BOSTON — They came, of course, not to praise him, but to bury him, to deep-six him with their boos.

They came with their homemade signs, their profane T-shirts, and most of all, their outrage.

Hating Barry Bonds has become the great American Pastime unless you live in San Francisco. It unites people from coast to coast. Even Red Sox and Yankee fans can put their differences aside and find some common ground.

Within striking distance of sports’ most cherished record, Bonds is the country’s most vilified athlete and apparently, it’s something of a privilege to remind him of that.

Fenway was overstuffed with fans, pregnant with anticipation. For one night, the home team was something of an afterthought. From the time former Sox outfielder Dave Roberts crossed the plate with the Giants’ first run in top of the first and Bonds emerged from the visitors dugout and headed to the on-deck circle, the fans’ wrath was trained on the slugger.

When Randy Winn grounded to second, the boos began. As they rained down from around the park some fans stood, the better to project, presumably. Bonds casually stepped into the batter’s box, impervious to the rancor.

For Bonds, this was nothing new. For Red Sox fans, it was entirely novel. Incredibly, even with the introduction of interleague play a decade ago, this was Bonds’ first visit to Fenway.

The timing couldn’t have been better or worse, depending on your point of view. As Bonds creeps closer to Hank Aaron’s career mark of 755 home runs, most baseball fans involuntarily cringe.

In his first at-bat, Bonds launched a high fly ball down the right-field line that, for a time, looked to be the Bonds bashers’ worst nightmare: No. 748, live and in color. The ballpark inhaled deeply and waited for first base umpire Charlie Reliford’s ruling.

When Reliford emphatically signaled foul, with Bonds just steps from the first base bag, it was rough justice. The jeers turned to taunts, as if the fans themselves had willed Bonds’ flyball into foul territory.

In his next at-bat, Bonds was denied an opportunity to swing for the fences. With Randy Winn aboard with a two-out double and first base open, Red Sox manager Terry Francona elected to intentionally walk Bonds.

This strategy seemed to divide fans. Some delighted in taking the bat out of his hands and depriving Bonds of the chance to add to his total. Some saw it as a lost opportunity to retire Bonds on merit, as though the Sox were ducking the challenge.

Still others were doubtless disappointed to not witness an advance on history.

And here is precisely where it gets tricky, where emotion collides with reality. Every time Bonds strode to the plate, a blizzard of camera flashes trailed him. For a notorious villain, a lot of people seem to want to record the moment for posterity.

His final two at-bats were uneventful in the large scale of things — a groundout in the sixth and a sharp single to right in the eighth.

Major League Baseball, and commissioner Bud Selig, in particular, would like nothing more than for Bonds to disappear. Some conspiracy theorists, in fact, believe that the other legal shoe in the form of an indictment from the federal government will drop soon after Bonds hits 751 or 752.

That will provide Selig with his legal opening to suspend or ban Bonds from the game, preserving Aaron’s mark, and in turn, what’s left of the game’s integrity. But unless the feds have their own version of Agent Harris in their midst, ready to deliver an eleventh-hour knockdown of Bonds’ chase for baseball immortality, MLB won’t be that lucky.

Perhaps this is as it should be. As punishment for looking the other way while both bodies and home run totals grew wildly out of proportion, baseball now has to watch helplessly as Bonds, ahem, injects himself permanently into the record books.

Much to baseball’s dismay, Bonds is not going away.

He is, however, disappearing from Boston, probably for good, in two more days. Bring your disdain, your wagging finger of disapproval, and your righteous indignation today and tomorrow.

And don’t forget your cameras.

smcadam@projo.com