By John Klima
Staff Writer

Barry Bonds has some reading to catch up on, but not from the book that he swears he has no interest in. Instead, here's a suggestion for the Sultan of Smug. The next time he barricades himself from the world within the comfort of his leather recliner, perhaps he should read the autobiography of Henry Aaron and skip to the chapters where Aaron published the hate mail he received while he chased down Babe Ruth's record during the 1973 season.

"Dear Henry: I hope you get it between the eyes."

It's a much different, harsher prosecution than Bonds faces now, a sad monument to human shortcomings that only seem to hide, but never go away. History is repeating itself. A greater question than the quest for a record has arrived.

How disappointing can it be to know that baseball has come to this? That its most revered record is being chased down with the same anticipation of an eleventh-hour death penalty appeal? That once its most spectacular player, who in the days when he is reported to have taken nothing stronger than a protein shake was already baseball's premier five-tool player, now threatens to bludgeon a mark on baseball history much greater than a home run record? That Aaron's quest, fulfilled as a measure against the faults of society, is threatened by a player who has come to distort all that Aaron sough to restore?

Denial is the Bonds' companion, as dependable as one of his maple bats. As he smirks with confidence the way Karl Rove proclaims all is well on the Eastern Front, the sad odyssey of Bonds has snaked its way directly to the last obstacle between himself, the records of Ruth and Aaron, and the meaning of baseball in America.

Bud Selig is soon to be at a moment that will define his tenure. The Commissioner said this week that his offices are going to carefully review the evidence in "Game of Shadows" and decide for itself to pursue its own investigation. Intentionally walking Bonds should prove more difficult than legally proving that Bonds lied to a grand jury or, like Pete Rose, failed to pay income tax on cash earnings for sloppy signatures on baseballs. Evidence is mounting while Bonds is demanding baseball questions only.

If Selig evokes the one true power he has, the best interest clause, and banishes Bonds from baseball for life, Selig will have confronted the demons of the game. He cannot fully exonerate himself from the steroid era, nor can he hope to win in a battle against the Player's Association for the right to test for Human Growth Hormone. Yet to ban Bonds would be akin to his own admission of guilt for lording over the era. In a corrupt era, Selig will soon have the power to do what must be done. He cannot remove statistics, but he can remove a player.

Otherwise, what will Bonds' display at the Hall of Fame look like? Will his leather recliner be prominently displayed alongside Lou Gehrig's locker stall? Will his syringe be next to Cool Papa Bell's spikes? Perhaps it would be best kept near the mail Aaron gave to the Hall of Fame.

"Dear Hank: I hope lightning will strike you before this season."

Selig is alone, where only he has the power to protect the legacy and records of his friend, Aaron. When his army of attorneys finds enough bulletproof evidence, Selig must make the most difficult choice of his career and exile Bonds to his rightful place alongside Shoeless Joe Jackson and Rose. It will be his most painful moment, yet the one which defines him, Bonds, and era.

"Dear Henry…I believe you are a man of high morals and wouldn't want to be the holder of a title that could be classified as tainted."

In the jungle of emotions that Bonds stirs, it is somehow pathetically fitting that an item of derogatory mail sent to Aaron more than 30 years ago would fit Bonds just as well today.