"Something wicked this way comes."

Bonds hit number 754 last night, and now it's just a simple waiting game. Since 1921, only two men have had their names associated with the title "Home Run King." Now, the next time Bonds connects, that miserable interloper will scrawl his name, like offensive graffiti, into baseball history. Few will like it. All will be exposed to it. And it will remain there until someone can erase it.

Some people will treat the new number as legitimate. Proud to Be Yer Bud grudgingly is one of them. He feels kind of stuck. He hates the situation. He knows that the record is tainted, but he's too cautious to start screwing around with picking which records are legitimate. I have to respect him for that, especially since Bud's guts have to be twisting. Hank Aaron may be Bud's best friend in all of baseball. He's clearly the former player that Bud admires the most. Although the Rhino talked about The Trouble with Hank, there's no doubt that that man, Henry Aaron, is the Home Run King and will remain so for another 10 years.

Someday soon, Bonds will jog around the bases to a cacophany of boos and ignorant cheers, and claim the title of Home Run King. That day, I'll be a little sad. Even though I'm too jaded to wax rhapsodical about the purity of baseball, there are still some things that should mean something. This means nothing. Bonds' record will carry all the legitimacy of an antipope.

So, while Bonds cavorts and gambols, I'll be the guy wearing sackcloth and ashes.