In 1986, a skinny, strong-armed, fast and athleticly gifted kid arrived in the majors. Under the tutelage of manager Jim Leyland, Barry Bonds prowled left field with a grace and strength that few others had. At the plate, he had an eye that most would kill to have. His bat had some power - not a ton of power - but enough to drive 25 home runs a year, every year. As he aged and got better, those 25 home runs became 30, and he began adding 30 steals to his resume. A team was built around him. Players like Andy Van Slyke, Jose "Chico" Lind, Mike LaValliere and Bobby Bonilla formed the nucleus of a good young team that was making fans forget how bad the team was in the early 1980s. Then, at the apogee of those young Pirate teams, Bonds, Bonilla and Bream (the early 90s "Killer Bs") played in three straight National League Championship Series. In 1990, they played a Cinderalla team destined to win the Series against the seemingly overwhelming power of the Oakland A's. Cincinnati defeated Pittsburgh rather easily. People wondered, though, why the performance of their big stars - espeically Bonds - was so bad. In 1991 and 1992, the Pirates and Braves met in two of the closest, most entertaining NLCS series ever. Both teams had stellar pitching and the pitching shut the hitting down completely. Knuckleballer Tim Wakefield baffled the Braves; the Braves rotation of Smoltz, Glavine and Maddox dominated the Pirates hitting. And yet, the Pirates were 3 outs away in 1992 from getting to the world series when the wheels fell off and the Pirates lost in heartbreaking fashion. And after that season ended, the Pirates - unable to afford Bonds - had to watch him go. Along with the rest of the team, and it sent Pittsburgh into a downward spiral that they haven't yet recovered from. As long as Barry Bonds has played for the San Francisco Giants, the Pirates have finished below .500. Frankly, in some of those years, their ignominious title was "worst in the majors." Something happened to Bonds after he watched the love Sosa and McGuire got in their fabled home run derby in 1998. The game was rejuvenated by the antics of those two men alone. A game that had been decimated by a strike and bad blood on all sides was lifted up and put on the broad shoulders of a St. Louis Cardinal and a Chicago Cub. The whispers were still around - Bonds fails in the clutch. And when he saw his star as the game's brightest be dimmed somewhat by two simple sluggers - two men lacking his all-around skills - Bonds became jealous. Justifiable? Perhaps - after all, the best athletes in the world hate to see anyone surpass them. When that happens, they will often reach deep inside and find that well of desire and drive that catapaults them to greater heights. We've all seen it in amateur sports like in the Olympics, and in the play of football players who just refuse to allow their team to lose. But Bonds didn't just want to reclaim that star - it seems that he wanted to reach out for it, pull it down and have it for lunch. Which he did, and his 2001 season was one that many will recall for years to come. But it came at a price. Questions - inevitable questions - were being asked even then. Were steroids involved? In 1998 and 2001, steroids weren't an issue in baseball. They weren't banned. If anything, the use of them was tolerated by the brass. It wasn't until a "meddling" Congress got involved that baseball realized they had a problem. Baseball has always been careful about its PR - like football, they hate to have anything bad written about the game or its best players. The sport has always been bigger than the sum of its parts. The players are part of the sport, as are the owners. They have a duty to the sport, according to many. Their competition against one another is for the good of the team, for their own personal financial gain and for the individual achievements they can produce. But at no time should one man become larger than the game itself, for its the game that has given them the opportunities. When teenage kids began dying from steroid use, Congress, concerned parents and others began turning a critical eye to its national sports teams. Football already had a steroid policy in place. Baseball didn't. And the questions and critical comments were aimed right at Bud Selig's sport. Selig, the owners and the players union came to a rather painful conclusion. If they didn't do "something," Congress might impose its own will on the game. No one wanted that. So the 10-game suspension was born. Several players were suspended last year in the first year of operations, including a game's big star slugger Rafael Palmero. This was a man who was subpoenaed by Congress, and testified that he never used performance enhancing drugs. And then he was caught. His first response was to try and throw a teammate under the bus instead of taking personal responsibility. That failed, and its no small surprise to this writer that Palmero is sitting at home right now, watching baseball and the WBC on television. No one wants a shriveled up has been player. Another player long-rumored to be involved with steroids was Jason Giambi. He took a different route - he came clean and admitted usage. And for most of last year, he was a non-factor. He had the typical weight loss and injuries that come from dropping steroid usage. But Giambi recognized that in admitting the use, he would take a lot of heat at first, but if he managed to scratch and claw his way back, that people would forgive him. They would say "he made a mistake, and look at him now." Giambi - by the end of last year and by most accounts in this spring training - has bulked up again the natural way, has regained some measure of his strength and should again be a solid addition to the New York Yankees. Which finally brings us back to the skinny, fast kid that started his career in Pittsburgh. Allegations have followed him for years. Grand jury testimony suggested that he took these drugs "without knowing what they really were." He categorically denied knowingly taking any performance enhancing drugs. But the physical changes in his body suggest otherwise. His entire body got freakishly large, and this in his mid to late thirties. He's continued to bash the baseball when other greats' performance fell off dramatically by the end of their career. With the publishing of the book "Shadow Game," it suggests that Bonds not only juiced, but did so to take the easy way out. Instead of pushing his body to its limits in the weight room, using natural enhancers (like protein shakes and what not), running and basically putting his body through the ringer to stave off age, he took the drugs. And then he took more. And then he began taking a cocktail of drugs. His ex-mistress has testified in the personality changes, the sexual side effects and the other known effects of steroid usage. The two reporters have sifted through many pieces of information and detailed a long and exhaustive picture of Bonds and his steroid abuse. When all of the dust settles and any potential allegations are proved (or, unlikely, disproved), the reputation of Barry Bonds will be dashed forever. Here is a player that could have been listed among the game's best ever players on the basis of his talents alone. He had unbelievable skills - in the field, on the bases, and at the plate. He was also enigmatic, arrogant and distant, but when he played, it was with a skill and grace that made even "haters" give him grudging respect. No one denied the greatness of Barry Bonds. Two days ago, at least, they didn't. Yesterday and today, the reactions are starting to flood in. And the greatness of Barry Bonds is tarnished, questioned and sullied. This man attempted to be bigger than the game itself. The game will punish him, like it has punished all those in the past who've attempted to be bigger than the game. The fans - casual and die-hard - will punish him for transgressions against the game. Opposing players will get a charge out of playing him, and beating him. No quarter will be given to Bonds for the rest of his career. In cities like Pittsburgh, Bonds will endure heckling for every second he steps onto the field. People will hurl insults at him, and he'll have to stand there and take it. In the end, he will get what he deserves. I have enjoyed the game of baseball for years. There is a simple elegance in the game. Watching a shortstop range deep in the hole, make a stabbing catch, whirl and jump-throw a man out at first is a thing of beauty. Watching Jim Edmonds range deep in center field and make another circus, basket, over-the-shoulder catch equals it. I love a good pitching duel - the tension that builds with each out and goose egg after goose egg is put on the board. The double-steal, the hit and run, the suicide squeeze - these are the little plays in baseball that make it such a fun sport to watch and love. I admire the players for their abilities to throw wicked heat, King Charles curve balls or sliders that buckle the knees. I love watching Big Papi dig deep and smack a ball that shouldn't be hit out of the park, and jog around the basepaths with a little smile. This is what makes baseball great. But...unfortunately, now we have a black cloud in the game. And the focus will be on Bonds again, but not for his game-changing plays, but for his reputation, his arrogance and his willingness to cheat. It is a sad day for baseball, that they have embraced such a player for such a long time. Baseball's reward? A giant, chew-laden spit in the face.