Ken Griffey Jr. of the Cincinnati Reds hit his 600th career home run today in Florida off of Mark Hendrickson. Griffey joins Barry Bonds, Hank Aaron, Babe Ruth, Willie Mays and Sammy Sosa as a member of the ultra-exclusive 600 HR club.

But here’s what makes Griffey so special: He’s the only member of the modern era inductees (Bonds and Sosa) that did not abuse steroids. So basically, he’s more legit in my book. And how Griffey has managed to achieve this feat on top of the litany of injuries that has plagued a large portion of his career is nothing short of amazing.

So today there was yet another headline about Barry Bonds never-ending steroid saga, this time about OMG THE TESTIMONY WILL BE UNSEALED. First off, who fucking gives a shit anymore? Everyone who’s not a dipshit knows basically any baseball player worth a shit over the last 15 years has probably tried steroids at least once, if not taken them for some length of time. And you know what, it doesn’t make really any difference. If kids are stupid enough to take steroids because they want to be like Barry Bonds then back zits and small testicles are the least of their problems. At least they’ll be better at baseball, which is probably all their ultra-competitive, vicariously living parents really care about in the first place. The only thing I can hope is that kids who idolize Barry Bonds will NEVER EVER mismatch their blacks in such an unashamed fashion and wear as stupid looking of a hat as Bonds did in the file photo that accompanied today’s story. That shit is just unforgivable. And what’s up with that chain? That some shit some frat dude at Hard Rock Cafe would be rocking. Dude made like $30 million a year and he can’t afford some real bling? Steroids aren’t that expensive man.

My, oh my. Can it really be true? Has Barry Bonds actually left the building? For all Giants fans sick with the past years of disgrace: Yes, the king is gone. Spring training is currently at hand, and in Scottsdale, the San Francisco Giants are not missing Barry one bit. Surely though, as far as the team is concerned, this truth seems axiomatic. But what about the fans? What about the die-hards? Well I am a Giants die-hard, tried and true. My feelings…

Barry Bonds came to us in 1993 as a savior from Pittsburgh. He was exciting in ways that other players could never be, and seemed bound to propel the team to what has ultimately eluded the franchise since 1954: a World Series ring. But over the years he became not only the most dominate player the game has ever seen, but also the most universally hated. Steroid rumors became common place about five years ago, and I, like most Giants fans, denied what I hoped to be hearsay. But as time went on, and more and more evidence came to light, my own denial became a source of embarrassment. This was not one big conspiracy as Bonds might like it to seem. The man was a cheater, and an asshole to boot.

These past few seasons of sub .500 baseball in San Francisco have been the most miserable and unbearable exercises in futility that I can possibly imagine. Watching off-season moves centered around hacks, rag-arms and around over-the-hill has-beens in the stupefying belief that Bonds would somehow save the day has been both mind numbing and endlessly infuriating. The 2007 season was the topper, as the Giants were both the oldest, and most boring team in the history of baseball. Watching their games was akin to watching the elderly screw, all the while knowing that Pedro Gomez was in the back of the clubhouse, waiting, with nothing better to do than drink coffee and take a big steamy piss on the floor. I loathe, Pedro Gomez. During this period, the Giants have not been so much a baseball team as they have been a traveling circus, with dancing bears, rings of fire and all. But you know what? It’s over. Check the spring training roster and you’ll notice one name nowhere to be found: Barry Bonds. He is gone, and he is never coming back.

The Giants are going to stink this season. They have no chance. With a lineup that will most likely feature Bengie Molina in the cleanup spot, steadfast vagabonds like Vinnie Chulk in the bullpen, and wretchedly disastrous contracts from the likes of Ray Durham and Dave Roberts waiting to be played out, the City by the Bay has zero hope of competing with the likes of Colorado, Arizona and LA. But I really don’t care. I don’t give a shit. They can go 0-162 so long as I don’t have to stare at that fat-headed, nasal voiced, reality-show-having media disaster in left-field. I don’t care if they get no-hit by Clay Hensley or if Andre Ethier hits five home runs on opening day. Just keep Barry Bonds out of my eyes and ears, and I’ll be fine.

Your thoughts?

Hating on Barry Bonds.
You probly didn’t even know Hammer had a blog site!