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The New Yorker On Barry Bonds

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Ben McGrath's got a fantastic piece about Barry Bonds in the latest New Yorker. It's subscriber-only, but you can read the abstract here, and as a public service I've typed in a particularly compelling passage ...

Watching Bonds hit at the end of his career was transfixing -- his success rate climbing improbably up the ladder, across the fifty-per-cent mark, nearing sixty, and then beyond, obliterating the old cliché about baseball being a game that teaches failure -- even as it suggested something uncomfortable about where the game itself was headed. With his minimalist stroke and robotic discipline, he was like a video-game player who had found a loophole in the programming code to exploit. It's fun until, all of a sudden, it's not.

I won't try to convince you that McGrath's article alone is worth the $5.99 cover price, or whatever a digital subscription costs ... but, you know, it's the freaking New Yorker. If you enjoy the beauty of our language, you should be subscribing already.