Lewis doesn't feel heat after replacing a legend

SAN FRANCISCO – They can't touch him.

No matter how many invectives they hurl at him – You (stink); you're no Barry Bonds; you're just Barry Bonds' replacement; you can't carry Barry Bonds' jockstrap – the haters can't get in his head.

Why should they? With what Fred Lewis already has endured in his life, you think some knuckleheads in the left-field stands are going to upset him?

Because while the prospect of replacing a legend in the field can be daunting, the Giants' new left fielder takes it all in stride. You want pressure? Deal with what Lewis endures daily and witness how his personalized on-field celebration has special meaning.

"I had three good friends, lovely friends," Lewis said softly. "Two cousins (of Lewis'), and one was my best friend's girlfriend. I lost them in a car accident.

"I tap my chest three times for their loss, point up to the sky for them because every day I know they're watching from heaven. It's for them and also to (remind me) that I'm still here by the grace of God."

* * *

Lewis, 16 days shy of his 21st birthday, was at the wheel of his father's 1995 GMC king cab truck that rainy Mississippi night on Thanksgiving 2001. Driving home to tiny Wiggins from the casinos of Gulfport 32 miles away, his friend Terranthium Galloway, 19, was in the front seat. The three girls, Krystal Bolden, 19, and Yolanda Pope, 19 – Lewis' cousins – and Nerfretti Bradshaw, 20, Galloway's girlfriend, were in the back seat.

It was 3:50 in the morning, and all but Lewis were asleep.

According to reports, the truck hydroplaned in the rainstorm, and Lewis lost control of the vehicle, which flipped, hit a tree and landed on the driver's side in a roadside gully on U.S. 49.

Lewis was virtually unhurt, physically, while Galloway suffered a broken jaw, arm and shoulder. But the girls, none of whom was wearing a seat belt, died at the scene.

So overcome by grief and guilt was Lewis, home for the holiday in his first semester at Southern University, that he considered quitting. School. Baseball. Life itself. None of it mattered anymore.

Until the families of the deceased convinced him otherwise. Three lives ending prematurely did not mean a fourth should, Lewis was told. He should continue chasing his dream, as a tribute to those lost in the Gulf Coast downpour.

Grudgingly, Lewis went back to school, amid the heartache and constant self-questioning. He emerged from the blue funk enough to honor the memory of his friends. And after a standout season at Southern the following spring, the dream was realized.

In the June 2002 draft, the Giants selected him in the second round, No. 66 overall.

It was a slow, steady climb through the minor leagues, Lewis spending time at every level of the Giants' farm system before getting his first big-league call-up Sept. 1, 2006.

Awaiting him as a welcome gift was a suit from fellow outfielders Dave Roberts and Randy Winn. And an ominous presence in the imminent home run king, Bonds.

So did Bonds warmly welcome the rookie who eventually would replace him in the field, or did he give him the "rookie treatment" afforded youngsters by veterans?

"Well, he gave me a little bit of both," Lewis said, half grinning. "He would tell people, 'This kid, he can swing it. He can play. He's going to be a great player.' … But he would never tell me.

"But we kidded around; he'd put me in a headlock and swing me around, stuff like that."

Last Aug. 4, Bonds seemed to take exception to Lewis studying his batting practice regimen.

"I was watching his feet, how far apart they were," Lewis said, "I mean, I wasn't watching nothing else but just his feet because I wanted see how far he stepped."

So the left-handed-hitting Lewis incorporated Bonds' stride into his mechanics, and Lewis started hitting Bondsian moon shots.

"I see you trying to hit the ball up there where I'm hitting it," Bonds said.

"I'm a student of the game," Lewis sheepishly answered. "I'm trying to get better by watching you."

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