered a more passionate response if his picture was in the post office on the FBI’s ten most wanted list. It’s gotten to the point that I did something I never thought I would; I actually started feeling sorry for Barry Bonds.


I decided at last night’s game that I would at least try to talk to him and let him know that some of the fans still love him. I wanted to respect his time so I waited until the game started before I started to talk to him. Since he was just standing in the outfield anyway I figured this would give us a chance to get to know each other. Who knows, maybe he wouldn’t be such a jerk if someone was just nice to him and yelled. So over the course of eight innings I tried to strike up a conversation. It went something like this.

“Yo Barry! What’s up?” I yelled.

No response.

“Hey Barry, those are nice pants are those new? I had some pants like that once but mine weren’t so tight. Did those pants shrink in the wash? They don’t look like they shrunk in length. Maybe they are defective pants.”

No response.

“Yo Barry, it’s me again. I was thinking maybe you should file a grievance over those pants. Someone of your stature shouldn’t have to put up with pants like that. Hey maybe the fans aren’t booing you, maybe they are booing your pants. Maybe next inning you should change pants and see if they stop booing.”

No response.

“Barry! Are those the same pants you were wearing last inning? If not, you got two pair of defective pants! Hey Barry, what color are those pants? Are those cream? Oh sorry, I forgot you don’t like that word. Are they a warm shade of off-white?”

No response.

“Hey Barry I was wondering, how do you get flax seed oil stains out of your clothes? I tried to Shout it out but that didn’t work. Did Balco give you some kind of laundry instructions with that flax seed oil? Hey Barry, maybe Balco ruined your pants. Did you tell the grand jury that? That might have helped don’t you think?”

No response.

“Hi Barry, it’s me again. That pair of pants look pretty good. Don’t listen to Felipe, they don’t make you look fat. They do make you look short but not fat.”

No response.

“Uh Barry? Hi I was thinking, if you need some place to do your laundry you could come to my house. While you are washing your pants we could watch your television show. I got it recorded on Tivo before that mean ESPN took it off the air. Don’t you just hate Steve Phillips? Me too!”

No response.

“Barry, I’m serious on the Tivo thing, I think I got all two episodes on there. Maybe you could bring Sheffield’s cook over to make us some popcorn and we could watch Barry being Barry. You’ll need to bring your own Kleenex though; I don’t have that many left. I think it is cool that you are sensitive. I was kind of creeped out that you wanted to be Paula Abdul but whatever makes you happy. Hey what size was that wig, was that a size 8? It looked huge!”

No response.

I tried as hard as I could to make friends and let him know that we deeply cared for him. But in the end, he just shook his head and ran into the dugout after each inning. It wasn’t a complete waste though; I got to meet a lot of cool people in the bleachers. They seem to be a fun crowd, they laughed a lot while I was talking to Barry. Who knows, maybe the O Network will pick up Barry’s reality show and we’ll get to see the lost episodes and he’ll mention me. That would be cool.


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