Barry -- Bonds not Manilow -- makes secret Series visit

• He sits in stands while other Giants greats are honored
• Meets up with former manager Jim Leyland before game
• Wants back in game as coach or instructor

SAN FRANCISCO -- They trotted out all of the San Francisco Giant legends.

They screamed his name, over and over, "Barry! Barry! Barry!"

Yet, perhaps the greatest Giant of them all, Barry Bonds, was sitting quietly and relatively unnoticed Wednesday night in section 119 at AT&T Park.

Those chants were for Giants starting pitcher Barry Zito, not Bonds.

He wasn't invited to join the Giants Hall of Famers on the field to throw out the ceremonial first pitch. And he isn't scheduled to be part of any ceremony the rest of the World Series.

Bonds, baseball's all-time home run hitter, badly wants back in the game as a coach or instructor. It could be with the Giants, but not until he's done appealing an obstruction of justice conviction from April 2011, a high-ranking team executive told USA TODAY Sports on condition of anonymity because he is not authorized to speak publicly.

But Commissioner Bud Selig, who has been in the same ballpark as Bonds just twice since the slugger broke Hank Aaron's home run record five years ago, would just as soon Bonds go away. Selig wasn't there the night of Bonds' historical feat and didn't bother to stop by and catch up on Wednesday.

The only reminiscing was when Bonds snuck into the Detroit Tigers clubhouse before the game and visited with manager Jim Leyland and coaches for whom he played for in Pittsburgh from 1986-92. They talked about when Bonds was a raw, skinny outfielder who was drafted and developed by the Pirates and blossomed into the most feared slugger in the game, long before BALCO was in the headlines.

"Oh, it was great," Leyland told USA TODAY Sports. "We had a great time. We were laughing. He looks tremendous. He really looks good. I can't remember the last time I saw him, but he looks terrific and had that great big smile.

"I'm glad he came."

And, just as quietly, Bonds departed.

It's as if Bonds, divorced and splitting time between Los Angeles and San Francisco, is already forgotten. There are no signs at AT&T Park, no banners, no evidence he ever existed.

The Giants' huge center-field scoreboard and TV cameras panned fans throughout the ballpark throughout the night, even finding NFL Hall of Famer Joe Montana and hip-hop artist MC Hammer together in a suite, but there was no sighting of Bonds.

When the crowd was chanting "Barry," Fox broadcaster Joe Buck said: "They used to say it for someone else around here."

Broadcaster partner Tim McCarver: "When Barry Manilow was here at concerts."

Ouch.

The Giants have won two National League pennants and a World Series since Bonds' departure. They have sold out every game since Oct. 1, 2010, a streak that surely will last at least another season .

The Giants proved they don't need Bonds to win, sell seats, make money or enhance their identity.

Bonds, you see, needs the Giants much more than the Giants need him.

"I think he would be a great hitting coach," said Tigers third baseman Miguel Cabrera, who got a hug from Bonds for winning the Triple Crown. "Come on, to teach you everything he knows, that would be awesome."

Said Leyland: "The only thing I would worry about him as a hitting instructor is that he made it look so easy. Not everybody can do that."

It would be nice to know what Bonds is thinking these days, and after leaving several messages through his assistant, we decided to call his cell phone:

"This is Mr. Bonds' office, how can I help you?"

Yes, the man actually has an operator that handles his cell phone.

She asks your name. Your company. And whether you want to talk now or leave a message.

You hear easy-listening, elevator music, and after a 30-second pause the operator returns.

"Mr. Bonds is not picking up, is there a message I can leave for him?"

"Yes, can he please call me?''

"Thank you. This message will be sent to him. Have a wonderful day."

We're still waiting on that return call. Some things, never change.