The Obliteration of Barry Bonds

It is an erasure of mind-numbing proportions.

If you have ever watched "The Prisoner" TV series and wanted to know what it actually felt like to be No. 6, just come to AT&T Park.

Or imagine what it would be like to be Winston Smith in 1984, after the thought police have moved in. 

And that's the fandom for your San Francisco Giants at Pac Bell, er. SBC, er AT&T Park.

It's not merely a rebranding that has noodled with the Giants' fans. No no. Now a far deeper blow has been inflicted...a numbing of the mind, a completely unsubtle reversal of what was known, true, and given for years. It is all now enforced in a conspiracy of silence.

Quite literally, no one—owner, players, media, and lowly fans included—is barking about it. Everyone appears to be going about their business and pretending not to notice.

Last year at this time, you couldn't swing a dead bat without hitting a Bonds tribute, jersey, or piece of hawked memorabilia. AT&T was Bonded—boy was it ever—and whirring with the financial joy and accompanying jubilation in the stands that the phenomenon that was No. 25 continued to be.

Now, there is a little orange sign, on the facing of the outfield wall, that is quite literally the farthest spot from home plate, with his name and the number 756 on it. That's it.

While the Giants are still toying with the exact identity of their new love interest (Zito having spit the bit), the fact that they have completely discarded Bonds could not be clearer. Or more unspoken.

The conversation about this tends not to be had at the ballpark, but at the dinner table, and then only after enough water has been tested to know that it is safe to broach.

Certainly the reverberations are echoing around the league. If it's good riddance to bad rubbish from the Giants, there is literally no chance that this guy is going to latch on anyplace else.

There are a lot of crosscurrents here that a mind like my own is reluctant to tackle. But I can tell you that I regret what the team that has captured my allegiance has done here very much, both to Barry and to me.

I predict that the exclusion of this very productive and exciting hitter from all major-league teams at the twilight of his career will later be viewed with regret.

The guy boarded a very full steroids train and got bad legal advice when he and a few of his fellow passengers were forcibly disembarked.

And for this, the pernicious nature of big-league marketing has been laid bare, and I have been turned into a sheepish baseball-fan. Baa. Humbug.