The lengthy narrative of that December 4, 2003 afternoon was more confusing than illuminating, revealing a less than stellar prosecutorial team, and a surprisingly loose, and agile slugger, who stuck close to a script that he trusted his life long friend and trainer Greg Anderson would never have given him banned drugs.

If Anderson had deceived him, Bonds was oblivious to it. His testimony might be hard to believe, but it also might be difficult to prove that it was a crime.

Bonds appeared to acknowledge at one point that he may have unwittingly taken steroids – an admission that could undercut the entire perjury case. After being shown exhibits of substances Anderson allegedly gave him, the prosecutor asked again whether he took any steroids.

Bonds: “Not that I know of.”
Nedrow: “What do you mean by not that you know of?”

Bonds pointed to exhibits of two substances Anderson administered to him, a lotion called “The Cream” and a liquid called “The Clear,” and said: “Because I have suspicions over those two items, right there.”
Bonds added that after the BALCO case broke, he started thinking to himself, “What is this stuff?”

The testimony hinted at something else that has not been revealed previously. The prosecutorial game was played differently for Bonds than for other BALCO targets.

The slugger and his attorney, Mike Rains, may have been double crossed that morning, even before the proceedings began. They arrived shortly after 10 a.m., at the federal building for what Rains believed was a standing offer to review government evidence outside the grand jury room before Bonds’ 1 p.m. testimony. The same courtesy was given to most other athletes who testified before the BALCO grand jury.

But when they arrived, Rains was told there was a change of plans. Ross Nadel, the chief of the criminal division, informed Rains and Bonds that no documents would be available ahead of time. Rains said he and Bonds were furious.

Bonds finally was ushered into the grand jury room at 1:23 p.m. How and why that three-hour gap came about may become an issue at trial. It speaks to fairness – or lack thereof. Was the government really more interested in setting a perjury trap for Bonds than in getting him to tell the truth?

When the grand jury testimony began, Nadel acted as if there had been no controversy, as if they had just had a routine meeting in which he, another prosecutor and IRS agent Jeff Novitzky explained the immunity order that would allow Bonds to testify without risk of prosecution – unless he lied.

“Did I explain it during that session?” Nadel asked.

“Yes,” said Bonds, who added cryptically, “We’ve had our disagreements.”

But as the questioning continued, the experienced Nadel played backup to junior prosecutor Jeff Nedrow, and at trial that may prove a hindrance to the government.

“Yes. You are confusing,” Bonds said after Nedrow seemed to admit his questions were less than clear. The slugger appeared to play to the jurors, and though the transcript doesn’t reveal their reaction, he might have won points. “I’m telling you. Is he confusing to you guys?”

Nedrow walked Bonds through an impressive array of alleged evidence. Calendars written by Anderson that purported to show codes of drug regimes taken by Bonds and other athletes. Seized drugs. Notations about alleged payments to Anderson for specific drugs. A series of urine and blood tests that appeared to show conclusively that someone named “BB” or “Barry Bond” or “Barry Bonds” tested positive for anabolic steroids and other drugs. There was also a previously unpublicized test Bonds took in January 2001 that found levels of testosterone so high they could not be accurately measured.

Nedrow read the test results to Bonds: “The percentage of total testosterone in unbound state, percent free testosterone, cannot be calculated since the free testosterone level is greater than the highest detectable concentration.”

But Nedrow often seemed to be stumbling his way through a confusing chemistry lesson. Nadel periodically jumped in when his junior partner failed to make a point, but the questioning lacked coherence.

There was another problem. Bonds’ testimony appeared to undercut the value of the urine and blood tests as evidence in a possible trial.

“Did you provide the blood samples directly to Mr. Anderson?” Nedrow asked.

“Yeah, I had my own personal doctor come up to draw my blood,” Bonds said. “I only let my own personal doctor touch me. And my own personal doctor came up and drew my blood, and Greg took it to BALCO.”
“What about the urine samples?” the prosecutor asked.

“Same thing,” Bonds replied. “Come to my house, here, go."

Not what defense attorneys would consider a great chain of evidence. Steroid test results of major league players seized by the BALCO investigators – results that are in legal limbo – hold the potential of proving the guilt of Bonds and other players. But experts doubt that any urine samples remain from the tests discussed during Bonds’ grand jury testimony, and the apparent absence of proper lab procedures in taking and transporting samples may dampen their value at trial.

Yet Bonds had no good answer for the numerous tests conducted for BALCO, such as one in November 2001 in which “Patient Bonds, Barry” with the identical birth date as the slugger was tested for testosterone by LabOne. Nor did he have a ready answer for why an affidavit was later filed saying that, “the specimen for Greg Anderson was mislabeled as ‘Barry B.’"

But if Anderson was trying to cover for Bonds, the government might have difficulty proving it.

Nedrow: “Did Mr. Anderson routinely put your samples in his name to avoid having your name linked with the samples? Do you know that?”

Bonds: “No, I have no – no. I wouldn’t think he would do something that dumb.”

As the testimony unfolded, there was the sense that the government was overwhelmed by the complexity of the case, the vast variety of drugs involved, the volume of dates and tests. It was as if the prosecutors were trying a four-week case in one afternoon.

Bonds may not have done himself any favors in the closing minutes. He seemed to forget his previous qualified statements, his suspicions, his careful, “Not that I know of.” He repeatedly denied ever taking steroids.

And then at 4:16 p.m., three hours after he first entered the grand jury room, Bonds concluded with a little story about how BALCO never charged him any money and was kind to his dying father.
Nedrow just wanted it over.

“OK. All right. You’re excused, Mr. Bonds. Thank you very much. You’re free to go.”