The Journal Times Online - Racine, Wisconsin

By Greg Giesen

Journal Times

I collect baseball cards. It’s been my hobby since 1975.

Back in 1994, I made two big purchases. I bought a 1957 Henry Aaron Topps baseball card and the 1986 Topps Traded set.

For those unfamiliar with card collecting, the traded series has all the players who were traded or the rookies who were called up during the season. The 1986 Topps Traded set had Barry Bonds’ first Topps card.

At the time, I had no idea the two players would ever be linked the way they are now. Henry Aaron has always been a favorite of mine and Bonds — I thought — was going to be one of the game’s greats.

When Bonds broke Aaron’s career home run record Tuesday night in San Francisco, I started thinking about Bonds’ place among baseball’s legends. In the end, I knew just where Bonds belonged; I just wasn’t sure why he put himself there.

There’s little doubt that Bonds — before he got involved with trainer Greg Anderson and BALCO — was among the game’s elite players. From 1990 to 1993, Bonds won three National League MVP Awards and could have won four. Atlanta’s Terry Pendelton won in 1991, beating Bonds by 15 points. Between Ken Griffey Jr. and Bonds, baseball had the 1990s version of Mickey Mantle and Willie Mays. There was little doubt that Bonds would find a place in Cooperstown five years after he retired.

But Bonds’ place among the greats wasn’t enough and that’s what I don’t understand. I realize that there is a fierce competitive spirit and ego among professional players and there has to be, but when is enough, enough?

According to the book "Game of Shadows," Bonds was so jealous of the attention and affection given to sluggers Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa during their pursuit of the single-season home run record in 1998 that he decided to do whatever it took to turn himself into a power hitter to rival Sosa and McGwire. If steroids could turn two very good but not great players into superstars, just imagine what it could do for Bonds. Not only would Bonds become the greatest, but he would receive the same adoration that Slammin’ Sammy and Big Mac received that season. That logic, though, doesn’t make sense. Bonds didn’t need steroids to be the best of his generation and arguably among the game’s greatest and his abrasive attitude kept him from being a fan favorite everywhere but San Francisco.

Sadly, Bonds still decided to go down the road of chemical cheats and will forever wear the stain left by the syringe. Bonds claims he didn’t know he was taking steroids, saying he thought it was flaxseed oil. One thing is clear, a sin of omission is still a sin. And Bonds’ arrogance in his culpability will forever make it difficult — if not impossible — for people to forgive his misdeeds.

So where does Bonds belong? Instead of joining Aaron, Babe Ruth, Frank Robinson, his godfather Willie Mays or Mantle in the Parthenon of baseball legends, Bonds belongs in baseball’s village of the dammed. He belongs with those players who, despite their enormous talents, left the world with a very bitter taste because of their self-serving actions. Bonds belongs right up there with "The Hit King" Pete Rose, the racist Ty Cobb, the gamblers from the 1919 Chicago White Sox, felon Denny McClain and alleged steroid abusers Sosa and McGwire.

And while I plan on keeping my Bonds baseball card, it will never hold the allure it did back in 1994.