As much as Barry Bonds sickens me, I’m glad he finally broke the record. Not because I’m happy for him, but because I finally don’t have to hear about him any more. To quote Phil Rogers at ESPN.com,

After a 30-day stretch in which a .279 hitter on a last-place team has dominated the headlines in baseball — that is, from the time that Barry Bonds spent an hour in front of reporters on the eve of the All-Star Game until Tuesday night, after a home run that set out the jubilant celebration that extended from AT&T Park almost all the way to Alcatraz — the focus shifts back to simpler pursuits.

So it’s official. Every facet of the great American pass time has been tainted. There is no sacred ground left. Now I just feel bad for the handful of decent men who tried to preserve the integrity of the sport — guys like Ken Griffey Jr., who is only 11 homers away from 600. His mark — heroic in my mind — will never hit the radar in a world dominated by the juice, the cream, and the clear.