So now that Big Frank is (more or less) goneski to the land of logging, snow, and the Quebecois, there is talk that Barry Bonds could fill the obligatory "possibly washed up slugger" role.  And if the A's sign him, I quit.

If my favorite team, the team I've followed since I was a small lad in Santa Rosa, California, the team I've kept highest in my affections even as a college student Moscow, Idaho, signs a disgusting, self-absorbed, steroid-grubbing excuse for a ballplayer like Bonds, I'm going to put a moratorium on my fanhood; a moratorium that will last until he leaves the clubhouse that sheltered my childhood heroes.

I'll still root for individual players on the team-- I'll cheer every time I see Chavvy on Web Gems, I'll flush with pride when Bobby Crosby hits .270 with 18 bombs (bold prediction!), and I'll smile when I see Joe Blanton on SportsCenter carving up opposing hitters with his lethal fastball-changeup-yellow hammer combination.  But I'll refuse to watch even 1 game.  I'll abstain from wearing any of my extensive collection of A's gear.  And if the boys went all the way to the World Series, I'd be happy for 'em, but I wouldn't celebrate.

I always felt comfortable that we'd never even have to think about Bonds playing for us because his inflated ego would always insist he was owed a bloated contract, despite declining performance.  Clearly, that's not a certainty.

Please, Billy.  Please don't let Bonds break that record in an A's uniform.  Haven't we suffered enough this off-season?