I'm rooting for Barry Bonds, whether he likes it or not. I'm rooting for him even if he sets the consecutive-games record for blowing off reporters and the world at large.

I root for any player striving for greatness. Bonds hasn't done that just by setting the record for most home runs before the All-Star break. He has done it his entire career. Yet the national angst is building, nearly as quickly as Bonds' home run total.

Will fans root for Barry? Should they root for Barry? Or will they be indifferent to a player who might break Mark McGwire's single-season home run record but carries the reputation of being a creep?

It's virtually impossible to defend some of Bonds' ways. He regularly behaves like a churl with the media and elicits mixed feelings inside his own clubhouse. But fans would be wise to trust the art, not the artist, a player's performance on the field, not his image off it.

Everyone wants this to be the summer of '98, the image of Big Mac and Sammy all but holding hands, leading fans on a feel-good, only-in-America pursuit. It seemed genuine then, and it sure played big with the public. But not every record chase includes an Up with People soundtrack.

Ty Cobb, Mickey Mantle, Pete Rose and even Joe DiMaggio--some of the biggest stars in major league history--were later revealed to be less than perfect human beings. Bonds appears to fall into the same category. But let's put his principal flaw--surliness--in perspective.

Cobb was a racist, Mantle an alcoholic, Rose a gambler accused of betting on baseball and banned from the sport. DiMaggio was perhaps the biggest myth, a cynical grouch who shamelessly exploited his fame. And those are just four examples.

Once upon a time, the media weren't nearly as aggressive about revealing players' warts. But as reporters became more diligent, players became more savvy, counterattacking with public-relations machines that could spin even the most despicable stars into sympathetic figures.

Who knows what to believe?

McGwire's image is impeccable and seemingly deserved. But Big Mac can sound downright petulant talking about all he "went through" in '98, as if he were a latter-day Roger Maris. He also has been less than gracious on the subject of Bonds, grumbling, "I was lucky enough to reach 70, and now they're all talking about 70 like it's a piece of cake."