'Tired' Bonds still an enigma

After years of willfully escalating his war of words with the media, Barry Bonds unexpectedly and unilaterally disarmed on Tuesday afternoon.

Sitting outside the San Francisco Giants spring training clubhouse in Scottsdale, Ariz., the beleaguered slugger looked and sounded like a beaten and hopeless man. With his 15-year-old son, Nikolai, sitting wordlessly at his side and looking every bit as forlorn as his old man, Bonds gave an impromptu press conference that quickly turned into a theatre of the absurd.

Fourteen times in a span of less than 10 minutes, Bonds said he was tired — tired of the glare of the spotlight, tired of the criticism of fans, tired of the pain of injury, perhaps even tired of baseball itself.

"I'm tired of my kids crying," he said, looking like he was about to cry himself. "You [the media] wanted me to jump off a bridge. I finally did. You guys wanted to hurt me bad enough, you finally got me."

Watching the surreal scene as it was replayed on ESPN that evening, I was struck by conflicting impulses.

As a journalist, I immediately grabbed a pen and began taking notes, knowing that I had found the "quote of the day" for the bottom line of the 'Prince' sports section.

As a baseball fan — one who does not particularly like Bonds and suspects him of using the steroids that leave a black mark on the game — I felt like he was getting what was coming to him.

As a human being, I was captivated. If nothing else, the press conference was one of the most shocking displays of genuine emotion by a pro athlete — or any public figure — in recent memory.

It wasn't the anger that surprised me. From Joseph McCarthy to Bobby Knight, we've seen public figures lose their cool at the worst possible times. Bonds has as checkered a history of combativeness as anyone. Just a few weeks ago at another press conference, he was as irate as ever, repeatedly castigating the journalists who write about him. Besides, on Tuesday Bonds seemed more resigned than outraged, more dejected than livid.

Nor, really, was it the sadness that caught me off guard. Athletes and coaches sob on TV all the time these days — football coach Dick Vermeil alone does it enough to warrant an endorsement deal with Kleenex. And less than a week ago, Mark McGwire came within a hair of breaking down as he testified at a Congressional hearing.

Mostly, it was Bonds' emotional openness that I found so intriguing. Society tells us that star athletes are supposed to be strong and manly at all times. Admissions of gut-wrenchingly deep depression are strictly taboo.

Only Bonds knows why he suddenly decided to bare his soul. It could be an act, designed to draw sympathy and sway the court of public opinion. It could be the effect of steroid withdrawal, which has been shown to cause severe depression. It could be that Bonds just needed to get things off his chest for the sake of his mental health. Maybe it's all of the above.

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Regardless of the explanation, Bonds seems far more human now than he did before. So many athletes build public facades that fans are left to wonder what the objects of their worship — or scorn — are really like. Seeing Bonds genuinely express himself was somehow reassuring, perhaps as a reminder that even those of us who can clobber a baseball 500 feet still struggle with life.

Then again, it didn't make me like him more, nor did it make me feel even a little bit sorry for him. I still believe he's brought the vast majority of his troubles upon himself. And the public scrutiny, which so evidently bothers him, comes along with the job — a job for which he is most handsomely rewarded.

In the end, one of the most prodigious hitters in baseball history — drug-enhanced or not — looked pathetic on Tuesday. Mock him, pity him, think what you want.

But above all else, remember that even now we hardly know him.