Opinion: When Bonds hits No. 756, Aaron will still be king

Hank Aaron stood at home plate, smothered in the arms of his mother, Estella. He struggled to breathe.

“Good Lord,” Aaron later wrote in his autobiography. “I didn’t know Mama was so strong.”

Estella had reason for her mighty joy. Her son had just launched a home run for the ages.

On the chilly, overcast night of April 8, 1974, Aaron connected with Al Downing’s flattened-out screwball, which cleared the left-center field fence at Atlanta-Fulton County Stadium, and passed Babe Ruth on baseball’s home-run list.

Now, 33 years later, Aaron’s reign nears an end. Barry Bonds soon will pass Aaron.

Sort of.

Statistics aren’t everything. Collecting 756 home runs will do nothing to erase the suspicion Bonds slithers along as a pharmaceutical freak who used Winstrol, Deca-Durabolin, human growth hormone, trenbolone and testosterone decanoate, just to name a few, to quicken his collection of home runs.

Aaron towers as an American hero who followed the harsh, narrow road to greatness. Bonds is a whining cheater who trudged the wide, easy road, which explains why he’s our least-beloved superstar.

Goose Gossage, one of baseball’s all-time best relief pitchers, grew up on Beacon Streeet, near Fillmore. He grew up admiring Aaron’s quiet class. Aaron emphasized the game, not himself.

“He stood for greatness,” Gossage said from his home in Colorado Springs. “He stood for perseverance. He exemplifies the way the game used to be played.”

In 1975, Gossage stood on the mound in Milwaukee, staring at one of his baseball heroes.

Aaron, in the twilight of his career with the Milwaukee Brewers, stepped to the plate. Gossage, then pitching for the Chicago White Sox, never lacked for confidence. He knew he was full of power, in his prime. He knew Aaron’s best days were behind him.

“I really kind of overmatched Hank,” he said.

Gossage quickly ripped two strikes past Aaron, and then reared back and delivered a pitch to the outside corner, right at the knees.

Strike three.

Aaron couldn’t believe the call. He dropped his bat, stared at the umpire, muttered a few words.

As soon as Gossage returned to his team’s hotel, he called his mother, Susanne. “Oh, my,” his mother shouted into her phone on Beacon Street, “you stuck out Hank Aaron.” Decades later, Gossage still savors the moment.

“It was a thrill for my whole family,” he said.

Thrilling fails to describe this baseball summer. Each time Bonds steps to the plate at

Coors Field, disrespect cascades from the stands.

This is what Bonds deserves, but, still, it’s unsettling. Americans usually grow outrageously excited when a record tumbles. We adore watching our current heroes surpass the heroes of yesteryear.

Milo Hamilton has seen plenty of yesteryears. He’s a Hall of Fame radio announcer who served as the Atlanta Braves radio announcer in 1974. He called Aaron’s 715th home run.

He’s troubled as Bonds marches closer to Aaron’s holy number. There is, he said, “no wonderment.”

“The Bonds thing has got so many things hovering over it,” Hamilton said from his home in Houston. “It’s a dilemma for a lot of people.

“If the Giants were playing at Coors Field and Bonds was close to the record, I don’t think there would be a great outcry, unless someone wanted to buy a ticket and go boo.”

Most of our nation cheered on April 8, 1974. Aaron had spent the winter with 713 home runs, one less than Ruth’s 714. The drumbeat had grown louder for months.

In the fourth inning, Aaron cracked Downing’s 1-0 pitch. When Ruth launched a home run, the ball traveled high in the sky. He was powerful, overwhelming.

Aaron’s drives took quick trips to the seats. They were efficient, not dazzling. No. 715 was no different.

Dodgers shortstop Bill Russell got ready to jump, thinking he could catch the low-flying shot. Left fielder Bill Buckner climbed the chain-link fence and barely missed robbing Aaron.

First baseman Steve Garvey shook Aaron’s hand, and then two Georgia high school students, Britt Gaston and Cliff Courtenay, joined him on the base paths. They were quickly arrested and spent most of the night in the slammer.

Estella fought through the madness and joined Aaron at the plate. She knew about the thousands of hate letters he had endured. She knew about all his diligent labor. She was crying. So was her son. He had finally climbed his mountain.

A few hours later, Aaron served as host for a small party at his Atlanta home. Just before guests arrived, he found a secluded spot.

“I got down on my knees,” Aaron later wrote, “and closed my eyes and thanked God for pulling me through.”

So began his days as the Home Run King.

Long may he reign.