Wait, Barry Bonds has been taking performance enhancing drugs? That changes everything!

Seriously, what’s left to say about Barry’s bust? The pundits have had their say and of all the bloggers and columnists out there who have weighed in on the Bonds “greenies” scandal, I think my favorite is San Francisco Chronicle blogger C.W. Nevius (awesome name!), who says Bonds’ bust has confirmed two suspicisions: Bonds is on drugs, and baseball is out to get Barry.

From SFGate.com:

Kind of takes the edge off that gigantic fireworks celebration that was planned when, and if, Bonds breaks Hank Aaron’s all-time home run record, doesn’t it?

Since he’s only 22 dingers behind, it seems well within reach, even given his fragile knees. The Giants would be on the hook for a one-year $16 million contract, which would lead up to one of the most unpopular record-setting performances of all time. Unless, of course, something happens.

And it now looks increasingly likely that the Lords of the Game wouldn’t mind if something did happen. The release of his grand jury testimony to Chronicle reporters was no accident. The was a leak with a message.

And now, to have his positive amphetamine test released, although it is supposed to kept secret, is another example.

For years and years Bonds has made no secret that he thinks people are out to get him.

Guess what? He might be right.

So, yeah. I filed this column with the Boston Metro last week. If I can just take a page from an old college professor for a moment and quote myself (sorry):

I don’t know what the opposite of pennant fever is, but I’ve got it. Playing-out-the-schedule Syndrome? Seasonal Ineffective Disorder? Offseasonitis?

[...]

We’ll no doubt be returning to the Red Sox like moths to the flame by Opening Day — well, to be honest, by the time that pitchers and catchers report — but right now, we’re feeling burned.

I would just like to say that with the return of the Red Sox lineup to the Red Sox lineup (Varitek, Ortiz, Nixon, and Manny have all come back in the past couple of days), I too have returned—mothlike to the flame. About five months early. I still feel burned, but I’ve slathered some aloe on that biznitch and I’m ready to rock n roll (just like Timlin–see above).

Yes, Red Sox, you treat me like crap! You forget my birthday! You never, ever call when you say you will! But I love you! Don’t leave me! Take me back!

Dan Shaughnessy and Eric Wilbur and many another sourpuss can keep their “Slow down, be realistic, shyah right and monkeys might fly out of my butt” attiudes. There will be plenty of long, cold, dark winter months with no baseball to turn to—why shouldn’t I squeeze every last drop of elation/despair out of summer’s remaining weeks? After all, you can’t be afraid to love. If I may quote Natasha Bedingfield, “Live your life with arms wide open!” And if you get hurt, so be it. After all, if I may quote the Eagles, “We may lose and we may win, but we will never be here again.” I just can’t say it any better than that, sports fans. Tis better to have foolishly believed your team could still make the playoffs and lost than to never have foolishly believed your team could still make the playoffs at all. That’s my motto. And I’m not alone.

And in the likely event that the Sox don’t make the playoffs…well, it’s always better to win than to lose. And at this point, we’ll take whatever pickins we can get—no matter how slim they are.