And then there was Barry Bonds. Sullen and arrogant, Bonds never got the widespread love awarded to McGwire and Sosa--at least outside the San Francisco area. Always one of the game's top hitters, Bonds began smashing home runs at unfathomable levels beginning at age 35. Just three years after McGwire had re-set the record books, Bonds was poised to obliterate that record—one that had stood for 37 years. And so he did—three times—during the final series of the year with the Dodgers playing at Pac Bell Stadium. It's that final 73rd homer that inspires Michael Wranovics' surreal (but true) Up For Grabs—a fascinating documentary that chronicles the legal battles over the "million dollar baseball" and inadvertently reveals more about the modern game than Ken Burns could in a nine part mini-series (and infinitely more entertaining).

Just as Deep Throat guided Bob Woodward to “follow the money,” viewers can likewise track a similar path to gain appreciation for how the national pastime has evolved. I've seen no records of whether any money was exchanged for Babe Ruth's historic 60th home run ball of 1927, but it's on display in Baseball's Hall of Fame and was likely exchange only for Ruth's autograph and memorabilia. The film does show 21-year-old Brooklyn truck driver Sal Durante catching Maris' monumental 61st home run. He tried giving it to Maris, but the Yankee slugger told him to "make some money from the ball." So he sold the ball to Sacramento restaurant owner Sam Gordon for $5,000, who eventually gave it back to Maris (it now resides in the Hall of Fame). Even Mark McGwire's record breaking 62nd homer was returned without a profit motive, as a Cardinals stadium worker presented the ball to McGwire.

But home run ball #70 was a different story. With sky high interest after the Sosa-McGwire race, the auction for the ball matched the intensity and grandeur of the athletic contest itsel—eventually fetching a $2.7 million dollar price tag from baseball enthusiast and collector Todd Mcfarlane (creator of Spawn).

That sets the stage for Barry Bonds and his record setting home run ball. It creates a frenzied anticipation in the right field section of Pac Bell and beyond in the cove, where boats are crammed so tightly that you could almost literally "walk on water." These Giants fans are hoping to win the Bond lottery: a potential million dollar prize with "phenomenally" better winning odds of 41,530 to 1 (actually much better if you stake out prime territory in right field).

Television news reporters have been dispatched with an assignment to cover the heightened ballpark security resulting from 9/11, but they know the really big story is a potential Barry Bonds homer, and cinematographer Josh Keppel luckily sets up just 10 feet away from the landing spot. Little did he realize that his tape would become the hottest and most examined film since Abraham Zapruder's classic 8mm home movie.

As Bonds crushes Dennis Springer's slow hanging curve in the first inning, a mad scramble and utter chaos erupts in the right field walkway. That was to be expected, considering the historic and monetary value of the ball, but baseball fans generally follow protocol—allowing whoever gets the ball in their control to be the rightful owner. (Note: kids in the vicinity are awarded baseballs to prevent fans from chanting nasty epithets, but that applies only to regular balls and not a Bonds homer). From the mass of humanity Silicon Valley worker Patrick Hayashi emerges with the ball and is ushered away by baseball officials, but wait. Berkeley Health Food restaurant owner Alex Popov claims that he caught the ball, only to have it stolen from him. Let the drama unfold! And it does relentlessly, as we get to meet the two antagonists, examine the Keppel tape, hear conflicting evidence from a plethora of Giants fans, and even hear Barry Bonds give the same advice that many of us thought when we learned of the ludicrous court case from ESPN, CNN, and various newspapers: these two guys should get together, have an auction, and split the profit down the middle to avoid the lawyer costs. After hearing so many stories about Bonds indifference and the numerous steroid allegations, it's refreshing to see him offering such sage advice to these guys.

Hayashi, in fact, apparently had made that offer to Popov, but the restaurant owner felt he deserved a bigger slice—he has video proof of his catch and some 30 witnesses lined up as he plays amateur lawyer for the following 20 months while simultaneously promoting himself as the most famous Giants fan in the Bay area. The filmmakers need do nothing but record the events and let us watch Popov fall on his own sword, going from a sympathetic victim to a self absorbed jerk during the 90 minute running time. Even if you followed the story in the media (as I did) and correctly anticipate the eventual judicial decision, the film's narrative flow sails smoothly and continues to resonate with suspense.

These are the real flesh and blood guys, with Popov becoming a pathetic anti-hero, whose greed conquers his dreams of glory and profit. My favorite moment takes place at the New York City auction, knowing that Popov needs that historic ball to sell for at least $1.1 million for him to break even in lawyer fees and court costs. When the the final bid falls far short, the look on Popov's face is classic. It certainly caused me to laugh at the justice being served, for the extended legal wrangling had much to do with devaluing the market price of that baseball.

A brutally honest documentary, the filmmakers don't obscure Up for Grabs with baseball platitudes, nor is the “must see” film designed to appeal only to baseball fans. It objectively probes directly into Popov's character primarily, revealing some ugly and darkly humorous truths about human nature. It also contains one positive note for the final coda, so hope remains--even for a Giants fan, who's never seen a World Series winner since they relocated to the Bay area.