Why I Hate Barry Bonds

William F. Buckley Jr., who died Wednesday morning, once called the Beatles "so unbelievably horrible, so appallingly unmusical, so dogmatically insensitive to the magic of the art, that they qualify as crowned heads of antimusic." 

I mention this quotation as a reminder that not all people look at things in the same way. Just as “one man's junk is another man's treasure,” no two people look at the steroid cloud hanging over major league baseball in exactly the same manner. 

For I must admit that I have three words to describe my general feelings about the subject: I don't care.

That's right, I don't care that Robby Reliever ingested something that allowed him to throw a baseball 5 mph faster. Or that Billy Batter was able to suddenly win that improbable MVP award. Nope.  I just don't care.

You want to know a little secret?  Shhh, come close so I can whisper this to you: Lots of people cheat. They cheat on their taxes, they cheat on their spouses....heck they even cheat death on occasion.

Recognizing that, you don't think baseball players have always cheated? According to some estimates, as many as 50% of baseball players may have used some kind of PED (Performance Enhancing Drug) during their career. I say it's really no different than the sandpaper, Vaseline, corked bats and amphetamines that players have used to gain a competitive advantage since the sport was conceived way back when. 

So I don't care. Well, except for one person, and that person is Mr. Barry Bonds. Now before you go thinking that there is some sinister reason that I'm targeting him, please understand here and now that it has absolutely nothing to do with the color of his skin.

In fact, it really has little to do with the man at all, although I am willing to admit that his often grouchy temperament won't win him any Man of the Year awards with me. The simple reason that BB is on my exception list is that he (allegedly) used a competitive advantage to break the most sacred record in all of sports, in my opinion. 

Baseball's home run record is just so magical to me, in a sport where statistics are so important, that I cannot accept Bonds as the holder of that record, and I despise the man for that reason.

Maybe I'm hopelessly naive, but I want to stand at the HOF in Cooperstown with my son and tell him, "son, that there plaque belongs to Henry Aaron, the Home Run King." And, wiping a tear from my eye, stand there in awe at the brilliance of the man's accomplishment.

But I cannot ever imagine looking at Barry Bonds that same way. For unlike others, he didn't cheat to simply become a better ballplayer—heck, he already possessed five-tool greatness—I firmly believe he wanted that home run record and wasn't going to stop at anything to get it. And for that, I cannot forgive him.

For when he stole that record, he stole some youthful innocence from me. And that's why I hate Barry Bonds.