Barry Bonds is one home run away from tying Hank Aaron for the all-time lead in home runs.

After the Mets loss last night, I must say that although I thought I wouldn't care, I was glued to the screen after Bonds came one closer to Aaron's mark.  Part train wreck, part spectacle, and part *history, watching Bonds was riveting.

Someone will someday surpass Bonds' imminent record, A-Rod perhaps who is on the verge of his own milestone (500 home runs), perhaps some unknown player who has not yet been born into this tainted baseball world of doubt and skepticism. This faith is somewhat comforting to someone who will probably never know for sure whether Bonds cheated or not, although I wasn't born yesterday.

I wish the cold-blooded, surly Bonds luck trying to cope with the "satisfaction" he will get from breaking sports' most hallowed record, most probably by breaking the rules to get there. I'm sure some O.J.esque defense mechanism will convince him that he has deserved being called the Home Run King, and somewhere in that oversized head of his, he is happy to have become a better player than his father and that by surpassing his godfather Willie Mays' home run mark, that speaks for itself.

The saddest part of this soap opera to me is that Bonds would have been a Hall Of Famer without any alleged enhancement.  But, for someone with a Napolean Complex, that just wasn't good enough.  So Barry, on the eve of your greatest achievement, I hope you sleep well as you continue to convince yourself that being great is only but a number.