Originally published by The State Hornet (Sacramento State)
As a jaded but nontheless ardent follower of major league baseball, I have nothing but admiration for Mark McGwire's class act this season as he set the most hallowed single season mark for home runs. Oh yeah, and Sammy Sosa too.
These two have saved baseball. Period, point blank.
On the night when McGwire connected with his 62nd blast, there was total ecstasy. There hasn't been a feel-good story about baseball in years. McGwire's team, the St. Louis Cardinals, are hopelessly out of the playoff picture, but the fans were yelling and carrying on like a pennant was at stake.
Heartwarming is not a word I will be accused of overusing, but that's what it was. McGwire jubilantly rounded the bases, hugged his son Matthew, and embraced the late, great Roger Maris and family. The Busch Stadium groundskeeper who retrieved the ball happily gave it to McGwire, who is giving it to the Hall of Fame. That's the way it should have been. No one should have caught that ball, anyway. It is a part of history now.
There was a carnival-like World Series atmosphere that has been impossible to find in sports these days. My only wish is that it could have been bottled up and saved.
Cheesy? Maybe. But this is what the sport desperately needed.
And now the bedeviled Maris can rest in peace, too. Maris hated the media crush and notoriety. His problems with the press no doubt contributed to his early death.
In the last several years, baseball has been a sea of tumult. Fay Vincent's ousting as commissioner in 1992, the strike that cost fans an exciting conclusion to the 1994 season, and the arrogant personalities that dominate the game's landscape have all put a black eye on the sport.
For every McGwire--a dedicated family man who puts his kid first and has compassion--there is a surly Albert Belle, a cranky Barry Bonds, a money-hungry Mike Piazza, a drug-troubled (in the past) Darryl Strawberry.
Great players, mind you. But not great people. While Belle and Bonds still might outdistance McGwire statistically in their careers and pile up post-season honors, they will never gain the total respect McGwire has. McGwire puts others first, and he respects the game. Period, point blank.
What does he mean to baseball? Everything. The interest was just amazing. Die-hard fans and people who wouldn't know a batter's box from a moving crate followed the chase daily. But let's forget about that for a moment. It was a great moment for sports.
Around the league, stadiums, which normally sit half-empty during an entire season, were filled to the brim when McGwire came to town. People wanted to see their team win, but they also wanted to be part of history and see a Mac homer.
Just a couple of weeks ago, Pittsburgh's Three Rivers Stadium was standing room only. Keep in mind that even when the Pirates were a division-winning team in the early '90s, they never sold out at home. Until now.
When the Oakland A's were champs in the late '80s and early '90s, Mac didn't take it for granted. He regretted that the team didn't get to celebrated traditionally following their Earthquake Series win in 1989, out of respect for the casualties. He understood. But it bothered him.
That team broke up after 1992, and his career seemed to wane. He missed over 300 games due to injuries in what should have been his prime. A broke, starving Oakland club was forced to trade him to St. Louis in 1997, and that's when things got interesting.
The 1996 New York Yankees underdog championship season was followed by the 1997 Florida Marlins winning it all, then breaking up in record fashion when owner Wayne Huizenga decided to put money before moxie.
Just when the game seemed to right itself, there became yet more reasons to remain cynical.
It took a record-breaking season by one of the game's true class acts to restore the game to its prominence--and sanity. Thank you, Mac. Thank you.
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