Baseball bondage

It's been a tough week as a Dodger fan.

First, with the Snakes in town and first place on the line, the Dodgers get shutout 1-0 by Doug Frickin' Davis (that's his middle name, because that's what I called him for 9 inning Friday night - "How can you bums be losing to Doug frickin' Davis?" "Quit swinging at the first pitch, he's Doug Frickin' Davis. He don't know what a strike is.")

Saturday night, the Dodgers dig themselves a 6-1 hole by the fifth, leaving me to grope the remote while wondering whether there's a rerun of "Man vs. Nature" on before the men in Blue start crawling back into the game. Nomar parks one in the seats to make it an 8-6 game, and then Ethier knocks one out in the eighth and suddenly that Dodger well of hope springs like a desert flower. Then they whimper away in the ninth and by that time "Man vs. Nature" was over. To complete the trifecta of misery, Barroid Bonds ties Hammerin' Hanks homerun mark in San Diego, which figures since Padre pitchers fold like bad oragami when the pressure is on the line (look up the last two All Star games and check out what numskulls gave up the winning runs in both ... yep, Padres).

Sunday was the battle of team aces (I use that term loosely when speaking of the Dodgers' pitching staff) and by this point I just couldn't watch anymore. Thanks to picture in picture technology - the greatest thing since the self-starting lawn mower and edible undies - I stuck the Dodgers in the little screen and watched (oh, I'm gonna hear about it now) the NASCAR race on the big screen. That still didn't save me from getting my ass in a pucker. The Blue Crew outhit the Snakes, but still were shutout. They left more men stranded than a blind search party, and right there, as I watched Kurt Busch roll through the finish line at Pocono, I vowed not to watch another Dodger game for a week.

And I held to that Monday, because it was an off day.

But since I was plopped down at the computer Tuesday, I figured, what the hell, lets see how many runs they won't score tonight. And when the Reds pulled up 4-0 in the sixth, I gave up and headed over to the TiVo box for a recorded "Entourage" before the Giants and Barroid came on. I needed something that would make me laugh, although you could say watching the Dodgers the last three weeks was like watching a bad '80s sitcom ("Blossom?"). But I also needed more pain I suppose, so I watched as Bonds doubled, singled and then broke the most hallowed of records in sports.

And you know what, I actually applauded him. I didn't holler, or cheer, or slide around the house as I'm wont to do when the Chargers win a big game, but I clapped.

Let me explain before one ya call the troops for an intervention. After he tied Aaron's mark Saturday, I decided it was time I reviewed Bonds' career numbers.

Holy fuckin' shit! Sorry, but that's the only thing you can say when you see his numbers. He was the best player in baseball, and wow, or gee whiz, or jumpin' jehosaphat just doesn't cut it when looking at how good he really was. The only dude who comes close is Ken Griffey Jr., who, by-the-by, has an outside shot of passing Bonds' mark (OK, that's the first time I said/wrote that and that shit just doesn't sound right, kind of like saying Superbowl Champion Arizona Cardinals - right, who am I kidding? That won't happen). Throw A-Rod in there, too. If not for the number of strikeouts he has I'd say he's better than Bonds. But right now, I think Barroid tops him, also.

And I'm not even talking about the "steroid years." And so what if he did roid up (aside from the obvious wrongness of his nuts shriveling up to the size of Beer Nuts)? Since testing began in baseball, more pitchers have been suspended than hitters. You have to believe hurlers were spiking veins as much as hitters. Steroids was as inherent to the game as greenies were to players in the '60s. Not to mention, no one has proven that it helps a player see the ball better to it. And again, so what? Football players roided up in the '80s (RIP Lyle Alzado and John Matusak), bike riders were walking chemistry sets in the '90s, and for some reason the media wants to pour shit on Baseball. Last time I checked, you're innocent until proven guilty, and no one has convicted Bonds. I'm suspect he did, but that's all anyone has at this point - suspension.

So, yeah, as a Dodger fan I applauded Barry when he knocked Mike Bascik's 3-2 pitch into center field Tuesday. Oh, I still despise the man because he represents all that is wrong with sports - he (and Terrel Owens) are the poster children for spoiled athletes - and would have been much more excited about this assault on Hank's record if it was someone a little more fan friendly, but it was baseball history and as fan I had to respect it. The thing is, even as a Dodger fan, I found other Giants who pissed me off more. Matt Williams always seemed to hit a homerun at the most inopportune time, Will Clark was always on base, and any former Dodger who defected to the Dark Side always seemed to knock in the winning run. Barroid hit plenty of big shots, and spun a number of homerun pirouettes against the Blue Crew, but aside from one in 1997 I can't remember any that really hurt them.

So with ESPN's Bonds dick suck finally over, I decided I needed one baseball-free night. I didn't watch a game or pop over to a computer to see what the score might be. Instead, Wife and I ran errands, and I was at peace for the first time in weeks. Then, the Dodgers dropped a cherry bomb in my mental toilet and the peace was ruined. I caught the final score to the Dodgers game, 1-0, and realized they were dropped to fourth place for the first time this season.

Behind Colorado. Colorado!

All is right with the world, now, though. Barroid didn't hit one out today and the Dodgers scored a run. Five in fact. And they ended their six-game skid with an 11 inning, 5-4 win.

Like guzzling a 2-liter bottle of Pepsi, hope bubbles up again.