Buy me some peanuts and HGH...

I have to admit to feeling just the slightest twinge of empathy for Barry Bonds.

Not because I think he's done nothing wrong. Sure, maybe MLB hasn't caught him, but I believe he's marinated himself with steroids to the point of where he's a walking Superfund site.

My empathy comes from the recently published theory that he started his chemical regimen out of jealousy towards Mark McGwire.

Now, I'm not saying that I understand his need to don a Doctor Octopus-like network of syringes and IVs to handle his constant Borg-like flow of nutrients, but I do understand what it's like to feel inferior and have that little worm of jealousy gnaw away at you. That little nagging can be pure misery. It must've chewed away at him, not unlike his glowing bloodstream will eventually chew away at his joints.

(Besides, in retrospect, McGwire was so clearly on the gas that I wouldn't be surprised if professional wrestlers whistled at him in admiration. Those Popeye forearms were sickening.)

It's a little sad, to see how the power of jealousy can affect even multimillionaire atheletes.

On the other hand, it's funny to imagine a graph charting Barry Bonds' hat size over the years.