Barry Bonds is 52 home runs shy of Henry Aaron's record of 755. (AP Photo/Eric Risberg)

It was Frick who, as commissioner, threatened to qualify Roger Maris' record 61 home runs in 1961 with an asterisk because he set it over a 162-game schedule.

When Babe Ruth, a player of mythic proportion and long-time friend of Frick, swatted 60 in 1927, teams played only 154 games.

But the infamous Maris asterisk never existed. It was pure myth, a notion suggested by sports columnist Dick Young that Frick never acted on, going so far as to deny the myth in his autobiography.

The Maris asterisk was simply imaginary yet, for 30 years, took on a life of its own until commissioner Fay Vincent ordered a committee on statistical accuracy to "officially" strike it from the record book.

"We all agreed it was getting ridiculous, that the asterisk on Maris was crazy and so we did away with it," Vincent told the Seattle Times.

That said, if and when Bonds becomes baseball's all-time home run king, he needn't worry about the asterisk. There won't be one.

Bonds has 703 home runs, 11 behind Babe Ruth and 52 shy of Henry Aaron's 755 – one of baseball's most cherished records.

But the notion of the asterisk resurfaced because he pursues it amid revelations of steroid use. From his own mouth, no less.

According to grand jury testimony leaked to The San Francisco Chronicle, Bonds admitted he used "the clear," now known as the designer drug THG, and "the cream," a testosterone-based ointment, but without realizing they were steroids.

Bonds testified that he received the substances from personal trainer Greg Anderson, since indicted in a steroid-distribution ring, and was told they were flaxseed oil and a balm, respectively.

Seymour Siwoff, president of the Elias Sports Bureau, the official statistician for Major League Baseball, sat on Vincent's 1991 committee. And when asked by the Washington Post if an asterisk would be appropriate if Bonds admitted he knew he took performance-enhancing drugs, noted: "I don't want to speculate on something that does not exist."

In other words, whether Bonds, knowingly or unknowingly, used steroids is irrelevant from a statistical standpoint because of the Vincent edict.

Barry Bonds clubbed a record 73 home runs for the Giants in 2001. (AP Photo/Matt York)

As baseball's official record keeper, Elias removed the remnants of the Maris-Ruth notation and, last season, upheld Vincent's "single-record thesis" when Ichiro Suzuki took 160 games to surpass George Sisler's record of 257 hits established over a 154-game schedule.

Such logic is consistent with past precedent too, as when Ruth broke Ned Williamson's record of 27 home runs with 29 in 1919.

Even though Williamson competed in the 112-game era, the legitimacy of Ruth's record was never questioned.

"A season is a season," Vincent declared.

And a record is a record, regardless of time or circumstance.

When Ned Williamson nearly doubled the previous homer record of 14, he took advantage of a one-year ruling exclusive to Chicago's Lakefront Park, where the outfield dimensions measured a scant 180 feet down the line in left and an equally-inviting 196 in right.

Any ball hit out of the park was deemed a ground-rule double but, in 1884, for one season, balls leaving Lakefront were ruled homers and Williamson made the most of it.

Did he merit an asterisk for simply exploiting circumstances? Of course not.

Bonds' pursuit of excellence is no different. Whatever new standards he sets in the steroid generation are safe because nothing in the record book suggests otherwise.

No question, steroids have compromised the integrity of pro ball players, but Bonds passes muster on that score, too, because he allegedly used them at a time when no drug policy existed in baseball.

Drug testing in baseball was still three years away when Bonds filled McCovey Cove with moonshots in 2001, the year he belted 73 homers – 24 more than he hit the year before and three more than Mark McGwire, who eclipsed the Maris mark with 70 in 1998.

What matters is not that Bonds grew suspiciously beefy, going from regular to super-sized in no time flat. He broke a record, not the rules. He did what was permissible.

Was it popularly acceptable? Well, perhaps that's Bonds' asterisk.

And also why, somewhere, Roger Maris is smiling.