We were at the game last night (pix later), and got to watch the Rickey Henderson chase for 3000 first-hand. We also saw baseball honor two of its true heroes, with a whole brigade of elected officials from the city, the county, the state, and even Mexico congratulating Henderson and Gwynn for their acheivements. Mayor Dick Murphy named yesterday Rickey Henderson Day and this week Tony Gwynn Week. Selig came out and did a surprisingly good job of not ruining the moment, even noting Tony’s commitment to San Diego in taking over as coach at SDSU in 2003.

After the pregame festivities, a moment of silence–save for a couple of barking police dogs and one idiot a few seats down who couldn’t spare even a few precious seconds of talking on his cell phone to remember our fellow countrymen.

Then came the game, and a great deal of futility on the home squad’s part against rookie RHP Jason Jennings. The youngster pitched six shutout innings but didn’t look overpowering, although he did show the ability to work his way out of trouble. His fastball ran 90-92, and he consistently worked up in the strike zone, a bit surprising for someone who calls Coors Field home. Jennings complemented the fastball with a nasty slider that hitters were chasing even when he was behind in the count, and a decent change-up. We sat along the right-field line, at a pretty severe angle, so I didn’t have the best view of Jennings, but generally speaking he reminded me a bit of a young Andy Benes.

As for Henderson, the closest he came to a hit was when he hit a rocket to the left of second baseman Jose Ortiz, who somehow managed to snag it on one hop and throw Rickey out by plenty. The crowd gave Rickey a standing ovation every time he stepped up to the plate, and the folks out in the left-field bleachers cheered wildly each time he took his position in the field. For as villified as he has been over the years in some circles, Rickey has been nothing but a positive influence here in San Diego, and he has been a fan favorite during both stints with the Padres.

Gwynn made his lone trip to the plate with one out in the bottom of the ninth, pinch-hitting for Cesar Crespo. He grounded Jose Jimenez‘ second pitch to Ortiz for an out number two. The crowd gave Tony a standing ovation as he approached the plate, after he was announced, and again as he trotted back to the dugout.

It’s so easy to be cynical about baseball, with all the big money and big egos involved. But last night, watching Tony one final time, and seeing clips of him on the big screen between innings, when he was truly a brilliant player who could do almost anything on a baseball field, I was reminded of why I love this game. Every clip of Gwynn showed him in a Padres uniform (yes, even the Ray Kroc hamburger-and-mustard unis from the early-80s), and I guess we here in San Diego maybe have taken Tony for granted over the years, as if there were some law of physics that kept him in this city.

But there are no natural laws that describe Gwynn’s presence in San Diego. There is only Tony. It was by choice–a choice that wasn’t always popular with some close to him (or the union), who thought he could make more money playing elsewhere–that he remained a Padre. It’s difficult for someone like me to think seriously of sacrifice when speaking of millions of dollars, but given his millieu, Gwynn did make sacrifices to remain in San Diego. And even now, as plays his final homestand, we know he will be here next year, just up the hill, coaching as an unpaid volunteer his alma mater, in a stadium bearing (despite Tony’s protests) his name.

. . .

I hope all the idiots out there who have been bad-mouthing Bonds for so long will finally start giving him the credit he is due. For a guy who generally has been an upstanding–if aloof and downright surly at times–citizen [Ed note: This was before all the BALCO stuff came to light], he has gotten may too much grief from a bunch of embittered old writers for no apparent reason other than he didn’t kiss their asses or give them neatly wrapped sound bites for their columns. Sad to say, this begrudging of Bonds as a personality, as a human being, has extended to Bonds as a player, and there are those who would advocate Sammy Sosa as a more worthy MVP candidate this year, who would tag Bonds with the label “choker,” who would dismiss the notion that Bonds is one of the top three or four players ever to set foot on a baseball field. To those people I suggest finding a different line of work. Anyone who has followed his career and objectively measured all that he has accomplished in this game understands Bonds’ place in history. Anyone who fails to recognize his greatness really shouldn’t refer to themselves as a baseball writer. It’s embarrassing to Bonds, to the game, to themselves, and to their employer.