BONDS' HR CHASE IS A NO-THRILLS RIDE.

Byline: STEVE DILBECK

The nation was enthralled. The expectation built through an entire baseball offseason. Hank Aaron was about to break perhaps the most treasured record in sports.

Aaron came to the plate in the fourth inning of the Braves' home opener April 8, 1974 against Al Downing, one home run away from surpassing Babe Ruth's all-time record.

I crowded closer to the old family Zenith as Curt Gowdy called the action on NBC, debating whether to turn down the sound and listen to Vin Scully on the Dodgers' radio broadcast.

The record crowd of 53,375 at Fulton County Stadium rose to its feet in anticipation. The energy in Atlanta seemed to create an electromagnetic force into every home in America.

And then when he hit it, when the ball rocketed into the Braves' bullpen to be caught by reliever Tom House, everything at Fulton seemed to erupt.

Rockets flew, a pair of college students ran onto the field to shadow Aaron's home run trot, Scully famously walked away from his mike to just let the sounds of Fulton tell the moment.

It was an indelible, joyous baseball moment.

And then there is Barry Bonds.

He is now seven home runs away from overtaking Aaron's all-time mark of 755, and America looks forward to it like the next Federal Reserve rate hike. There is no eager anticipation, simply resignation of the inevitable. No sense of building celebration, just indifference.

Bonds is chasing one of the most hallowed sports records of all time, and most of the country shrugs.

If it was most anyone else, every at-bat would be closely monitored. He would dominate the evening sports news. Would be the subject of adulation and overwhelming media glare.

Instead, Bonds chases Aaron's record shrouded in public apathy, in an amazing media vacuum. Few newspapers run boxes chronicling his daily efforts. Additional media doesn't flock to San Francisco Giants games to record his impending milestone. There is no buzz, no sense that baseball is about to witness a special moment.

The reason, of course, that the man chasing baseball's most famous record is Barry "Puffy" Bonds. A player of immense talent who was headed for the Hall of Fame until his reputation became sullied by accusations of steroids.

It is a cheerless pursuit, a dark and awkward moment for both baseball and the media.

How do you commemorate a remarkable athletic achievement by a man mostly reviled as a cheater and liar?

Where have you gone Joe DiMaggio, our nation turns its lonely eyes to you -- boo-hoo-hoo.

It has left baseball Commissioner Bud Selig looking like a sympathetic figure for possibly the first time in his life.

He was commissioner during the steroids era and has his share of responsibility for baseball failing to aggressively pursue its illegal usage.

And now baseball's great home run record is under siege by a man whose head has been nominated as the solar system's new ninth planet.

Bonds is maybe a month away from overtaking Aaron, and Selig has still failed to say whether he will be present for the historic/uncomfortable moment. He is in a no-win situation.

Aaron has flat-out said he has no interest in being there. Just not going to happen.

Some tried to write this off as Aaron being Aaron and supposedly not caring about records. Right, and Bonds doesn't care about his mirror's reflection.

Aaron's true feelings slipped out earlier this month in Milwaukee when asked about Bonds.

"I don't have any thoughts about Barry," Aaron said. "I don't even know how to spell his name."

It's P-U-F-F-Y.

Some have suggested this general anti-Bonds sentiment has a basis in racism, which borders on the ludicrous, because last time I checked Aaron was also black.

Some have suggested the backlash is because Bonds is a churlish lout, and there is definitely something to that.

Bonds is a pampered egomaniac, a nasty human being who could be the poster boy for the self-indulgent nouveau riche.

Until changing his tune Tuesday, he wasn't even planning on sending any personal home-run record material to the Hall of Fame after breaking the record.

"I'm not worried about the Hall," he'd said. "I take care of me."

Truer words were never spoken.

About the only baseball followers who appear eager to celebrate Bonds impending record are myopic Giants fans, who apparently forgive all because they have precious little else to cheer.

During a season when he is having a very good year (.294, 15 home runs, 35 RBIs) and the All-Star Game will be played in his home ballpark, he is struggling to be elected to the game. At last count, he was the fourth outfielder.

The national respect is simply not there. Just jeers for a man careful enough to know everything he puts in his body, but who said he really, really thought that stuff from BALCO was flaxseed oil.

Yet however his boorishness makes him difficult to embrace, the foremost reason his impending accomplishment is receiving such scant reverence is he is viewed as a cheat.

So the majority of the sporting public awaits the inevitable, reconciled to the fact it will happen. It's just difficult to applaud with one hand.

As he draws closer to the record, no doubt the media attention will swell, yet it hardly has the makings of a triumphant baseball moment.

The nation is not enthralled, just resigned.

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Not many outside of the Bay Area are enthused about Barry Bonds' record chase.

Winslow Townson/Associated Press