Did you have fun booing Barry Bonds? I hope so, because it's a win-win situation. You, the booer, get to enjoy a warm, tingly feeling of moral superiority and "Ooh, you got buuusted!" grade school schadenfreude. Bonds gets to enjoy a little extra satisfaction when he eviscerates your team and suggests that you can all shut the fuck up now.
He's an inspiration, and here's why: consider Barry's fellow offenders. Rafael Palmeiro decided he couldn't take the heat and packed it up and went home, leaving his team to play "a no-power sea lion who outweighs the Ravens offensive line" at first. Pothead Neanderthal Jason Giambi, after spending 2004 spring training lying about his noticeable weight loss ("No, dude, I was just like, working out, you know? Working out, dude"), gave a mewling, gutless sort-of apology, and he did that only after everybody found out he'd been using the substance he couldn't be bothered to mention while begging for forgiveness.
Barry Bonds, meanwhile, is one of those rare men who really doesn't care what others think of him. He could have taken the easy way out and continued rehabbing his knee over the off-season. Instead, he got back as quickly as possible to rejoin a team all but technically out of the playoff hunt so he could waddle around in left field and scare the hell out of pitchers. He didn't quit like Palmeiro or give a phony apology like Giambi; he took -- welcomed, in fact -- the heat. He has boundless fighting spirit and the kind of drive and determination that sportswriters seem to recognize only when it comes in short infielders who make the appropriate "aw, shucks" noises in front of the press.
So go ahead and boo. Call him Barroid, wave asterisks at him, whatever. You're only making him stronger.