In the San Francisco Giants’ clubhouse, everybody knows the score: 24-1.
There are 24 teammates, and there’s Barry Bonds.
There are 24 teammates who show up to pose for the team picture, and there’s Bonds, who has blown it off for the last two years.
There are 24 teammates who go out on the field before the game to stretch together, and there’s Bonds, who usually stretches indoors with his own flex guy.
There are 24 teammates who get on the players’ bus at the hotel to go to the park, and there’s Bonds, who gets on the bus with the broadcasters, the trainers and the manager who coddles him.
There are 24 teammates who eat the clubhouse spread, and there’s Bonds, whose nutritionist brings in special meals for him.
There are 24 teammates who deal with the Giants’ publicity man, and there’s Bonds, who has his own clubhouse-roving p.r. guy, a freelance artist named Steve Hoskins, who turned down George Will’s request for an interview with Bonds because Hoskins had never heard of him.
There are 24 teammates who hang out with one another, play cards and bond, and there’s Bonds, sequestered in the far corner of the clubhouse with his p.r. man, masseur, flex guy, weight trainer, three lockers, a reclining massage chair and a big-screen television that only he can see.
Last week, after Bonds hit his 51st home run in a 13-7 win over the Florida Marlins, most of the players stayed to celebrate the victory, and at least one was gone before the press arrived in the clubhouse: Bonds.
“That’s Barry,” says San Francisco second baseman Jeff Kent. “He doesn’t answer questions. He palms everybody off on us, so we have to do his talking for him. But you get used to it. Barry does a lot of questionable things. But you get used to it. Sometimes it rubs the younger guys the wrong way, and sometimes it rubs the veterans the wrong way. You just hope he shows up for the game and performs. I’ve learned not to worry about it or think about it or analyze it. I was raised to be a team guy, and I am, but Barry’s Barry. It took me two years to learn to live with it, but I learned.”
If you get the feeling that Kent, who’s in his fifth season with San Francisco, wouldn’t spit on Bonds if Bonds were on fire, you might be right. Maybe it has something to do with last year, when Kent and Bonds were running neck and neck for the National League MVP award. The week before the award was to be announced, Bonds had a member of his entourage call the commissioner’s office to try to find out who had won. We’ve got to know, said the stooge, because if he’s not going to win, he can get out of town.
Perfect! No staying around to congratulate Kent. Or going to the press conference to shake his hand. Just, “If it ain’t me, I’m outta here.” The commissioner’s office didn’t know the results of the voting. Kent won.
Someday they’ll be able to hold Bonds’s funeral in a fitting room. When Bonds hit his 500th home run, in April, only one person came out of the dugout to greet him at the plate: the Giants’ batgirl. Sitting in the stands, you could’ve caught a cold from the freeze he got. Teammates 24, Bonds 1.
Bonds isn’t beloved by his teammates. He’s not even beliked. He often doesn’t run out grounders, doesn’t run out flies. If a Giants pitcher gives up a monster home run over Bonds in leftfield, Bonds keeps his hands on his knees and merely swivels his head to watch the ball sail over the fence. He’s an MTV diva, only with bigger earrings.
“On the field, we’re fine,” says Kent, “but off the field, I don’t care about Barry and Barry doesn’t care about me. [Pause.] Or anybody else.”
Bonds will be a free agent after this season, and if he decides to sign elsewhere, will the Giants be devastated? Kent grimaces. “See: Seattle Mariners,” he says, walking away.
Bonds is brilliant. He was the best player of the 1990s, and at 37 he’s having his most magnificent season, on pace at week’s end to break the single-season home run record of 70 and nearly lapping the league in slugging percentage, on-base percentage and walks. He should be the MVP.
But that doesn’t mean you have to root for him.
Issue date: August 27, 2001
The more people that know about that site, the better.