Dear Barry Bonds,

By now, everyone has read the accusations made against you by Mark Fainaru-Wada and Lance Williams of the San Francisco Chronicle. Their upcoming book, Game of Shadows, provides evidence of what many of us have suspected for years – that your transformation from a skinny, speedy slugger to a bulbous-headed Incredible Hulk was aided by steroids and other illegal performance enhancers. More than ever, we have reason to question the credibility of your achievements on the baseball field, especially in the years since 1998. The skepticism that surrounded your later-career power binge – you went from three seasons of 40+ home runs in the 1990s to five straight from 2000-2004 – now seems more than justified. From the current vantage point, it appears that you, more than any other player, will become the face of baseball’s steroid era.

That is why I am offering you the following advice: Retire. You were indicted in the court of public opinion long ago, and if the jury of the fans hadn’t convicted you of juicing yet, they certainly will now. The legions of fans who came out to see take batting practice in 2001 will now be coming out to boo you and (rightfully) accuse you of cheating, but you have bigger problems than the drunks in section 310.

You have hit 708 home runs in the major leagues. If we are to believe the history of your steroid use presented in Game of Shadows, nearly 300 are tainted. There are a lot of players who would have killed to hit 300 homers during their career; you, drug-aided, did it in just over six seasons. The home runs that you piled on took you from being the player of the ‘90s and a definite Hall of Famer to one of the most prolific players in the history of baseball. Even with your current injury troubles, you have a legitimate shot at hitting the 48 home runs that you need to pass Hank Aaron; you will probably pass Babe Ruth by mid-May.

You already knew that the media scrutiny would intensify as you approached Aaron’s home run record. Now, with the revelation of your steroid use, the coverage will increase tenfold. Worse yet, you are likely to face venomous opposition from a number of places – most notably the fans, perhaps many of the writers that you were rude to during the last twenty years, and maybe even respected ballplayers, both past and present. Instead of becoming an even bigger baseball hero, you will be completely vilified as a cheater. People will not see your quest for number 756 as an example of a player trying to reach the pinnacle of his profession; they will see you as a selfish man trying to bring glory to himself. To put it plainly, you will fall somewhere between the shameful and regrettable Pete Rose and a modern-day MacBeth, destroyed by your rampant ambition.

The only way to save any shred of dignity and avoid public humiliation will be to walk away. No more talk about passing Babe Ruth and becoming the best left-handed hitter ever. Ruth led a sad personal life, but he was loved as a player and fans accepted him as their favorite man-child. To most fans, you have also led a sad public life, and have compounded that by dishonoring your profession and being a poor ambassador for baseball. Continuing to play would only serve to further cement this image into the minds of fans everywhere and further alienate you from the people that you are paid to entertain.

Your problems aren’t limited to public perception, either. During the BALCO trial, you appeared before a grand jury and claimed to have never used steroids. That claim, mind you, was made under oath. How long do you think it will be until some hotshot decides to charge you with perjury? The case seems to be pretty open-and-shut; Fainaru-Wada and Williams made sure of that. Perjury is considered a serious crime in the legal community – something about the integrity of the justice system – and carries a maximum sentence of five years in prison. As a high profile, not to mention rich, public figure, I can see the perjury case playing out in one of two ways. If you are lucky, some combination of your money and MLB backing will let you get away with nary a slap on the wrist. If you’re unlucky, a judge might decide to make you a poster boy for any other millionaire trying to skirt the law, and send you up the river for a hard five.

Think about it Barry, you have the unique opportunity to go one step further than Kobe Bryant and become a big time athlete who goes to jail. If that happens, we can all forget about your legacy as a ballplayer or the Hall of Fame. You will simply be remembered as “the player who cheated and went to jail.”

If you retire now, you will be remembered, at least in the short term, as a rude man and steroid user. The passage of time will probably soften the public perception of your career, and maybe someday you will be remembered as a great player who made some bad decisions late in your career. If you keep playing and keep gunning for Ruth and Aaron, you will fall somewhere on the Rose/MacBeth course I mentioned earlier. Rose is little more than a sideshow, and MacBeth drove himself insane; neither seems like a dignified end for someone who started out with such promise.