W E'VE LAID him low, pushed him off a bridge, even made his kids cry.

And we're just the batting-practice pitchers.

So imagine how Barry Bonds would have handled some high heat from Congress last week, or from prosecutors in the BALCO case somewhere down the road. And keep in mind that "Whatever, dude," is not an acceptable reply to the same questions that left Mark McGwire sprawled in the dirt and Sammy Sosa furiously thumbing through his English-to-Spanish phrasebook.

Right or wrong, those same questions won't be answered by Bonds anytime soon. Because whatever else his meltdown Tuesday at the Giants' spring training site accomplished, it certainly bought him some time. What sounded at different moments like a retirement speech, or a concession even, was actually nothing of the sort. It was sport's reigning diva, knees wearing down and patience worn out, complaining bitterly about an avalanche of bad reviews, then hinting vaguely that he might get even by refusing to set foot on the stage again. Right.

"You wanted to bring me down. You've finally brought me and my family down. Finally done it. From everybody, all of you. So now go pick a different person," Bonds said. "I'm done."

At least he didn't promise to pitch in on car pooling, which is what Michael Jordan said the first time he retired, when what Jordan really meant was that he needed a break. And since MLB, like the NBA, doesn't grant sabbaticals, and the media doesn't issue waivers, Bonds simply elected to hide out on the disabled list for as long as he needs to rehab a surgically repaired knee and a reputation that may already be beyond repair.

"Right now, I'm just going to try to rehab myself to get back to, I don't know, hopefully next season, hopefully the middle of the season," Bonds said. "I don't know. Right now, I'm just going to take things slow.

"I'm 40 years old, not 20, 30."