King Kaufman's Sports Daily

Barry Bonds or: How I learned to stop worrying and love the game.

Read more: Drugs, Sports, Baseball, War on Drugs, Barry Bonds, Major League Baseball, Steroids, King Kaufman, Sports Daily, MLB

Aug. 17, 2007 | My son couldn't have been happier. It was a sunny Sunday and we were on the bus, headed to the baseball game at Your Call Is Very Important to Us Park.

He doesn't care much about baseball, but he's the bus-lovinest 4-year-old in the Pacific Time Zone, he's never met an insanely overpriced snack he didn't like, and he knows he can wheedle me into buying at least two of those in a regulation game.

On the seat next to me was a copy of the S.F. Weekly, open to a page with a caricature of Barry Bonds illustrating an article about that human psychology dissertation in rompers, specifically the racial angle. I picked it up and began reading.

"Who's that?" Buster asked.

Well, that's a complicated question.

"He's the Giants' big home run hitter," I said. "He's their big star, kind of like their Albert Pujols." Buster spent his whole life up to a month ago in St. Louis, and he and his pals, regardless of their interest or lack of interest in baseball or the Cardinals, love Albert Pujols.

Seriously. Love. They'll hear his name, turn to each other and say, in this reverent, amazed tone, "I love Albert Pujols!" "Me too." It's like a little revival meeting. It's an uncomplicated sort of thing -- so far, I'm compelled by recent history to say -- to live in St. Louis and love Albert Pujols.

"He's hit more home runs than anybody else ever has," I continued. I felt a little funny about it. I looked around at the other passengers on the bus, wondering if anybody was giving me the old gimlet eye. As if any of them knew who I was and were sitting there thinking, "So that's it, Mr. 75,000 words about Barry Bonds since the grand jury testimony leaked? He's a big home run hitter? Period?"

Four-year-olds have a hard enough time with simple answers. I figured I didn't need to get into the complicated mess of a real answer to the question "Who is Barry Bonds?"

It took a little effort for me to relax about it. We're just going to a baseball game, I reminded myself. It's just a sunny day, a little father-son outing. Buster will get to see his pal Oliver -- a San Francisco native who loves Barry Bonds, natch. We'll eat nasty cotton candy, argue about going to the bathroom -- just try! -- stand in a huge line to slide down the slide in the giant soda bottle.

Next page: The media-guy me worries and churns. The fan me just wants to watch a game in the sunshine