I still remember Opening Day, 1993, when I was 9 years old. I remember the excitement in the air. Coming to San Francisco were the Florida Marlins, an expansion team with flashy teal colors and a roster that boasted catcher Charlie Johnson as their main attraction. The real excitement came with the Giants new main big ticket- a cocky diamond earring wearing left fielder who had recently signed the largest deal ever for an athlete.
Summertime sunshine has always equated to more home runs by Barry Bonds. Sometimes his home run total was greater than the average San Francisco temperature. As the temperatures in Phoenix consistently remain at 112 degrees, meaning summertime is in full swing, I find myself living a decidedly different summer than I have in years past.
I do not tune into SportsCenter to catch the box score of the San Francisco Giants games. I have not pirated baseball games using a friend of a friend of a friend’s username and password at MLB.com. I have little interest in whoever roams the grass in left field at AT&T park, or even how they’re doing in replacing the largest shoes ever left behind.
As my faded black and orange jersey with the number 25 stitched on the back hangs on my bedroom wall, the feeling is that summer without Barry Bonds just doesn’t seem right.