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Well, that was fun.
Last night out in the center-left bleachers, each time Barry Bonds came to bat, the crowd rose giddily to their feet. The stands brimmed with grins and shouts of encouragement and nervous energy. Mitts were pulled on and pounded in anticipation. With each pitch thrown to him, photoflashes flared all about the stadium like Chinese New Year firecrackers.
In his first two at-bats Bonds hit a double and a single. The crowd applauded appreciatively after each. It was far better than seeing the oh-fer-three Barry of the night before. The lead flipped back-and-forth between the Giants and the Washington Nationals as the two pitchers had their offerings slopped all around (and out of) the park.
Then: Bottom of the fifth, one out, no one on, everyone on their feet, all eyes on one man.
Three separate sounds essayed from the crowd when it happened.
At the crack of the bat, there was a beat of silence. A collective breath drawn in. Could it be?
As the ball reached the top of its arc, that intake of air exhaled into an involuntary ohh! The sudden sound of thousands of eyes janked wide in disbelief.
Its apex reached, the ball tore back down towards the stands in the deepest part of the park. Center-right. The last thing we saw in center-left was the dull white shape jounce off a scrum of humanity that swelled like a sponge to greet its descent. In an instant, the crowd's OHH! became a YaaAAA!
Disbelief tore through to realization. And then we were all jumping and shouting and jumping.
A great burst of laughter! High-fives flew as thick as anti-aircraft flak. It was a great loosing of energy, comparable only to a quake. Shouting and cursing and laughing from all quarters. Shock. People did not know what to do with themselves. It had happened. It happened right now, right in front of us. Strangers hugged one another rib-tight, leaping up-and-down in unison, shouting and cackling in celebration. He'd done it. He'd done it tonight, right now. The heft of this stupid record made people hug each other.
Bouncing, bounding, laughing, we were looking to see our own disbelief reflecting in another witness's glee. Looking to share it with everyone around us. There was a gout of light as fireworks scoured the grey sky above us. No sense of sound. We never even saw him cross home plate. We were busy celebrating what he had done.
But why celebrate? Why celebrate this petulant stand-offish jerk with the strained little-boy's voice? Did he cheat? Prob'ly. He hasn't been caught, but overwhelmingly it doesn't look good.
So, why did we cheer for Barry?
It may be as simple as this: In that moment when we were there with him, wanting nothing more than to see him to hit it out, he hit it out.
Might be as simple as that, at least for last night.
Last night; that was fun.
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Barry, thanks for being such a great role model for the kids. At what age should our children start taking steroids?
gross
leave sportswriting to sportswriters
You know what? He may be a jerk (ok, he's a jerk), and he might be a cheater (the court is still out on that one)... but seeing a record beat in any sport is pretty awesome.
Seeing excellence in sports is amazing.
That's why we cheered when we watched him hit one out of the park here in Chicago last month, even if it was against the Cubs (we beat you guys anyway).
It's always fun to celebrate in the moment. The crap will come down later.
"A great burst of laughter! High-fives flew as thick as anti-aircraft flak. It was a great loosing of energy, comparable only to a quake. Shouting and cursing and laughing from all quarters. Shock. People did not know what to do with themselves. It had happened. It happened right now, right in front of us."
My god... I know this is only a blog but the writing makes me nauseous. Someone aspiring to be a little Hemingway a little too hard, aren't we?
Well, "guest 4", I made you nauseous?
I'm sorry about that.
What I really was trying to accomplish with my writing was to make you die.
"guest 2," you should leave commenting to those who have the sack/eggs to stand behind their comments.
bibliogrrl -- you realize that your battered injured dessicated Cubs have a shot at sweeping the Giants when they come through SF in two weeks?
Sigh. Ahh'm ready for some football.
Hmmm,I did notice a bit of Hemingway in there. Tee hee...regardless, I stand by your eyewitness account of that fateful night of what could also be seen as a highly suspicious spectacle of "illusion and grandeur".
What do I mean? Why even cheer for someone you called a jerk who probably hit this 756 while on some performance enhancement drug? How was it really witnessing excellence in sports when you think he's a hoax?
I stand by with some actual hope for this team and Barry Bonds. At least Tuesday night he appeared to have more emotions than emoticons...surprise, surprise! He really seemed humbled by the experience and truly grateful.
What really urked me was the fact that people came only for the Amazing Barry Show rather than actually rooting for the team to the very end. Giants winning would've been icing on the cake.
Cry me a river. It's your blog, and you allow anonymous posts. For all we know, "Christopher Rogers" could be a pseudonym. I doubt any of the posters here really care, actually. But this is really terrible writing, and you'll have to deal with me posting my opinion anonymously, as long as I am allowed to do so.
Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch.