SAN FRANCISCO — "You following me?"
Barry Bonds turned around and snarled while making his way down the dugout steps.
I told him no.
In reality, though, I've been following him since I started covering the San Francisco Giants and their mercurial superstar in the summer of 2002. And I'm sure to have even more company than usual this year as Bonds takes aim on the most famous record in sports, Hank Aaron's 755 career home runs.
Bonds starts this season only 21 shy of tying Aaron, and the chase amid steroid allegations and a federal perjury investigation would probably get to the most easy-going of players, much less a complicated character like Bonds -- surly one day, friendly, charming and introspective the next. He knows I'm chronicling his quest, but you still never know how he's going to be. You have to play every opportunity just right.
Sometimes it's as simple as guessing whether he's in a good mood by the way he's carrying himself through the clubhouse. Or you just take a chance.
On March 23, while Bonds' teammates were off on a Cactus League trek to face the Chicago Cubs in Mesa, Ariz., the slugger took the field at Scottsdale Stadium for a solo workout of leg exercises and stretching along the warning track in right field.
It was peaceful, just how Bonds likes it. In the past, this session would have included his personal trainers, but they are no longer allowed in restricted areas of the ballpark -- part of the one-year, $15.8 million contract that brought Bonds back for a 15th season with the Giants.
A family popped in for a glimpse of the empty stadium and was thrilled to see the club's biggest attraction.
"Barry!" one of the kids hollered.
Bonds smiled and waved, then offered a salute. Just the kind of personal encounter every fan hopes for in the low-key atmosphere of spring training.
But Bonds is like the traffic sign alerting drivers to proceed with caution.
He can be moody, grumpy, short -- like when he derided me in front of other reporters for asking a "stupid" question.
Or he can be downright entertaining on a wide-range of topics, from music to food and all aspects of family life. He takes piano lessons and uses a keyboard to practice in season. He pokes fun at himself.
This spring, Bonds has been in a great mood. At 42 and entering his 22nd big league season, he's once again healthy after several years of nagging injuries. He's running better, nearly two years after three knee operations limited his 2005 campaign to 14 games. He's swinging the bat well following off-season elbow surgery, and is much leaner though his weight is about the same.
Yet you're always left wondering when he might implode.
The season ahead will bring the same old questions about performance-enhancing drugs, while a federal grand jury continues its probe of whether Bonds lied about them under oath, as well as possible tax-evasion charges.
Bonds would rather talk about fashion or the hot new TV show. (His short-lived reality series on ESPN last year never attained such status). He's long been praised by managers and other players for his ability to block out all the distractions as soon as he steps on the field.
The other day, I asked him about the strength in his legs.
"How does it look to you?" he said, grinning.
"Like you're trusting your legs in most situations," I replied. It's true. In a recent game when rain poured all afternoon, he took risks in left field and on the bases that he probably would have avoided the last few years.
Right answer?
"That's good," he said.
It's not always so pleasant.
After one game last season, Bonds was chased by TV crews from the clubhouse down the hallway toward the players' parking lot. Security had to step in and keep them away.
The next day I walked toward a couch and card table, approaching his corner spot in the clubhouse to ask about it: "Do you feel safe in your own stadium?"
That's when he became angry and told me it was a "stupid" question, making a scene for about a dozen members of the national media in town to cover him as he moved closer to passing Babe Ruth for second place on the home run list.
When I explained that he should at least feel secure in his own ballpark, he instructed me to "ask the Giants," one of his standard responses.
A few days later, we were sitting in the dugout casually chatting about life before he headed onto the field for batting practice.
One thing is clear: Bonds understands the intense interest in his every move.
He knows he'll be remembered as much for the steroid allegations, not to mention his polarizing personality, as for his accomplishments. And they are many. He already holds baseball's single-season home run record, hitting 73 in 2001 to break Mark McGwire's mark of 70 just three years before.
He also knows that at this stage, there's not much he can do to change people's minds about him.
