God, I hope so.
Barry Bonds told MLB.com that doctors are recommending he shut it down for the year after they found more fluid buildup in his troublesome knee. “I don’t think you’re going to see me out there this year,” Bonds said during a telephone interview. “That’s the reality of the situation. I’m improving. I’m happy with the progress. I’m working out hard on the exercise bike and the elliptical machine, but I’m just not there yet. The last thing I want is to get back on the field and be out again a week later. The doctors say it’s wise for me to work out hard this winter and be ready to go next season. I want to be out there and play the whole year.”
This is bad news for Giants fans, whose team has actually crawled its way back into contention at 5.5 games behind the Diamondbacks in the pathetic NL West (Arizona leads the division with a 52-55 record), but good news for everybody who hates Bonds. Yes, I hate Barry Bonds. I hate him for cheating. I hate him for tainting the record books. I hate him for being arrogant and unapologetic. I hate him for thinking that he’s bigger and more important than the game.
Is Barry Bonds a great player? Absolutely. Can he do things that no one else in baseball can? Absolutely. But should his legacy forever be tarnished by his admitted steroid use? Absolutely. And do I hope he never takes the field again?
Absolutely.
