No welcome mat, By: Kevin Modesti
In the middle of the first inning tonight, Barry Bonds will jog gingerly out to left field and go to work within heckling range of the Dodger Stadium bleachers, where the face of baseball's steroids scandal is about as popular as a dry beer tap.
Last week, when Bonds and the San Francisco Giants opened the season with a game in San Diego, a fan threw a toy syringe at his feet, others waved signs at the man re-christened "Barr-roid" and virtually the whole crowd booed No. 25's every appearance.
The widespread response was, if you thought that was nasty, just wait until the Giants-haters in Los Angeles get hold of him.
So now the real fun begins. Nothing more than harmless fun, one hopes.
A Dodgers spokeswoman declined this week to be specific about security plans at the ballpark where the $8 bleacher seats already are sold out.
"Security is taken very seriously at every game," said Camille Johnston, the Dodgers' senior vice president, communications. "We're prepared to eject those fans who violate our policies regarding inappropriate behavior."
In one respect, the San Diego scene is unlikely to be repeated. The Dodgers don't permit fans to display signs and banners, however innocuous the messages, because they block others' views.
Beyond that, it's anybody's guess how unpleasant things could get for the sport's most awesome active player in front of fans who have loved to hate him for more than a decade.
A few things have changed since Bonds, 41, last competed at Dodger Stadium on the final game of the 2004 season, before the knee operations that cost him most of 2005.
The heat on Bonds has been turned up. An exhaustively documented book, "Game of Shadows," has added definition to the long-standing suspicion that he used illegal performance-enhancing chemicals to turn already Hall of Fame-quality statistics into super-human numbers.
The fire under baseball executives has intensified. After Mark McGwire's embarrassing non-testimony to Congress last spring, Rafael Palmeiro's positive steroids test last summer and the Bonds book's revelations, commissioner Bud Selig last month named former Senate Majority Leader George Mitchell to head a vaguely delineated investigation of steroid abuse.
The hand-wringing over steroids' effects on the game has raised blisters. Bonds, already the holder of the single-season home run record (73 in 2001), begins this three-game series in an early slump but only six homers away from Babe Ruth's old career record (714) and 47 away from Hank Aaron's record (755), leaving many trembling at the thought of a cheater pushing aside a couple of heroes.
All of this seems to be OK with fans in San Francisco, which must be because that's the capital of tolerance, not just because Bonds is a Giant.
Everywhere else, Barry-bashing is
going to be a big part of every game. This was the message when even laid-back San Diego stepped over the line of good taste, in defiance of the order by that town's greatest fictional protagonist, Ron Burgundy, to stay classy.
Those who contrive elaborate ways to rag Barry Bonds might be heroic protectors of baseball's integrity. Or they might be grandstanders who are missing the point of a night at the ballpark. Why would anybody go to a game, ignore the 894 parts of a major-league game that can be enjoyed without a thought of steroids and dwell on the sport's unhappiest aspect?
One reason is fans, or at least members of the media, have been over-sold on this silliness about the towering importance of the Ruth and Aaron records. If Bonds hits 48 more homers, the validity of his record will be judged in the context of time in which he has played. Just like Ruth's (he was the first great power hitter, but baseball's pre-1947 exclusion of non-whites meant he faced weaker pitching) and Aaron's (he benefited from the leagues' expansion and ultimately from the designated-hitter rule, but his era was dominated by pitching).
Another reason is that identifying a villain is part of being a well-rounded baseball fan. Even the sedate Dodger Stadium crowds have targeted their share of black hats, among them: Juan Marichal (he had clubbed Dodger John Roseboro with a bat), Pete Rose (long before the gambling allegations), and L.A.'s Bill Russell (in his nervous early days), Charlie Hough (miscast as a reliever) and Brett Butler (in 1995 after he opposed giving strike-breaker Mike Busch a place on the roster).
If fans go overboard, not only will they risk spoiling the night for those around them - remember, folks, there are kids in the stands - they'll harden Bonds' persecution complex. He didn't invent steroids, he is one of probably hundreds of big league abusers and much of the blame should rest with the connivers in team and league front offices.
Fans will have plenty of occasions to make themselves heard tonight.
How much can L.A. dish out (without crossing the line)? How much can Barry Bonds take? This should be fun. Nothing more.
