A few years from now, if the morning newspapers do not include Alex Rodriguez’s eventual homerun record, eclipsing Barry Bonds, then I will not immediately know of his accomplishment. Of course, this assumes that I keep my television set off for the next five years.

The fact is, I do not read the sports page of any newspaper nor do I look for sports to watch on television. At first glance I may seem like an odd ball, but I wasn’t always this way.

Truth be told, I am a recovering sports junkie. I played every sport known to man from baseball to tennis to boxing. The sports I did not compete in personally, I viewed or followed in the sports section of the newspapers.

I went so far as to know most of the riders in the Tour de France, the skippers in the America’s Cup and goal scorers in European football before any of these sports became available for viewing in this country. I was always surprised to discover the identity of a particular cyclist in the Tour if on a rare occasion a photo would be included in the New York Times. They were always much skinnier and emaciated then my mind’s eye had created.

When I was ten years old I could tell sports fans what the Atlanta Braves or any other team’s record was and how many games they were out of first place. I could do this for any team in any sport. Growing up in New York, I was especially in tune with New York teams, in particular the Yankees.

For me, the love of the game was following all of the historical statistics of the old legends and how the modern players compared. Every year there would be someone on track to eclipse Roger Maris or Joe DiMaggio, but like every other year, they would all fail.  

There was a great thrill in the chase.

Growing up in New York made it difficult being a Miami Dolphins fan. I was known to have had several fist fights with those green-toting Jets fans. I could never imagine doing anything else on a Sunday afternoon than watching NFL football. I used to look at those who were uninterested in football, or any sport for that matter, as complete idiots. I just could not understand why they didn’t find it exciting.

The only people I disliked more than non-fans were those who became spectators only during the playoffs. These “Sunday Drivers,” so to speak, were passionless and clue-less. These are the people who have Super Bowl parties or go to bars to watch the games amongst shouting alcohol-laden fans.

I would be home; alone in my room with the door locked so that I was not disturbed. I wanted to see every play and hear every word the commentators said lest I did not hear an important statistic. The people in the bars or at Super Bowl parties are not real fans. In fact, most of them know nothing of the teams or the game in general.

In the past ten years, I have slowly weaned myself off of sports to the point I have reached today: No sports viewing and no sports reading. At first glance one might think I am practicing some monkish discipline. However, I am not punishing myself. I truly have no interest. It makes no difference to me if someone breaks the Miami Dolphins un-defeated record (I hear New England came close) or the Yankees 26 World Series championships.

Why would people waste their money on a ticket to see a man break a record by way of cheating?

With the recent unveiling of widespread steroid use in all sports, they have all become meaningless. For the life of me, I cannot understand why other people do not feel the same way. Why would anyone go out and cheer for Barry Bonds or A-Rod (or even Andre Agassi who recently admitted using some substance) and waste their money on a ticket to see a man break a record by way of cheating?

After we learned of the other cheaters like Mark McGuire and Sammy Sosa, I started thinking about who else was guilty of taking performance-enhancing drugs. How far back does it go? Nolan Ryan threw 95 miles per hour at the age of 46. Was he on steroids? I don’t know nor do I care anymore, but the suggestion that it may have gone much deeper than we all know is enough to spoil the whole lot for me.

I became de-moralized and disappointed. All of my historical comparisons and the annual seasonal challenges to the records were truly meaningless. Barry Bonds hit 73 homeruns. It is a complete farce. He has retired with 762 homeruns. Players in the future will hit even more. So how does this put Ruth, Aaron, and the other great players into perspective? How can you compare Mickey Mantle with Sammy Sosa? One used performance enhancing drugs while the other used as many performance-diminishing drugs as were available at the time.

The only lesson I could take from it all is to give it all up. I get no pleasure anymore. Until the other day I was puzzled about fans still following the game. That is until I realized who was watching the games. For the most part, I think many true sport fans like me have given up watching most sports. So who are the people still watching?

It is those same “Sunday Drivers.” For them, the game of baseball or football never meant anything but the excuse to drink alcohol and scream with their friends. If someone were caught taking drugs, why would they care? In fact, they probably prefer seeing more homeruns hit over 450 feet anyway.

When you have loyalty and love for something or someone, it is easier to get hurt when that someone or something is not being honest with you. For us real sport fans, we were scarred too much to continue. Like a lover who cheated once too many times, we have finally given up.

Rising salaries, arrogant players, strikes, free agency and teams moving from one city to the next were all a way of life. But like most people in love, we hung on and came back each year. But once you discover that the person you loved is not that person at all, for your own self-respect you must give them up.

Barry is not the only athlete to blame. I actually like Barry Bonds even though many people detest him. I think I would have dealt with the media and fans the same way Barry did. But I cannot respect him or his accomplices for cheating at the game we all love. He has broken our hearts and time can’t mend things. The dye has been cast and for me, at least, the game is over.

Steven Fichera teaches at San Francisco State University.