The world is a little different today. By far the most hallowed record in all of American Sport has been shattered. The Great Henry Aaron has been passed, there is a new Home Run King. Harrogate would so much have loved to have been there, to have witnessed history live.
What a great picture of Barry Bonds, even void of context. But then when you add context (what's a Rhetorical Situation without context, after all?), the picture exudes joy. After all this guy has accomplished, and all he has been through. After all the terrible pitches, the intentional walks, the might-as-well-have-been-intentional walks, and the insane infield shifts he has seen through the years.
There he stands, all melts away. A testament to human achievment. He is at home, thank God, in San Francisco when he hits it. Those who have stood unwavering by him for so long. It just wouldn't have been right had he done it somewhere else.
Funny. Harrogate wrote this whole long diatribe outlining exactly why all the naysayers and bashers are morons, but then he remembered. This isn't about jealous bedwetters like Dale Murphy, souless beauracrats like Bud Selig, or the seemingly endlesss supply of pencilneck whiners who call themselves sports journalists.
This is about the man who is unquestionably the single greatest baseball player of this generation, and in all probability the greatest baseball player who ever played the game. Period. It is Bonds's moment. Hats off to him.
