Of all the indignities surrounding this steroid brouhaha, something finally got my dander up past the acceptable limit. There has been leaked testimony from a grand jury. There has been the shame of an already great player likely doing something unsavory to gain a competitive advantage, with circumstantial ties slowly suffocating hopeful doubt. That didn't do it.
There are some out there whose lonely fetish involves idiots with access to word processors, and those people must have blown out every last candle on their birthday cake. Every prose-monkey cut from a 9th-grade basketball team is out for blood, with the environmental impact of manufactured outrage still unclear. Especially amusing are the goofs who correlate this latest injury with steroid use. The only medical experience most of these people have comes from when they took apart a Cobra Commander figure in 1988. There's a reason why you spent the first three hours of your honeymoon searching for rubber bands, fellas.
Still, it all pales to the moronic conspiracy theorist. The argument limps along that Bonds is sitting out because baseball doesn't want to suspend him, but wants him out of the game. Or Bonds knows he's caught, and feels guilty enough to cede the record to Aaron. Whatever theory leads some to believe Bonds is not seriously injured is a laughable theory. In 1998, there was a man who watched Wag the Dog after a couple of bong hits, and two years later had a wheelbarrow dropped on his head. He's been cleared by doctors to think this garbage up. The rest of the goofs should hang their heads in shame. Can you imagine the conversation?
Selig: Well, this whole scandal is bringing the game down. It'd be best if you retire from the game.Bonds is a lot of things. Difficult. Surly. Unpleasant. Arrogant. He is not, however, a stooge. He has far too much pride to go down quietly. He's more likely to go down in a burst of gunfire outside of an Arizona motel, taking three ATF agents with him, than he is to step aside in some shadowy back-door pact. The guy's forty, and he has bad knees. It isn't convenient. Heavens, no. It is decidedly inconvenient, as Bonds is as much of a competitor as he is an ass. The people thinking otherwise are the ones who spend the moments before sleep checking under the bed for chupacabras and Freemasons.
Bonds: Funny. I had no idea my black ass was so lonely. So starved for company.
Bonds: It's calling for you.
Bonds: Kiss it. Kiss my black ass, Selig.
Selig: Mr. Bonds, I'm sure there's no need for....
Bonds: Kiss my black ass, you decrepit ghoul.
This whole deal is sordid enough without much help. Bringing the whole Jordan-was -suspended-for-gambling-and-didn't-retire nonsense into the equation just makes people look stupid.