There are stories in baseball that become mythology.
This one started in a batting cage in 2018.
Andrew McCutchen was a Giant then, preparing for a regular season game the same way hitters always do — routine swings, small talk, nothing spectacular. Until Barry Bonds walked in.
According to McCutchen, Bonds wasn’t there for nostalgia. He simply decided he wanted to take swings. Wearing slacks and dress shoes, Bonds stepped into the cage the way someone steps into a boardroom — casually, yet with unmistakable presence.
The first pitch?
He bunt-tapped it, in classic Bonds fashion, warming up the barrel. The second pitch changed the tone entirely.
McCutchen remembered it vividly — the whip sound of Bonds’ bat wasn’t like anything he’d heard that year. It was sharper, louder, and carried a force that demanded attention.
Bonds slipped on his dress shoes, but the bat didn’t slip.
He drove the ball straight upward into the netting above the cage — not just high, but violently high. A TV monitor was mounted nearly five feet behind it. Bonds hit it so hard that the screen shattered.
And the ball didn’t pierce the net — the net simply stretched far enough to let the force through.
McCutchen’s conclusion?
He believes Bonds. He believes Bonds could still hit major league pitching.
It’s bold, but not outrageous.
The mythology surrounding Bonds has always been tied to his bat speed. Even late in his career, long after most players fade, Bonds could still turn on pitches no one else dared swing at. Pitchers feared him. Organizations structured game plans around him. Teammates talked about his batting practice sessions as if they were supernatural events.
So when McCutchen shared that story publicly, it did more than entertain.
It reignited a question: can legendary hitters retain their ability long after their cleats come off?
Scouts often say hitting is the last thing to go. Eyes age slower than legs. Bat control lingers.
Raw power — in the extraordinary cases — seems eternal.
Look across sports.
Michael Jordan could still walk on a court today and drain shots in rhythm.
Tiger Woods can still compress a golf ball unlike anyone alive.
Why wouldn’t Barry Bonds still be able to terrify pitching machines?
Fans debate numbers and controversies surrounding Bonds. But beneath the discourse is a truth acknowledged by teammates and opponents alike — Bonds was different.
McCutchen’s story isn’t just about nostalgia. It’s about a belief in baseball immortality.
Some players stop playing. Others simply stop being televised.
Barry Bonds might be one of the latter.
And that’s why a simple batting cage memory — a shattered TV — resonates. It reminds fans that greatness never truly leaves the game. Sometimes, it just walks in wearing dress shoes.
Leave a Reply