Tailing Barry

SAN FRANCISCO —  “You following me?”

Barry Bonds turned around and snarled while making his way down the dugout steps.

I told him no.

In reality, though, I’ve been following him since I started covering the San Francisco Giants and their mercurial superstar in the summer of 2002. And I’m sure to have even more company than usual this year as Bonds takes aim on the most famous record in sports, Hank Aaron’s 755 career home runs.

Bonds starts this season only 21 shy of tying Aaron, and the chase amid steroid allegations and a federal perjury investigation would probably get to the most easy-going of players, much less a complicated character like Bonds -- surly one day, friendly, charming and introspective the next. He knows I’m chronicling his quest, but you still never know how he’s going to be. You have to play every opportunity just right.

Sometimes it’s as simple as guessing whether he’s in a good mood by the way he’s carrying himself through the clubhouse. Or you just take a chance.

On March 23, while Bonds’ teammates were off on a Cactus League trek to face the Chicago Cubs in Mesa, Ariz., the slugger took the field at Scottsdale Stadium for a solo workout of leg exercises and stretching along the warning track in right field.

It was peaceful, just how Bonds likes it. In the past, this session would have included his personal trainers, but they are no longer allowed in restricted areas of the ballpark -- part of the one-year, $15.8 million contract that brought Bonds back for a 15th season with the Giants.

A family popped in for a glimpse of the empty stadium and was thrilled to see the club’s biggest attraction.

“Barry!” one of the kids hollered.

Bonds smiled and waved, then offered a salute. Just the kind of personal encounter every fan hopes for in the low-key atmosphere of spring training.

But Bonds is like the traffic sign alerting drivers to proceed with caution.

He can be moody, grumpy, short -- like when he derided me in front of other reporters for asking a “stupid” question.

Or he can be downright entertaining on a wide-range of topics, from music to food and all aspects of family life. He takes piano lessons and uses a keyboard to practice in season. He pokes fun at himself.

This spring, Bonds has been in a great mood. At 42 and entering his 22nd big league season, he’s once again healthy after several years of nagging injuries. He’s running better, nearly two years after three knee operations limited his 2005 campaign to 14 games. He’s swinging the bat well following off-season elbow surgery, and is much leaner though his weight is about the same.

Yet you’re always left wondering when he might implode.

The season ahead will bring the same old questions about performance-enhancing drugs, while a federal grand jury continues its probe of whether Bonds lied about them under oath, as well as possible tax-evasion charges.

Bonds would rather talk about fashion or the hot new TV show. (His short-lived reality series on ESPN last year never attained such status). He’s long been praised by managers and other players for his ability to block out all the distractions as soon as he steps on the field.

The other day, I asked him about the strength in his legs.

“How does it look to you?” he said, grinning.

“Like you’re trusting your legs in most situations,” I replied. It’s true. In a recent game when rain poured all afternoon, he took risks in left field and on the bases that he probably would have avoided the last few years.

Right answer?

“That’s good,” he said.

It’s not always so pleasant.

After one game last season, Bonds was chased by TV crews from the clubhouse down the hallway toward the players’ parking lot. Security had to step in and keep them away.

The next day I walked toward a couch and card table, approaching his corner spot in the clubhouse to ask about it: “Do you feel safe in your own stadium?”

That’s when he became angry and told me it was a “stupid” question, making a scene for about a dozen members of the national media in town to cover him as he moved closer to passing Babe Ruth for second place on the home run list.

When I explained that he should at least feel secure in his own ballpark, he instructed me to “ask the Giants,” one of his standard responses.

A few days later, we were sitting in the dugout casually chatting about life before he headed onto the field for batting practice.

One thing is clear: Bonds understands the intense interest in his every move.

He knows he’ll be remembered as much for the steroid allegations, not to mention his polarizing personality, as for his accomplishments. And they are many. He already holds baseball’s single-season home run record, hitting 73 in 2001 to break Mark McGwire’s mark of 70 just three years before.

He also knows that at this stage, there’s not much he can do to change people’s minds about him.

Raised in a life of privilege, the son of the late major leaguer Bobby Bonds and godson of Hall of Famer Willie Mays, Bonds spent his childhood bouncing around the clubhouse with them at Candlestick Park.

He’s long been labeled self-centered, an athlete with little consideration for anyone else and unwilling at times to even discuss his teammates’ successes. Those accusations go all the way back to his days at Serra High School in San Mateo, Calif., and at Arizona State, where he was kicked off the team several times -- a message that more was expected of Bonds than anybody else.

But these days, he’s clearly working harder to be friendly to others.

When he showed up for spring training in Scottsdale on Feb. 20, Bonds made his rounds through the clubhouse, greeting and hugging almost everyone -- from little-used outfielder Jason Ellison to first baseman Rich Aurilia, a teammate during the Giants’ 2002 World Series run who’s back for a second stint with the club.

Last season, Bonds donned a wig and played the role of Paula Abdul for “Giants Idol,” a fan-friendly spoof of the TV show “American Idol” in which young players perform songs atop the dugout as a panel of veteran player-judges looks on. For the 2007 edition, he ceded the role to new teammate Barry Zito but sat nearby and sang along.

Sincere or not, the buzz generated by his arrival in the clubhouse is undeniable. His teammates feel it. So do the clubhouse staffers who cater to his sometimes silly demands and the parking lot attendant whose two-way radio beeps with the news that Bonds will soon be arriving -- so be ready.

He’s even been nicer to the media.

After Bonds finally took his obligatory physical at the team’s waterfront ballpark in late January, I hung out near the parking lot in hopes of catching him on the way out. No luck. But he smiled and waved as he sped away with his agent in the passenger seat.

On March 23, Bonds finished his workout and told a TV crew there would be no interviews, then asked how they were doing and inquired about their families.

Later, he took a seat in the dugout and shot the breeze with me and another writer for more than an hour.

When we were done and I casually mentioned this story, something I do from time to time as a professional courtesy, Bonds smiled and said: “It’s your story, not mine. It’s your job.”

With No. 25, a simple “Good morning” can go completely unnoticed one day and draw a nice response like “Hey, what’s up?” on another.

The “new” Bonds is also dressing differently. When I asked him about his trendy wardrobe -- fitted, printed shirts, thick chain necklaces and dark jeans -- he laughed.

“Sexier. I’m the first to do it,” he said of the style.

When told Giants shortstop Omar Vizquel has arguably the best and biggest wardrobe of any major leaguer, Bonds quipped, “He looks like a rainbow.”

Bonds can no longer train quite the way he once did, thanks to his age and surgically repaired knees. Last season, he was candid about dieting to tone and transform some fat into muscle -- except for the occasional splurges on Philly cheesesteaks and jelly beans.

Though he’s no longer on the low-carb or the six-meals-a-day plan, Bonds has packed a healthy lunch all spring. When I inquired about it one day -- “Raw almonds are always a good bet, right?” -- he immediately pulled out a baggie full of trail mix and handed it my way.

“Here you go,” he said. “If you forgot yours at home. You guys are here all day.”

Bonds blows kisses to his wife and daughters in the stands, and hugs his batboy son, Nikolai, after he homers. He talks about Nikolai’s aspirations to become a businessman and attend an Ivy League university.

He has strong opinions on what it takes to raise responsible, financially independent kids. For that matter, he has strong opinions on just about everything -- from savvy real estate investments to who’s the best NFL player of all time (former 49er Jerry Rice gets Bonds’ nod).

On March 23, the day we chatted for an hour in the dugout, he headed toward the clubhouse, aiming to take a shower and an afternoon nap. The door was locked, and he banged on it until longtime equipment manager Mike Murphy helped him out.

After charting everything from Bonds’ total swings and batting practice homers as part of this process, I could use a nap, too.

That might come next year or even further down the road. His retirement remains TBA.

“I’m playing till I’m 100,” he said.