Call from the Bullpen by David Maull
The Bullpen | Major Leagues | Sports Front Page
McGwire May Have Saved Baseball
From the Sept. 17, 1998 TV Times
Never had the heartbreak of 1994 seemed so distant.
Anger and resentment stemming from that season's disastrous players' strike and cancellation of the World Series was long gone by the time Mark McGwire's 62nd home run cleared the left field fence at Busch Stadium on Tuesday night, Sept. 8, 1998.
Major League Baseball needed McGwire's season-long bid for the home run title about as bad as a newspaper needs ink. And the days leading up to the historic event, and the celebration that followed, seemed almost too good to be true.
That's because baseball usually finds a way to destroy everything that is good about itself. This is done by scheduling World Series games in the middle of the night, giving players inconceivable amounts of money to play a boy's game, and holding cities hostage by demanding new stadiums.
But as McGwire approached, and eventually surpassed, Roger Maris's single-season home run record, it became clear that even baseball's powers-that-be couldn't screw this up.
The event really was as good as it appeared, perhaps better. For once, the event capturing all of the attention was happening on the field, not in a conference room. More importantly, McGwire's accomplishment gave us hope that maybe baseball won't destroy itself after all.
Making the home run race so enjoyable was the class shown by McGwire and his closest pursuer, Sammy Sosa, during their season-long battle for the league lead.
Overcoming an earlier bout of surliness with the media, McGwire finally loosened up in the final month, acknowledging the existence of his pursuit and its significance to the game of baseball. And he showed genuine, unabashed joy in the moments following each home run.
Instead of keeping the record at arm's length, he embraced it, which allowed us to do the same.
The night McGwire drilled No. 62 was like a fairy tale, with all the cosmic forces in the universe converging to produce one magical evening.
Maris's record fell in St. Louis, where the fans are some of baseball's best and where Maris played the last two years of his career. It fell against the Cardinals' long-time rival, the Chicago Cubs, for whom Sosa bats cleanup and plays right field. It fell with Maris's family members seated next to the Cardinals' dugout.
And the day before, during a Labor Day matinee, McGwire blasted No. 61 on his father's 61st birthday.
Ironically, No. 62 was McGwire's shortest homer of the season, traveling just 341 feet on a line and barely clearing the wall in left. It wasn't a Ruthian blast but it was good enough.
His memorable home run trot, which saw McGwire high-five every Cubs' infielder and nearly forget to touch first base after exchanging hugs with first base coach Dave McKay, was followed by a touching celebration in which he embraced nearly every teammate and held aloft his 10-year-old son Matt.
Sosa, ever the class act, ran in from right field to swap home run salutes with his close friend.
When McGwire jumped into the stands to greet Maris's family on what for them was a bittersweet occasion, he acknowledged the hardships Maris endured during his 1961 pursuit of Babe Ruth's record.
Even the most hardened cynic would have struggled to find a strand of negativity in the emotional sequence of events.
But the final weeks of McGwire's chase also gave us hope for another reason. It showed that not all baseball fans are money hungry memorabilia junkies.
The lucky fans who caught each of McGwire's seven home run balls leading up to No. 62 returned them to the slugger, wanting only autographs, a jersey or the opportunity to take batting practice in return.
The amount of money they passed up was staggering. This is surprising considering fans were hurt the most when the players walked out in August 1994.
It was fitting that No. 62 didn't land in the bleachers, but in an area under the stands inhabited only by club employees. The young man who caught the ball never thought twice about giving it back to McGwire.
It was just one of many feel-good stories from the night that may have saved baseball.
The magical moment will be forever cherished by McGwire, his family, his teammates, the fans who packed Busch Stadium, and those who watched on television.
Baseball needed McGwire, Sosa and their selfless heroics.
The healing process from 1994 is nearly complete.
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