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Posted at 2:08 a.m., Friday, November 16, 2007

Baseball: Bonds had to know this day was coming

By Mark Purdy
San Jose Mercury News

SAN JOSE, Calif. — In case you are wondering, Barry Bonds played his last baseball game on Sept. 26 against the San Diego Padres. If you have a ticket from that night, save it. In his last-ever plate appearance, Bonds flied out to the warning track at AT&T Park. It was Bonds' final swing.

None of that is official, of course. But after yesterday, don't expect to see Bonds in a baseball uniform again — unless he's allowed to leave the country and play for the Nippon Ham Fighters in Japan. By any logic, Bonds has certainly cashed his last major league paycheck.

And that's the least of his problems.

There was no shock when the news broke that Bonds has been indicted by a federal grand jury for perjury and obstruction of justice. The only question is why it took so long, because an indictment was probably inevitable from the moment Bonds walked into a San Francisco courthouse on the morning of Dec. 4, 2003.

Some of us were there that day. The grand jury room was closed, so we stood in the hallway. We stood there a long time. Several hours. It was clear that the government had plenty of questions to ask Bonds.

Now, the government says he was lying when he answered some of those questions. Reading the indictment, it's easy to see why. Several excerpts cited from his testimony drip with classic Bonds arrogance. He either interrupts the attorney who is questioning him, or gives a reply that could be from a petulant teenager.

One of those occasions occurs when the government attorney points to a document — presumably obtained from a person connected to the Balco laboratory — that seems to show a log of steroid doses provided to Bonds.

Attorney: "So starting in Dec. 2001, on this page, there's a `BB' here, which obviously are consistent with your initials, correct?"

Bonds: "He could know other BB's."

He could know other BB's? If that becomes part of Bonds' defense, we are in for an entertaining trial. It could begin sometime next spring, right around the time of Opening Day — which is why, even though Bonds is a free agent who could play for any team that wants him, for a minimum salary — no team is going to offer him dollar one.

At best, Bonds is going to spend a lot of time next year in a courtroom. At worst, he is going to spend time in jail. Either way, who would want him on a roster?

The hunch here is, jail won't happen. Or the sentence will be a very short one. Bonds has the option of defending himself vigorously or cutting a deal. If he is found not guilty — and it's still not clear how strong the government's case is — then he obviously won't be imprisoned. If he cuts a deal, it would likely involve minimal punishment. It's not as if Bonds is a terrorist who needs to be locked away for our protection.

However, if Bonds did calculatedly try to deceive the grand jury, it is definitely important that he be called out for what he is: a liar. Because that goes straight to the heart of what he and others did to baseball during what has come to be known as the Steroid Era: They lied their way to fame and glory. They took illegal performance-enhancing substances that allowed them to hit more home runs and/or throw more powerful strikeout pitches.

Bonds likes to pretend that his public image doesn't matter to him. But it must matter a lot. Otherwise, he would not present himself as a guy who was just lucky enough to hit all those homer runs naturally.

If he didn't care about his image, why didn't he just admit to the grand jury that he was sucked into taking steroids like so many of his baseball generation? If Bonds had done so, then yesterday would not have happened.

This could also explain the long wait for the indictment. Bonds was not the initial primary focus of the government's investigation. It began with a raid on the Balco lab near the San Francisco airport. At first, the case appeared to be mostly about track and field athletes — and the eccentric Balco operator, Victor Conte.

The government's first mission, then, was to convict Conte and the people around him, including Bonds' personal trainer, Greg Anderson. Which is exactly what took place. Other athletes visited the grand jury courtroom and were not indicted because they told the truth and admitted they took Balco drugs.

Conte and Anderson were sent to jail based on that testimony. Then, and only then, did the government turn its attention to Bonds and whether he had told the truth on the witness stand by claiming he thought the substances he was taking were "flaxseed oil" and "arthritis balm." But the indictment says the government has "evidence" that Bonds tested positive "for the presence of anabolic steroids and other performance-enhancing substances."

One unresolved mystery: If the government had all of this evidence, did it need to keep Anderson in jail for refusing to testify against Bonds? (Anderson was released yesterday after the indictment.) Perhaps the answers will be revealed at the trial.

No matter how you cut it, this will be a winter of misery for Bonds. Within weeks, Major League Baseball is expected to release the Mitchell Report, an investigative study of the game's steroid abuse. Bonds' name will surely be mentioned in that report — and when it is, Commissioner Bud Selig could choose to retroactively strip Bonds' home run record.

When Bonds began his romance with the juice, he had to know a day like this might come. Was the love affair really worth it? Because after yesterday, his career, just like his last swing, died on the warning track.