O Griff! O Junior! O Fleeting Youth! Run not softly back to my warm-waiting bosom!

Barry Bonds is at 749, just six shy of Hank Aaron's mark, and once again most Americans don't really care. (Though you wouldn't know it from watching Sports Center.) Aaron has repeated that he's not going to bother attending any games once Bonds nears his mark. And Bud Selig has repeated an many occasions that he's unsure whether he'll be in the park when Bonds breaks the record. On one hand, it almost sounds like Aaron is a little bitter that Bonds is going to break his 755. But in light of the BALCO affair and the black cloud that hovers over Bonds because of it, it's hard to blame Aaron. Selig doesn't have a good excuse, however. If he's not going to actively prosecute Bonds for breaking any rules, he has no reason to stay away as Bonds nears the record. Bonds is either a cheater or he isn't. Selig, especially as commissioner, can't have it both ways. (It might be a moot point 15 years from now, however, as both Alex Rodriguez and Albert Pujols could pass Bonds if they stay healthy for their careers, but that's a big IF for a major league ballplayer.)

In the shadow of Bonds' feat, though, a few other ball players have been lost in the home run shuffle. Sammy Sosa, embroiled in his own steroids controversy, just passed the 600 mark, becoming only the fifth player to do so, and drastically improving his Hall of Fame chances. Ken Griffey Jr., in yet another resurgent year, is nearing 600. And Frank Thomas, who fell off the face of the planet for a number of years, is just one short of 500.

As these guys near the end of their careers, something else nears its end in the baseball world, at least according to me. These are the players I came up with as a baseball fan. I'm nearing my 20th year as more than a casual fan of baseball, something that began with the 1988 NLCS which pitted the Mets against the Dodgers. My first clear baseball memory was Kirk Gibson's pinch hit home run in Game 1 of that series, as the underdog Dodgers upset a powerful Mets ball-club. From there on I gravitated towards New York clubs like the Mets and the Yankees, and even a former NY team in the Giants. Guys like Will Clark, Howard Johnson and Don Mattingly quickly became my favorite ball players. And the Yankees, lovable losers at the time, somehow become my favorite team.

Those guys have long since retired, so it's Thomas and Griffey and Sosa whom I remember best, seeing as how their careers have coincided with my love for the game. And it's sad to see these guys nearing the end. I wouldn't be surprised if Sosa called it quits after this year, now that he's reached 600. Thomas may have another year left in him, but that's yet to be seen. Griffey, who still looks 20-something, seems to have a couple more years to go, especially now that he's ready to leave Cincinnati for a playoff contender. Guy wants a ring, and who can blame him for that?

But when they leave the game, I feel like I become, by default, one of the "old-timers," a weird thought for a 27 year old. Glavine, Biggio, Clemens, Franco...it's hard to say how many games these guys have left. And when they're gone, a year or two from now, I will have been a fan of this game for a complete generation -- 20 years. The guys I grew up watching have been almost completely replaced by a new crop of players. That's not to say I don't like A-Rod and Jeter and company -- they're great ball players. But I distinctly remember when they came up into the the league. I can't say that about Sosa or Clemens. And it's different because of that, even though I can't really explain it. I remember being all of 16 years old, and calling guys like Jeter and Posada "kids." That takes an old soul. But now, when those "kids" are nearing the end of their careers, what do you call young guys like Prince Fielder and Ryan Braun?

I guess what I'm getting at is that all loves eventually mellow out at some point. There was a time there, near the end of the steroids era and in the midst of the Yankees dynasty, when I stopped caring about baseball. Luckily, that didn't last. But this renewed love for the game is different than it used to be. It's more grounded in history and poetry, economics and and a willingness to lose three hours to a game in which very little, and everything in the world, happens. It's not quite as passionate, but it doesn't need to be. I'm committed to this game now. I'm committed to it in the same way I'm committed to other great American inventions like Bluegrass, Walk Whitman and Wisconsin Cheddar. It's part of me. And I'm happier for it.

It's alot of fun to be a fan once again, an old-timer now, who sneers at the young pups who prefer the NFL or the NBA (or, God forbid, NASCAR). Basbeall is as much America as Harry Truman or Mark Twain. No matter who it is out there on the diamond, I'm always going to have a piece of my heart out there.

It's honestly about as romantic a game as you'll ever see. And the older I get, the more I realize just how perfect it really is.

President Bush Wants To Kill The Muppets, Then Drink Their Blood And Sacrifice Their Flesh To His All-Seeing Sky-God...

...Then Piss In Their Smoldering Eye-Sockets, Then Laugh Maniacally While Outlawing Gay Marriage, So Please Give Us Money (...was that too much?)

President Bush has a budget. A $2.9 trillion budget to keep this country running for another year. And in his budget this year he's made his disdain known for the Corporation of Public Broadcasting, asking for Congress to cut its annual budget by almost 25%. But don't worry about Grover and Company (wait a tic, is Grover still on Sesame Street anymore? all I see is Elmo when I flip by); it's not going to happen for two reasons.

One, we've got a Democratic Congress. And they looooooove PBS. No dice, Mr. President. Those nasty Checks and Balances win again.

And two, no one takes this budget seriously. Not even in the good old days when the Republicans ran the Capital Rotunda.

Actually, when I said this budget was for the next year, I kind of lied. This proposed budget will keep the country running for 365 days from October 2007, when the fiscal year for the federal government actually begins. Basically, the president presents a budget every year on the first Monday of February. The Senate and the House kick it around for a couple of months, add things, delete things, add things, rewrite things, argue loudly, then quietly add a few more things and pass it. The end result looks very different from what the president proposed, but that's just the way things go -- no matter who's in control of Congress.

This president has run up quite the tab since he took office, turning an annual budget surplus (taking in more money than the government could spend) into a sizable annual deficit (spending more money than the government collected). It's all over those books you see propped up in Borders or Barnes and Noble -- you know the ones: Spend That Money, You Big-Government Jackass!; Lies, Lies, Lies and Where the Hell Did Our Surplus Go?; and my personal favorite, Our President is a Great, Big Douchebag Who Spent All Our Children's Money, Right After He Stole the Election and Invaded Iraq to Liberate Their Oil....Douchebag.*

What my point is, is this: Our president is trying to make up for all that spending by presenting a paper-tiger budget with a bunch of cuts that he knows and Congress knows and really everyone in Washington knows will never be passed. With a Republican Congress, maybe you get a few. With a Democratic one, fat chance. But the president has promised to cut the annual budget deficit by the time he leaves office, which in Washington lingo means, "Pretend to try to cut the annual budget deficit, then blame Congress when your pretense fails, thus cementing your legacy as a 'trier' who couldn't get his way, but was basically a good guy with a good heart so please vote for Condi. Please."

And everyone comes out happy. President Bush looks like a tough, fiscal conservative (excuse while I laugh for a few minutes, uncontrollably, until I pass out....okay, I'm back). Democrats in Congress get a fun punching bag to punch to rally the troops 'round. And progressive groups get a few punches in too, raising millions of dollars with which to fight the Evil Empire in the process (the president is taking away Sesame Street and NOVA! give Concerned Citizens against Abstinence and Coal Power craploads of your money!). See, smiles all around.

Cause it's this game. A game that both sides have been playing for a long time. And the funny things is, after all the blustering about killing Grover or Elmo or John McLaughlin, nothing actually changes, except for the hundreds of millions of dollars that change hands during that whole punching process I mentioned above. If we were smart, we'd just ignore this budget, try not to get so pissy, and write a new budget, a better budget, a budget with little hearts and smiley faces drawn in the margins.

But who can resist scaring the crap out of America? They're taking away Elmo for Godsakes! For the actual sake of Christ-crucified, don't you see what we must do! Don't you see why this man in so terrible and evil and wants to rape your country! Don't you see the monstrous overhead it takes to run this non-profit organization that protects you from this evil man, who is wanting to rape your country!

See? Now isn't screaming that so much more satisfying than reason and compromise? I'll say.


*I'm pretty sure those books don't actually exist. They might. I just haven't been inside a Borders for while to either confirm nor deny their physical existence.