By Gary
Cozine
Saturday, December 1st, 2001
The major topic of discussion for baseball fans these days is the proposed
elimination of a couple teams. This process is called "contraction," a term
that conjures more images of birth than it does death. Bud Selig claims baseball
had a net loss of $500 million for the 2001 season and wants to get rid of
two teams to put the sport back on the road to financial well-being. The
contemplation of this drastic measure happens to coincide with the retirement
of Mark McGwire. Baseball is about to get small. McGwire made it big.
I didn't see McGwire play live during the 1998 season. Like everyone else
on the planet, I tried to watch as many of his at-bats on TV as I could,
but I suspected that it was a poor substitute for seeing the man in person.
So, in April of 1999 when St. Louis came to town, I headed over to Dodger
Stadium with some friends. We arrived early because we suspected that
batting practice would probably be as interesting as the game itself.
While the Cardinals were in the cage, I was standing about halfway up the
left field bleachers (where else would you want to be in a game that McGwire
was in?) and most of the homeruns that the players were hitting were landing
in front of and below me, barely clearing the wall and ending up somewhere
in the first half dozen rows.
When McGwire came to the plate, I had to look up as the balls went
over my head, ignoring gravity. He changed the geometry of baseball. Several
of his homeruns cleared the bleachers altogether and landed in the parking
lot. McGwire took the term "hitting one out of the park" literally. It was
like watching Paul Bunyan playing stickball with midgets. All my friends
and I could do was shake our heads and giggle like Little Leaguers.
I'm sorry to see him go. I think the game was better because of him. Here's
a guy who, along with Cal Ripken, Jr. (who also hung up his cleats this year),
is personally responsible for baseball's recovery after the strike. Had McGwire
not built on the groundwork laid by Ripken, baseball would have lost a lot
more this season than Selig's $500 million figure. It was no fun watching
the big guy batting .187 - and clearly, it was embarrassing to him - but
I think a lot of people (myself included) felt that if he could have come
back healthy next year, he was certainly capable of some of the old magic.
But in an age when sports figures seem so nakedly venal, spending as much
time negotiating endorsement deals as they do in the batting cage, it is
hard not to be impressed with McGwire walking away from a multi-million dollar
contract because he felt that the fans and the owners would not be getting
their money's worth.
I happen to be a Giants fan and so I wasn't distressed - as I know many people
were - to see Bonds break McGwire's record. Bonds is a ridiculously talented
player and he deserves whatever records he can knock off. But just as Roger
Maris hitting 61 homeruns 40 years ago did nothing to dislodge Babe Ruth
from the baseball pantheon, it is unlikely that Bonds stunning accomplishment
will displace our deep affection for what McGwire gave to the game and to
us.
I was recently talking to a friend on my softball team about McGwire's motives
for retirement, asking why he would hang it up now when he might still have
another good season or two left in him. My friend remarked that maybe he
just felt it was time and after all, "he'll probably hold the homerun record
for quite awhile." I had to remind him that another guy took it from him
this year.
McGwire occupies a unique place in baseball's collective memory. Although
he will never again hold the homerun title, it will be a long time before
a nation embraces a player in the way he was in the summer of '98. Both he
and Bonds broke established homerun records, but the events had eerily dissimilar
qualities. McGwire brought a nation together with his quest for 62 while
Bonds broke the record in a country that had been torn apart. In 1998, people
all over the place were wearing Cardinal hats and baseball jerseys with the
number 25 on the back. In 2001, the idolatry reversed itself and baseball
players were wearing firemen's caps. Heroism is not immutable.
McGwire was larger than life on a baseball diamond. Seeing him in civilian
clothes just won't be the same. There will be times in the future when we
will need McGwire. He will be there for us. He has made himself available
as a folkloric idol. Paul Bunyan has laid down his axe, but as we all know,
that's when the story really begins.
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