The Gifts of and from Barry Bonds

Later today, I’ll head to the house that Barry Bonds built. You read that right. Oracle Park—formerly Pacific Bell Park, SBC Park, and AT&T Park—would not have risen from the shores of China Basin in San Francisco’s SoMa district without the home run king. While many played a role in bringing this gem of a ballpark to life, failing to recognize #25 as the central figure is shortsighted. Furthermore, Bonds does not become the home run king without his father, Bobby and his Godfather, Willie Mays. Both men were outstanding players who shaped Barry in a different way. And the interview of Barry Bonds by KNBR's Murph and Marcus on the one-year anniversary of the Say Hey Kid's passing offers wonderful insight into their influence, impact and Sports and Spirituality.

To know Barry Bonds, follow Barry Bonds and listen to Bonds on Bonds is an exercise in question and conflict, grace and discord. I love him and I don't know what to do with him. I recently got into a heated argument with a friend who wanted to know if I think Bonds will be in the MLB Hall of Fame. His inquiry is one many people ask. It was however, the spirit behind the question that made me uncomfortable and defensive. Barry's my guy and yet, he's not. What to do?

I believe it’s an act of generosity to see someone at their best. At the same time, it’s foolish to ignore a person’s wisdom or fail to learn from their greatness. But it’s equally unwise to dismiss the past, excuse bad behavior, or overlook selfish choices and ulterior motives. The truth is, I don’t know Barry Bonds personally—he’s not a colleague or a friend. He’s a public figure, a fourteen time All-Star, seven time MVP and, as noted here, someone who helped make something very special in San Francisco possible. Somehow, I’m able to hold all of that—his brilliance, his flaws, and his impact—at once.

When Barry signed with the San Francisco Giants in 1993, he intended to wear #24, the number he wore for most of his time with the Pittsburgh Pirates, and the number worn by his Godfather, Willie Mays. 

Mays actually gave his blessing for Bonds to wear #24. However, there was a public outcry and media commotion surrounding the idea of unretiring what has long been associated with the Say Hey Kid. 

Ultimately, Bonds decided to wear number 25 in honor of his father, Bobby Bonds, who also wore number 25 during his time with the Giants. Bobby Bonds was a teammate of Mays and also served as a mentor to Barry. 

No doubt Willie gave Barry much more than literally the number off of his back. As noted in the interview, he gave Barry both permission and encouragement to surpass his record of 600 home runs. He gave him the support and love that at times was elusive from his own father, Bobby. 

To wrap up the interview Brian Murphy said "one year ago we lost Willie, right away—what is your favorite favorite story, memory, instant anecdote. What do you think about?

"My Godfather. That's it" said Bonds.

Murphy responded, "watching the game?"

"No."

"Hanging out on the back porch?"

"No, said Bonds. I have one thing of Willie's, and it's a picture of him and me. But the greatest gift that I ever got from my Godfather is him saying "I will be your Godfather. There's no greater gift I could ever have."

I heard these words and paused. I can't believe it took watching an interview of Barry Bonds for me to realize the importance of my own Godmother and my own role as one. What were all Godparents and Godchildren to understand, appreciate and hold this simple truth? Might we live that role differently? Would be appreciate our Godparents more? 

Part of why baseball fans love the game is that it moves at a pace different than other sports. There is action and inaction in baseball. Its cadence allows for us to stand up and cheer, sit down and look around. We have space to think and ponder, recall and reminisce. Today I will take the words, the lesson and insights from Bonds with the me to the yard—grateful that he is a key reason I can sit in View Reserved, Row 16, Seat 5.

photo credits
Bond and Bonds
Laughing with Willie

Opening Day: What it reveals about us

The late A. Bartlett Giamatti was the President of Yale University, a philosopher and the Commissioner of Major League Baseball for all but short five months. He was also an author. In Take Time for Paradise, he wrote

It has long been my conviction that we can learn far more about the conditions, and values, of a society by contemplating how it chooses to play, to use its free time, to take its leisure, than by examining how it goes about its work.

Fans are advised to arrive to Washington Nationals Park by 10:00 a.m. Upon hearing this, I knew a two hour window before game time indicated one thing: the President must be throwing the ceremonial first pitch. I love this 100 year old tradition, even if Obama wore bad jeans last year, or can’t throw strikes. I’m not convinced that baseball remains America’s official past time, but I do think the fact that every President since William Howard Taft has made a point to get out to the yard for its inaugural game, speaks to Giamatti's  claims. He adds:

If there is a truly religious quality to sport, then, it lies first in the intensity of devotion brought by the true believer, or fan. And it consists second, and much more so, in the widely shared, binding nature—the creed-like quality—of American sport.

Even in an increasingly secular place like San Francisco, the Giants hold a faithful following. So much so, that the home opener is played during the day. Ah! The sweet day game; what leisure. It is time away from work and even better—from school. For 42 years, Brother Draper, the iconic Dean of Students at SI posted a typed document daily, verified by his initials “dd, sj” (for Doug Draper, SJ) in the faculty room. It might strike some as odd or dated considering the multitude of other technological resources, but said list was helpful. If a student had a serious illness, Brother might include necessary information beside his name. If a student was with her traveling team in Chile for a soccer tournament, faculty was aware of the unexcused absence. And on one day of the year, I think it is fair to say at least 5% of the student body’s names appeared in that courier type: Opening Day. Brother Draper printed this list without guile. The following students are at Candlestick (or in recent years Pac Bell/AT&T) Park. It’s a shame no student had the acumen to call upon Giamatti’s words to earn an “excused” versus “unexcused absence.”

Standing in front of Nationals Park on Sunday night—the day prior to opening day for Major League Baseball and AT&T Park tonight—the day before the Giants' home opener, I couldn’t help but reflect upon the sport of baseball and what it reveals about America/Americans as one might do about a religious community while standing outside a church. Undoubtedly, AT&T is a cathedral; its field is hallowed ground. On the other coast, Nationals Park is bringing rebirth to a blighted area of our nation's capital; its locker room dubbed "the oval office" holds conversations about winning and losing, faith and hope. The red, white and blue bunting that adorns the interior and exterior of both venues indicates a feast day is upon us. There is something sacred about opening day and lucky for SI students, they won't have to miss class thanks to spring break this week. I just hope after President Obama threw that ceremonial first pitch, he yelled “Play Ball!” God Bless America. Play Ball!

Photo Credits