Time Traveling

Hugs the dog went missing on the plane home, but then reappeared, luckily. This strange on-again, off-again Indian Summer is back in San Francisco. It's hot! Windows are open, fans are on, ice is in the glass and there may be a full moon rising.

If not, we saw one from our plane this morning. "What?" remarked Julia. "It's still up?" Hell, I can't remember how exactly this moon rising and setting business goes. We did, however, have what I believe to have been a scientifically accurate discussion of how it could be a different time in New York than in San Francisco, not to mention Tokyo, Paris, Moscow or Perth. I think it was the turning motions I kept making with my hands that did the trick. At least she nodded and said, "a ha," which is usually a good sign for comprehension.

Of course, there's an equally good chance she was not so much enlightened as flummoxed by my odd teaching methods, and was making affirmation noises more out of pity for her teacher than confirming our moment of intellectual breakthrough.

Anyway, I decided not to push my luck by attempting to explain what that huge moon was doing over Manhattan in the broad daylight of this morning. Instead, I mumbled something like "I'll get back to you on that," and quickly changed the subject.

Hugs went with us everywhere in New York, from the top of the Empire State Building to the crowded rush-hour subway. Julia decided early in our journey that it might be wise to remember all the random numbers that were being generated. ("Our car is parked at 7B," she repeated frequently; and "Our room is number 312.")

I had the vague feeling of what it must be like to be in the early stages of senility, when your children start remembering things for you, because they sense you can no longer quite manage to remember them for yourself. I'll admit at this stage only to being somewhat absent-minded.

***

Not that he would ever consult me about his future, but as an old sports writer, investigative reporter, and baseball fan, I think Barry Bonds should come back next year and break Hank Aaron's career home run record. Aaron hit 755; Bonds needs only one more mediocre year like this past one to reach 760. Then he would have sole possession of the single-season and the career home run records, regardless of how much controversy swirls around him.

He took a lot of abuse from fans in other cities this season. You can say he deserves whatever he gets. But if you feel that way, I wonder about the precise components of your resentment. Is it because you believe he cheated? To this day, the only evidence of that is leaked grand jury testimony, which is supposed to be kept secret.

Anyone who has ever worked as an investigative reporter is familiar with the problems involved in grand jury testimony. It is too technical to get into here, but suffice it to say I would not hinge a story over my byline on partial transcripts leaked to me by someone whose confidentiality I had to protect, unless I could assure myself of that source's utter impartiality in the matters at hand.

There is no way that that is what has happened in this case, and I say that with all respect for the San Francisco Chronicle reporters who have quoted such testimony in their dogged pursuit of the Balco scandal. The problem here, IMHO, is that we are only glimpsing the tip of enormous iceberg. That the national anger over the use of "performance-enhancing" drugs in baseball is directed at Bonds tells us volumes about our national character.

Why him? Because he has the audacity to rewrite the record book? Because he thumbs his nose at a press he doesn't trust or understand? Because he isn't always well liked by teammates or others, like Jeff Kent, who may, BTW, have their own "personality" issues? Because he's black?

Don't forget that in this era of medicinally assisted athleticism, Bonds hardly stands alone. Every major sport is involved; many prominent athletes have been implicated, if only (like Bonds) by rumor and innuendo.

No, I think Barry should come back one more season, break the record, and retire. If he lives long enough or even if he doesn't, his children will see the day when baseball historians finally get enough distance on the confusing maze of issues surrounding how reliably comparable statistics in this era are with former eras.

I'm pretty confident when everything has been said and all had been done, Barry Bonds will be considered one of the greatest hitters in baseball history. There will be no need of an asterisk next to his name.

The only asterisk will have to be placed next to Major League Baseball itself, not to mention Track and Field, Football, Bicycling, and a host of other sports not yet revealed to be part of the ever-widening doping investigations.

Bonds will have to endure the cold shoulder of our culture. There is to be no standing ovation when he breaks Aaron's record. But he'll do it, and have to leave it for historians to figure out.

And, they, I believe, will finally give him the respect he deserves. No one could turn on an inside fastball like Bonds, and send it soaring into the night sky over China Basin. What he has done is remarkable. Like so many others who achieved greatness in any field, he is being punished by a culture that first builds you up, only to tear you down.

I vastly prefer the dreamy world of 12-year-olds, who still play the game as it always should be played -- for the fun of it.

Turn anything into a big-money endeavor and you will inherit the consequences. Forget about Bonds; look closely at television revenues and sponsorship campaigns. In America, you are what you can sell.

Period, end of story.

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