Tell us how you really feel

Bud Selig arose out of his seat only when it seemed conspicuous not to do so. Still, he gathered himself slowly like a petulant teenager who was told by his parents to go take out the garbage or worse, give his over-perfumed and plump aunt Tilly a big hug a kiss right on her peach-fuzzed jowls.

But then Selig did something really amazing that can only be described as an act of defiance that could fairly be measured as a modern-day version of Tommie Smith and John Carlos giving the gloved fisted Black Power salute at the Mexico City Olympic Games in 1968.

Selig jammed his hands in his pockets.

The only thing he could have done to top his non-acknowledgement acknowledgement would have been to stretch his arms as far as he could into the soft, night-time air in San Diego’s Petco Park and give an obnoxious yawn. But really there was no need for a yawn. The rest of us did that for the commissioner.

A reluctant stand from his seat at the ballpark followed by shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers was how Bud Selig, the man at the helm of baseball’s so-called Steroid Era, reacted when witnessing home run No. 755 by Barry Bonds on Saturday night. Around him the fans appeared to react similarly as the commissioner in that they weren’t really sure how they should react. Some cheered, perhaps not for the man who hit home run No. 755, but because they got to see something that people would talk about or talk about how no one cares – an odd little irony that seems to follow Selig’s game (and all sports) like a lost puppy.

Others, of course, booed. But even that seemed as if it was out of some sort of duty rather than true disdain for the guy who hit the homer to tie Hank Aaron’s record. Really, what do the fans in San Diego care about the assault on Aaron’s record? It’s not as if Padres fans are like the baseball zealots in the Northeast where the game was created and the numbers accumulated during a routine baseball game are viewed as sacrosanct. Yankees fans care. So do Red Sox and Phillies fans.

Padres’ fans? Yeah, it’s a nice night out and maybe they’ll even play “Hells Bells” when Trevor Hoffman comes in for the ninth. Padres’ fans? They taunt Mr. 755 with signs depicting neatly stenciled asterisks. That’s clever and makes a point, but it’s hardly defiant.

But that’s the thing, no one really seems angry that Hank Aaron’s all-time home run record is about to be surpassed by an admitted steroid user (and yes, grand jury testimony in which one says that he used the cream and the clear is an admitted steroid user). Nor does anyone think it’s kind of funny that the guy who served up No. 755, Clay Hensley, was suspended as a minor leaguer for testing positive for steroids.

No one really knows what to think about the whole home run mess. Apathy and outrage seem equally trite, but perspective about what home run No. 756 and beyond really mean escapes us. ESPN, the network that carried the game late Saturday night, didn’t have its top team calling the action. Instead of the inscrutable and annoying ramblings of Chris Berman, Jon Miller or Joe Morgan, former pitcher Orel Hershiser and play-by-play man Dave O’Brien spent most of the middle innings dumping all over the milestone, baseball during the steroid era while detailing why it was hard to be excited about No. 755. However, the duo attempted to do right by ESPN, the corporate partner of Major League Baseball, by reminding everyone about due process and the fact that there has never been a positive drug test on one man’s climb up the charts.

Grand jury testimony or no grand jury testimony.

Clearly, Aaron’s new co-home run leader had no realistic perspective on No. 755.

“It just feels weird,” he said. “Alex is going through it right now. Each time gets tougher. I don't know what to think right now. I just don't. It's just a weird thing right now.”

Actually, Alex, as in Alex Rodriguez who became the youngest to 500 home runs just a few hours prior to No. 755, isn’t going through it right now. Alex, after all, doesn’t have the threat of indictment hanging over his head.

Yet through it all the commissioner of baseball stood there with his hands in his pockets. The only man to witness the only two 755th home runs in the history of baseball looked as if he would have preferred to be anywhere else.