Barry Bonds at Three Rivers Stadium, circa 1988

Could this lean young man be the same fellow who just broke Hank Aaron’s all-time home run record?

Other questions occur to me. Am I the same fellow I was when I snapped this shot? Is my head as small as it was back then? Am I still a good guy when I take an Extra Strength Excedrin? Am I funnier after I’ve had a couple of beers? Am I smarter after getting a good night’s sleep? Am I any skinnier after I skip a few meals? Am I absolutely certain that I am still comprised of the same molecular structure, still fundamentally defined by a string of pointed messages written long ago in trails of deoxyribonucleic acid, after I get off a five-hour plane flight, after emerging from a dip in the ocean, or after an episode of quiet soul-searching and insomnia at 4 in the morning?

I don’t know any of the answers to the questions people pose about Barry Bonds. I humbly admit, however, that I don’t know the precise answers to the questions I am posing about myself. I am merely guessing at this point.

I do know that I would not be capable of hitting a single home run in the majors -- straight, sober, on Excedrin, on beer, or otherwise.