Here's all you really need to know about Barry Bonds and his pursuit of Hank Aaron's home run record:

He is booed by fans almost everywhere he goes.

He was voted by fans into the starting lineup for this week's All-Star Game.

That mixed message neatly sums up Bonds and his 756th homer. Neither the man nor the milestone can be ignored. Neither will necessarily be admired.

(Except, perhaps, in San Francisco, which embraces the slugger in keeping with its willingness to be contrary. This was famously noted at the height of the Cold War, when a Soviet premier received a surprisingly warm reception from San Franciscans while a celebrated ballplayer did not. "This is the damnedest city I ever saw in my life," said newspaperman Frank Conniff. "They cheer Khrushchev and boo Willie Mays.")

No. 756 will, no matter the specifics, constitute a milestone moment in baseball's history. The home run mark is arguably the most famous career record in American sports; heck, the old record — Babe Ruth's 714 — still has more resonance than any current mark in the NFL, NBA or NHL.

It is the context of that record which makes it such a subject of debate.

On the one hand, we have Bonds defenders, or those simply uncomfortable with de facto conviction in the court of public opinion, who remind us of the guiding American concept "innocent until proven guilty." In this school of thought, absent a failed drug test or conviction, Bonds' achievements should be taken at face value, given the hitting credentials he had established long before anyone ever heard of BALCO, "the cream" or "the clear."

On the other, there are those who believe there is good reason the cloud of suspicion hovers over Bonds, and if that suspicion should ever be proven, that Bonds' every achievement should be stricken from the record book. Never mind an asterisk; this group believes Bonds could only be sufficiently addressed with Wite-Out.

Between those two poles lie any number of other views, as well as the reason the accomplishment will inevitably be downgraded, no matter where anyone stands on the spectrum of guilt or innocence. A record whose significance and legitimacy is debated can never have the resonance of one that is universally accepted.

Consider, as a sort of dry run for No. 756, the excitement and admiration that accompanied Sammy Sosa's 600th home run in June.

What excitement and admiration? Well, that's the point.

Sosa was once one of the more popular players in the game, widely credited as the individual who put the fun in the season-long home run derby he staged with Mark McGwire in 1998.

Then, of course, the cloud of steroid suspicion descended, Sosa made his 2005 appearance before Congress — the one in which he suddenly needed an interpreter — and the former Cub spent a year out of baseball before returning this season as a member of the Texas Rangers.

And so any excitement over the run-up to No. 600 was confined mostly to the immediate vicinity of Arlington, Texas, and the milestone clout itself had less life within the news cycle than the average celebrity arrest. In another time, considering that Sosa was only the fifth player to reach the 600-home run mark, it would have been a far bigger deal.

Expect something similar with Bonds. Although the moment will be much more difficult to ignore or dismiss quickly, that doesn't mean it can't be held at arm's length — given mere acknowledgement, rather than the full-fledged celebration that usually accompany these sorts of milestones.

After that, well, Bonds' supporters and naysayers are both going to have to find ways to come to terms with the record, because it isn't going anywhere, at least not for a while.

Bonds' fans should probably recognize he is merely renting the record until Alex Rodriguez breaks it a few years down the line. And the critics who are waiting for the proof Bonds cheated, so that all his records might be wiped out, are certain to wait in vain — because it will be almost impossible to "erase" anyone from the record books, no matter how much sentiment there might be for it.

If the record books don't account for Bonds hitting 756 homers, what do they do with the numbers of the pitchers who gave up those home runs, the games they've won, the other runs that scored on them? How do we remove some stats and not others, given that other players have admitted to using steroids, and there are certainly others who used them but haven't said so or been caught? And why just focus on Bonds or the other sluggers, when there were almost certainly juiced pitchers, as well? (As noted in an article in the latest Time magazine, 69 percent of the major and minor league players suspended for failing drug tests have been pitchers.)

The record may not be as pure as we'd like. The guy setting it may not be loveable. That doesn't change the fact that 756 home runs is a whole lot of long balls, and is going to be a record, no matter the context.

If that's a mixed message, well, what else can you expect when it comes to Barry Bonds?

— Contact Star columnist David Lassen at dlassen@VenturaCountyStar.com