Forgive me, baseball gods, for I have sinned. It's even worse than that, really, because I committed a cardinal sin.
I switched teams.
I used to be a San Francisco Giants fan. Now I'm considering life as a Blue Jays fan. Yeah, it's Barry Bonds's fault, but my move is less a product of disloyalty and more a result of growing disillusionment.
Before the collective ire of baseball fans comes crashing down on me, let me explain my fandom history: I was the lone baseball obsessed kid in a football family - the only team my family was loyal to was the Buffalo Bills. Then I moved to Pittsburgh during the city's last sports renaissance, when Mario Lemieux led the Penguins to back-to-back Stanley Cups, when the Steelers were just starting the Cowher years (but still losing to the Bills) and the Bonds-Bonilla-Van Slyke Pirates were constant contenders.
Pittsburgh was my first baseball love. I knew all the players, from the marginal hometown guys (John Wehner) to their ace (Doug Drabek). But my favorite player was their scrawny left fielder, Barry Bonds.
As an 8-year-old, you tend to root for the stars, but Bonds was magnetic. He had the coolest name, played the same position I played in Little League and was simply the best baseball player on the planet.
I lived and died by Bonds's play. When he was streaking, I felt like nothing could stop me. When he failed, I shared in his failure. I was at the Sid Bream game in 1992 National League Championship Series, where Bonds - at the time the game's premier left fielder - couldn't quite get his throw in fast enough to save the game. I cried at that game, and was down again when he left Pittsburgh in 1993 for a record contract in San Francisco. That was also the same year I moved from Pittsburgh to Rochester.
Honestly, that was my first switch, this time a switch of loyalty. I followed my favorite player when he moved and threw myself into Giants lore. I studied Will Clark's game, learned about Willy McCovey's grand slam record and was amazed by Willy Mays's catch. I knew Bonds was where he should be, and I was happy to follow, getting my Giants hat, dugout jacket, winter jacket, Bonds jersey t-shirt, Bonds plaque, another Bonds Starting Lineup figurine, dangling gold cross earring - the works.
I relished in all the Bonds media I could find - a 1993 Sports Illustrated cover that proclaimed "I'm Barry Bonds and you're not" was my favorite cover of all time - I still have the thing. I knew he was surly, a jerk to the media, but I thought it was badass, like a rock star who didn't live by human rules. Barry Bonds could do no wrong.
Then 1998 happened, when Mark McGwire broke the home run record. As the steroid expos?(c), "Game of Shadows," makes abundantly clear, that is the year Bonds became grotesque, not just physically, but as a whole person. He gave in to jealousy.
But we wouldn't know that until a few years later, when Bonds's prodigious talent seemed to have no bounds - as he got older, instead of declining, he got better. And as a blind fan, I bought it, hook, line and sinker. First there was the 73-homer season of 2001, then the 2002 World Series where Bonds shook his "playoff choke" tag, though in a losing effort. Then rumors that were mere whispers became open secrets that everyone assumed true: Bonds, and many other players, were juiced.
I wish I could say I was outraged at Bonds' alleged steroid use, but I turned a blind eye. It wasn't against the rules at the time, so what? But all of us who took that easy justification were ignoring a larger responsibility. Steroid use was, and is, illegal and more than that, it's unsafe.
The cracks in my loyalty officially started to show in 2003, when the BALCO controversy officially began. I asked my buddy Scott what he thought of me switching teams only a year after covering my dorm window in Giants signs for the World Series.
"Stick to your guns," he said.
At first I thought that meant stick to my team, but as the case against Bonds progressed, I realized I needed to stick to my own values. With Bonds literally growing into a monstrous walking Man-Boob, I had to face the truth: I couldn't root for him, or the Giants, anymore.
I lost my passion for the team, the player and the sport. I was lost. While baseball history was being made by the Boston Red Sox in 2004, I was an outsider to the game.
This year I embarked on a quest to rediscover my passion for the game, and with that a new team. I considered the Red Sox, but I realized they stopped being likable the minute they won the World Series. I considered the Yankees, but I can't stand Yankees fans. Returning to the Pirates was tempting, but too futile. I even considered the Mets, but I just don't hate myself that much.
Eventually, I realized I needed to find a team that reflected why I love baseball to begin with, with a player who excites me the way Bonds did when I was a kid - that led me to the Blue Jays and Vernon Wells.
Wells, a centerfielder, has all the tools, has a cool name and is the best player on the field whenever he's out there. In fact, he reminds me of a young Bonds, only less of a jerk.
So I'm making baby steps back into fandom. I got a Blue Jays hat, which looks pretty good, even with the new logo. I'm even reaping the benefits of rooting for a more local team: I actually can go to a game in their home stadium if I want.
So I guess I'm comfortable with switching teams, even if I feel guilty about it...zinger.
