BY THE SEVENTH INNING, I'm sitting in an open kayak—cold, cold San Francisco Bay beneath me, 20-knot winds on the water, the glow of stadium lights above—when Bonds strikes out looking on a nasty Tim Hudson fastball.

I pump my fist and say, "Yeah," then I see the expression on the face of the guy on the surfboard next to me.

"Are you nuts?" he asks.

"Geez, maybe. Gimme a second."

Valid question. According to memorabilia freaks, Bonds's 756th home-run ball may fetch up to a cool million. Number 755 could bring as much as half that, and even 754 could sell for ten grand or so.

But, regardless, in McCovey Cove you'd need some kind of Freudian micrometer to determine sanity. There are 14 of us out here, not counting the police boat anchored off the NO WAKE quadrant, which constitutes a fictional sea upon which sails the Bonds Navy, a quasi-fictional armada of regulars who show up whenever the Giants play, day or night. There are ten kayaks, two surfboards, a folding duck boat, and some kind of raft containing what may be a potted fern and a guy in a Giants uniform.

There are a few pretenders, but bona fide flotilla members are easy to spot because of the BONDS NAVY pennants and Giants-orange paint jobs. I'm surprised to discover they're a convivial group, friendly even to strangers, despite the cove's reputation as having the toughest lineup this side of Pipeline, the value of the baseballs we're all jockeying to salvage, and the fact that one of the pretenders (me) is wearing a catcher's mask.

"Safety first," I explain.

Not necessary, I'm told.
"Up in the stands, they fight like gladiators over a ball," says Gene Pointer, a union sign hanger from Petaluma, "but here in the cove it's pretty laid back. We're competitive, sure. But we respect each other, too. It takes a special sort of person to do what we're doing."

No argument. It's 59 degrees; water's 58.
As the game progresses, and as I meet other members of the Bonds Navy, I realize there's both a loosely structured order to the apparent chaos and a sort of cowboy code of honor.

Home-run balls that land in the cove are called "splash hits." If a dinger caroms off the quay, it's not officially a splash hit (although it's still worth bucks if Bonds hits it), nor is it officially counted as a splash hit if a non-Giant knocks it out of the park.

Pointer, a.k.a. Kayak Man, has five Bonds splash hits to his credit. On Kayak-Man.com, you learn he's available for "movies, commercials . . . and charity fundraiser events." His hobbies include surfing and "good times on the high seas."

Gary Faselli, a retired Stockton cop who retrieved Bonds home run 738 about three months back, makes the pennants. As a member in good standing, he has a lot of say in who gets commissioned.

"You only get the flag if you've been out here several years," he explains. "You've got to come to a lot of games."

Other regulars include Dave "the Spearfisherman" Edlund, a former HP exec who a few years ago retired at age 45 to chase baseballs. There's Martin Wong, the group's unofficial photographer. Out here on his surfboard is Patrick Whelly, wearing shades and looking cool despite the cold. Steve Jackson and Tom Hoynes were among the very first "splash dippers," zooming after balls in their Zodiacs before authorities closed the area to motors.

"It was pretty hairy," recalls Kayak Man, who used a surfboard then. "They're good guys, but, man, those propellers are sharp."

The most famous member of the Bonds Navy is Larry Ellison—not the billionaire founder of Oracle but a 56-year-old salesman who deals in recovery software. Ellison is also very good at scooping balls—so good, in fact, he's been dubbed the King of the Cove by the media. On consecutive days, he nabbed Bonds homers 660 (Willie Mays's career total) and 661. The latter he sold for $17,000, some of which he used to buy a custom-made, computer-equipped Kevlar kayak with a baseball sunk in the hull as if embedded there by Bonds. It's the fastest boat on the cove, according to regulars. Instead of selling 660, he gave it to Bonds, he says, out of gratitude for what he's done for the team.

Because it is Bonds's birthday, Ellison has brought along a chocolate cake, a frosted replica of the stadium. Happy birthday, Barry. I take off my catcher's mask long enough to try a piece. Delicious.