Finally, this strange sideshow can go to some other town

The first half-inning took 20 minutes and the pitcher named Barry hit it farther than the batter named Barry.

It was Thursday night at Dodger Stadium, another Barry Bonds watch. What looked, felt and smelled like a Major League Baseball game was more a collection of sideshows.

There was Bonds, of course, and his quest for home runs Nos. 755 and 756. That would tie and pass Henry Aaron’s record and would make the Giants’ outfielder immortal in baseball history, at least to those who don’t feel he got the record because he beefed up on substances meant to enhance his performance.

Those who do feel that way place him as immoral in baseball history.

Nothing is coming easy for Bonds these days. Pitchers in particular don’t want to be the small print below the plaque in Cooperstown. In that first inning, Dodgers right-hander Brett Tomko, who is unlikely to get to Cooperstown any other way, threw Bonds such a collection of junk that Bonds needed radar to track it. On one pitch, Tomko was the reincarnation of the old slow-baller Stu Miller. On the next, he was Nolan Ryan.

Bonds walked and scored, and the inning ended when pitcher Barry Zito dribbled one to shortstop.

Lost in all this, of course, was the 3-0 lead the Giants took while Tomko pitched around Bonds and the fans in the sellout crowd of 56,000 stayed on the edge of their seats, waiting for another opportunity to lather up and lash out at their least-favorite player.

Another sideshow was what could be termed “presentation.”

Perhaps it was not premeditated, but several things that went on in the minutes leading up to the first pitch seemed to send the message from Dodgers management to Dodgers fans that we are the Anti-Barry, the apple-pie, all-American good guys who should not be mistaken for this evil in the other dugout.

First, 10-year-old Hailey Dibiasi, cute as a bug and with a voice like a 10-year-old Streisand, cranked up the national anthem. Then, out came a handful of even younger cuties. The crowd was informed that each would run out to a Dodgers player in the field with a baseball and each would get the ball autographed. At home plate, Russell Martin bent over a tiny little girl with pigtails and looked her in the eye as he signed away.

Then, of course, every time Bonds walked to the plate, he was within several feet of one of the huge signs recently placed along the baselines by the McCourts, whose new official Dodgers charity is a cancer-fighter named “Think Cure!” With Bonds likely to bat in the fourth, the Dodgers ran a big screen promotional ad on the charity. Narrating, as only he can, was venerable Vin Scully.

Probably all a coincidence.

Bonds didn’t make it up in that inning, but after singling sharply to right in the second when Tomko finally threw something with a little velocity somewhere near the plate, Bonds led off the fifth.

The fans were warmed up now. They were coordinating nicely their segues from strictly boos, to chants of “Barry sucks,” to the more rhythmic “Steroids, Steroids.” After two nights of practice, these fans were focused.

Bonds kept his bat on his shoulder for the best pitch Tomko threw him all night, a 2-and-0 fastball, then popped one high and foul down the third-base line. Martin made the catch on the “Think Cure!” logo.

Another sideshow was the reporters, now a traveling road show of more than 200, whose editors and station directors sent them on the road for historic moments Nos. 755 and 756 after Bonds got to 754 last Friday. Most of them have been there for Barry ever since, even though he may lack some degree of appreciation for their presence. One reporter speculated Thursday that Bonds would wait to hit No. 756 until he was certain he had bankrupted every newspaper in the country.

They are on hand, basically, for one paragraph of news: Bonds hits a homer, to which field, off which pitcher. There is no more. Bonds speaks every few days, says little of substance, alternately smiles and glares at them and takes his four or five trips to the plate.

Some watch batting practice, record how many he hits out on how many swings and feel pathetic for doing it. (Thursday night, nine of 27.)

Some record what time he shows up in the clubhouse, what color shirt he wore and feel pathetic for doing it. (4:55 p.m. and white with blue stripes.)

Some get sick of feeling pathetic, call their office and ask for clemency.

It all ended in the seventh. The Barry Show, not the game.

He came to bat for the fourth time, with one out and a man on second. With first base open, Dodgers Manager Grady Little elected to walk Bonds, who was then replaced by a pinch-runner.

That meant that, since his homer Friday night, Bonds has come to the plate 24 times and not hit another homer.

It also meant that the circus will leave town for San Diego, where there will be a run on the dry cleaners near the media hotel.

Then, there was the final Dodgers “presentation.”

Leading off the eighth, catcher Martin dribbled a grounder to third, sprinted like a madman toward first and beat the throw by diving head first to the bag.

The Anti-Barry.

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Bill Dwyre can be reached at bill.dwyre@latimes.com. For previous columns by Dwyre, go to latimes.com/dwyre.