Letters

Living History

All of us should enjoy—to a certain extent—Bonds's journey to 756 (He's Barry, But He's Our Barry, May 21) and realize what a once-in-a-lifetime talent he is. Let time vindicate or vilify Bonds; the truth will surface eventually. One thing we can all agree on: We're witnessing something historic.
Phil McRae, Redondo Beach, Calif.

I've been reading SI since I played Little League in the '60s, and this was the first issue I've thrown away without reading. Barry Bonds is a cheater, and there's nothing about him that deserves a place on the cover of your magazine.
Barry McCormick, Powder Springs, Ga.

Thank you for including an image of the Golden Gate Bridge as a scale to give the reader a true perspective as to how much Bonds's head has grown as a result of his steroid use.
Jim Zealor, New York City

Giants executive vice president Larry Baer says Barry Bonds shares the club's "sense of family" and has a "loyalty" to the organization that "overshadows all else." The "all else" presumably includes Barry's failure year after year to join the rest of the "family" for team photos.
Richard Boyce, San Francisco

Whatever advantage Barry Bonds may have derived from a possible use of legal or illegal substances, it could not compare with the advantages preintegration white major leaguers received by never having to compete against a player of color. Consider that in 1936 the greatest athlete in the world, Jesse Owens, could not have even tried out for a big league club. I do not believe this journalistic assault on Barry Bonds would be occurring if he were white.
Wade A. Welch, Phoenix

Fans in opposing cities don't boycott the Giants when they come to town, they turn out in droves just to boo him. When the gate is counted, MLB will laugh all the way to the bank.
Matt Kuehl, Milwaukee

Playing for Keepsakes

You can't blame Rickey Henderson for keeping his first foul ball (PLAYERS, May 21), which he caught last month at a Giants game. I attended my first baseball game at the Polo Grounds as a seven-year-old in 1963 and caught my first foul ball at Yankee Stadium as a 39-year-old in 1995. It is sitting on a shelf in a ball holder. I'd probably give another to a little kid if I got one, but the first one—no way.
Richard Weksberg, Brooklyn

Coaches' Cradle