Being at AT&T Park the night after San Francisco Giants' outfielder Barry Bonds broke Hank Aaron's all-time home run record probably sounds anti-climactic. The bleachers were nowhere near filled when I sat down, not at all resembling the packed, energetic crowd from the night before.

Still, my spirits were relatively high as I basked in the afterglow of the triumph that took place on that field 24 hours previously. I also hoped, though the big moment had passed, that I would get to see Bonds step up to the plate.

Not even the steroid allegations against Bonds dampened my mood.

I received tickets for the August 8 game earlier in the summer, before I knew Bonds was inching closer to Aaron's record of 755 home runs. I was ecstatic when I realized I had the chance to be among the lucky fans to witness the making of a new record.

But alas, I was too late. At first, that disappointment diminished my enthusiasm and that of many other San Franciscans who had dutifully cheered on Bonds all summer. Why sit through another game for the last-place Giants when history wasn't on the line?

Bonds promptly answered that question in the first inning by smashing his 757th home run into "McCovey Cove," the portion of the San Francisco Bay situated just outside the stadium. I had witnessed history after all: a new record, one night later.

Everyone in the stands stood and cheered, music played over the loudspeakers, hats waved in the cool night air and an instant replay of the powerful swing was shown over and over again on the big screen.

Though this celebration must have paled in comparison to the previous night's bonanza, that didn't matter to me. I felt vindicated.

The people who spent the day telling me that Bonds probably wouldn't play because he needed the night off to rest, the people who didn't feel the need to watch the Giants anymore since Bonds already reached his record really missed something special. When he launched the ball into the Bay, Bonds made San Franciscans proud all over again.

Auctioneers have estimated that Bonds' 756th home-run ball is worth a maximum of $500,000 to a collector, half of what it would have fetched had steroid rumors not been swarming.

The San Francisco Chronicle reported from leaked testimony in 2004 that Bonds told a federal grand jury he unknowingly used steroids, but he has never publicly admitted to taking them. Still, many suspect that his enlarged cap size speaks for itself.

Bonds hasn't yet been indicted in a court of law. But in the court of public opinion, he is clearly presumed guilty. Throughout Bonds' pursuit of the home run record, baseball fans across the country treated him like a leper and assumed his numbers were tainted.

Yet all the while, San Franciscans remained loyal, and I saw that devotion on display. He's the Giant's gem, the one who kept our spirits high.

For Giants fans, Bonds' talent always transcended the drug rumors. While most Americans debated whether the allegations were true, I eagerly anticipated the night when Bonds would make history.

Besides, Bonds wasn't the only alleged villain in sports this summer. The Federal Bureau of Investigation is probing National Basketball Association referee Tim Donaghy, who pled guilty this month to gambling on games in which he officiated, and shortly after, National Football League quarterback Michael Vick pled guilty to federal dogfighting conspiracy charges.

Athletes are notorious for having baggage, yet they're still adored by their fans. Even Bonds' critics were captivated by his home-run chase, which received hordes of national media coverage.

San Francisco may have a last-place team and a slugger embroiled in controversy, but that doesn't change the fact that the Bay Area harbored baseball history this summer.

And I had two nights to celebrate.