DEAR BARRY
Dear Mr. Bonds,
You don't know who I am and there's no chance in hell that you've ever read this blog, so I'm going to pretend that I'm writing a letter to you. Just for fun.
First, congratulations on breaking Babe Ruth's home-run record and becoming the all-time #2. I was out walking with my dogs, listening to the game on my handy little radio, when you struck 714 in Oakland. I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and smiled a big smile. To be honest, I can't remember if it was sunny that day. It sure felt that way as I listened to the KNBR guys make the call.
It's great that you were able, with 715, to break Ruth's record in your own ballpark. Yeah, the ballpark that Barry built.
I'm writing this letter that isn't really a letter because I want to thank you for some things.
First, thanks for being such a superstar in 2002 that your appeal burst from the confinement of baseball fandom and tugged so many of the rest of us into the game. 2002 was a lousy year for me -- internet bust and all that. Watching you and the Giants at the top of your game gave me something to think about other than feeling sorry for myself. Suddenly, my lifetime dismissal of the game became a raging appreciation for the strategy and cerebral excitement of a contest between talented, focused athletes.
Second, thanks for being so famous that your home team's town had to build a better ball park, one so elegant and tricked out that, to fans, it felt like a gift. For 7 years, I lived within 8 city blocks of Wrigley Field, but not once in all that time did I attend a game. How I regret that. Here, in San Francisco, I've attended many home games. I was even at RFK when you hit your first home run of the season late last year.
Third, thanks for not letting the 2005 season get you down. Yeah, we were worried. In 2005, I lurked behind the chain-link fence while you took batting practice in Phoenix. Then, your injuries robbed us of a season of Bonds-style entertainment. Ironic that the second time I was able to see you was at the aforementioned RFK game 6 months later.
Fourth, thanks for giving me a reason to get much closer to my dad. He's always been a huge sports fan and was once a semi-pro baseball player. I never cared and for years we'd had nothing to talk about. Baseball creates all sorts of amazing opportunities for dads and their sons to talk because baseball is often about beautiful, interesting things -- a perfect metaphor for the neverending challenges of life.
I'd thank you for Albert Pujols because he's coming up through the ranks right behind you, but that would be as silly as writing a letter to you and expecting you to read it.
Thanks, Barry, now get back to your game, k?
You don't know who I am and there's no chance in hell that you've ever read this blog, so I'm going to pretend that I'm writing a letter to you. Just for fun.
First, congratulations on breaking Babe Ruth's home-run record and becoming the all-time #2. I was out walking with my dogs, listening to the game on my handy little radio, when you struck 714 in Oakland. I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and smiled a big smile. To be honest, I can't remember if it was sunny that day. It sure felt that way as I listened to the KNBR guys make the call.
It's great that you were able, with 715, to break Ruth's record in your own ballpark. Yeah, the ballpark that Barry built.
I'm writing this letter that isn't really a letter because I want to thank you for some things.
First, thanks for being such a superstar in 2002 that your appeal burst from the confinement of baseball fandom and tugged so many of the rest of us into the game. 2002 was a lousy year for me -- internet bust and all that. Watching you and the Giants at the top of your game gave me something to think about other than feeling sorry for myself. Suddenly, my lifetime dismissal of the game became a raging appreciation for the strategy and cerebral excitement of a contest between talented, focused athletes.
Second, thanks for being so famous that your home team's town had to build a better ball park, one so elegant and tricked out that, to fans, it felt like a gift. For 7 years, I lived within 8 city blocks of Wrigley Field, but not once in all that time did I attend a game. How I regret that. Here, in San Francisco, I've attended many home games. I was even at RFK when you hit your first home run of the season late last year.
Third, thanks for not letting the 2005 season get you down. Yeah, we were worried. In 2005, I lurked behind the chain-link fence while you took batting practice in Phoenix. Then, your injuries robbed us of a season of Bonds-style entertainment. Ironic that the second time I was able to see you was at the aforementioned RFK game 6 months later.
Fourth, thanks for giving me a reason to get much closer to my dad. He's always been a huge sports fan and was once a semi-pro baseball player. I never cared and for years we'd had nothing to talk about. Baseball creates all sorts of amazing opportunities for dads and their sons to talk because baseball is often about beautiful, interesting things -- a perfect metaphor for the neverending challenges of life.
I'd thank you for Albert Pujols because he's coming up through the ranks right behind you, but that would be as silly as writing a letter to you and expecting you to read it.
Thanks, Barry, now get back to your game, k?
posted by Andrew at
6:33 PM
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