Bonds later admitted his complexity—not on the field, mind you, but of Barry Bonds, the person.
Vallejo, California, resident Matthew Ceryes was a security guard at Pac Bell Park (which became SBC Park in 2004) from 2003 to 2005. He had a bird’ s-eye view of the Giants’ inside goings-on, including those of Barry Bonds. In his own words, Ceryes relates a couple of incidents that show the good and the bad of the controversial star.
Matthew Ceryes (photo courtesy Vallejo Marina)
“During the 2004 season, two well-dressed 11-year-old boys approached me pre-game at the ‘velvet rope’ line at the Giants’ clubhouse, where folks with expensive tickets can actually wait while Giants cross the concrete tunnel,” Ceryes said. “Players go down steps to then go up steps to the dugout and field. It was rare, but now and then, one of the stragglers would sign an autograph or pose for a picture. But these kids wanted neither. One politely asked me to go in and tell ‘Uncle Barry’ his nephews were here!” Ceryes continued.
“This used to happen occasionally, with the fakers always smiling or giving away the game with a laugh. I was just about to, ‘O yeah?…’ in the little Caucasian kid’s face when his very focused eyes and my ‘little voice’ simultaneously told me this wasn’t a joke,” Ceryes said.
Ceryes took his name, left a guard at the doors and went in to tell Barry. He respectfully approached his “compound” in the corner. Bonds was shirtless on the edge of his recliner close to his TV (pre-flat screen), on top of which a teammate or coach had added a small, yellow, and black warning sign, “CAUTION: 40-year-old having a senior moment.” Ceryes then said, “Barry, your nephews are here to see you…,” ending with a confidence-fading, question-mark inflection (“…?”)
He jumped onto his feet, slipped on a black athletic fleece, and said, as Ceryes left, that he would be there. When Bonds came out to the line, the kids instantly lit up and Barry brought them to his side with cordial greetings and genuine warmth. Then he bent down, grabbed each kid’s face with his two large hands, and kissed them squarely on the lips.
“I silently congratulated my little voice for not blowing this the ten different ways I could have, reminding myself of Barry’s first marriage and, finally, admiring the loving and affectionate side of his personality (no hard feelings with the ex’s family apparently, wow…),” Ceryes said.
Photo courtesy Deseret News
However, Ceryes said during a 2004 game versus the Pirates, Mr. Bonds made a very different display while holding down the fort at the visitors’ clubhouse. Riding shotgun in a golf cart down the long concrete tunnels, Bonds was going with the Giants doctors for what Ceryes thought was a knee appointment and/or MRI at the under-stadium medical office.
“Slowing down to make the right-handed turn past my post, Barry proceeded to rage out incoherently and physically at somebody who wasn’t there,” Ceryes said. “Kicking over stanchions with a metallic crash and dragging the velvet rope with him for a short ride of 10 more feet or so, he screamed from the cart, ‘Tell that so-and-so McClendon (Pirates manager) he’s such a so-and-so and he can so-and-so-this/that and so-and-so OFF!!’”
“Then just like that, they made the turn, he flipped the rope back toward me, and the cart sort of faded away,” Ceryes continued. “I looked around to find myself completely alone, which in-game was fairly normal. But just who the heck was that for? Lloyd McClendon was busy above us, managing his heart out from the Pittsburgh dugout. No one from the Pirates heard a word of what Barry said, and between the shock of the crashes, I didn’t understand half of what he said either, and I was standing right there.”
Ceryes then picked up three stanchions one at a time and clicked the green velvet line’s golden hooks back into their spots. He reset the fan viewing area for the visiting team and waited for the post-game crush, where afterward, he could catch the N-Judah line back home to the Outer Sunset.
Photo courtesy X
In 2001, when Bonds hit 73 home runs, he earned this review from ESPN’s David Halberstam: “He has also been one of the most difficult to like. The stories have always been quite shocking. They are not, it should be noted, about a distant, somewhat aloof, relatively private young man who keeps himself apart from the amiable pre-game byplay that can make baseball fun. Rather, they are about unprovoked, deliberate, gratuitous acts of rudeness towards people, other players, and distinguished sportswriters. They are of a handsomely rewarded young man of surpassing talent, going out of his way to make the ambiance in which he operates as unpleasant as possible and to diminish the dignity and pleasure of other men (and now women) who also work for a living, even if their talents are somewhat smaller than his.”
But in 2016, when Bonds was serving as hitting coach for the Miami Marlins, he admitted to some of his bad behavior, particularly with the media. Here’s what he told Terence Moore of Sports on Earth.
Barry Bonds: It’s on me. I’m to blame for the way I was [portrayed] because I was a dumbass. I was straight stupid, and I’ll be the first to admit it. I mean, I was just flat-out dumb.” Bonds added, “The one thing that I would never, ever reflect on and talk about changing from the past is my ability with what I did on the field. I did that right when it came to [preparing for and playing the game]. But I didn’t do it the right way regarding my attitude and handling things. There were times during my career when I did try, but I wasn’t given the benefit of the doubt because I had already created the monster.
____________
Matt Sieger, now retired sports reporter/columnist who worked for New York State and California newspapers, did his undergraduate work at Cornell University and received a master’s in journalism from Syracuse University. He is the author of The God Squad: The Born-Again San Francisco Giants of 1978. This article first appeared in The Vacaville Reporter on September 22, 2020.
