In 1998, as a skinny seventh grader, I was at the very height of my baseball fan-hood. To me, Mark McGwire was a super-hero. Roger Maris' home run record was a magical, seemingly unreachable number. In previous years McGwire and Ken Griffey Jr. had come close but fallen short.
However early on in '98, even before Sammy Sosa went wild with 20 home runs in May, it seemed that this year 61* may finally fall. I looked at the Mets' schedule to see when Big Mac would be coming to Shea. On August 20th the Cardinals would be in town for a double-header. I immediately begged my father to order tickets for our whole family, which he did (yes way back then you could actually buy tickets to a double-header). I was hopeful that being late in the season, especially getting two games for the price of one, I'd be able to see an important home run in a record breaking season.
Game day came and McGwire was sitting on 49 homers. My anticipation was soaring. Our seats were in the second level along the first base line. We arrived early and my brother and I went right down to field level when McGwire came up to take batting practice. He did not disappoint, hitting nearly every pitch a mile. It was quite a site. After he finished he came right over and signed autographs to dozens of kids like ourselves. Our tiny frames were nearly crushed in the mob eagerly trying to get Big Macs signature. Seeing McGwire up close was like being in front of a professional wrestler. He was a massive, hulking man, bigger than anyone I had ever seen. I was young but I had shaken hands with Mo Vaughn before and been to many WWF events; I had never been so in awe of an athletes stature as I was here.
We returned to our seats for game one and Mark McGwire smashed a Willy Blair pitch deep into the left field bleachers for his 50th home run of the year. My brother and I, both in red McGwire t-shirts, went wild. I slapped my dad a high-five. Shea Stadium gave him a standing ovation. Game two came and he did it again ripping number 51, a line-drive, down the left-field line off Rick Reid. Going home I was more thrilled than a kid who had just got a Red Rider BB gun or an N64 on Christmas.
Years later it became clear that this great childhood memory, shared wonderfully with my brother and father, was a fraud. It has been tarnished by steroids, like everything else that happened in baseball in the late-90s.
Last night I got to watch McGwire cry to Bob Costas for an hour. Give Costas credit, this was no pathetic A-Rod confession to Gammons. Costas did not let up and kept asking good, tough questions. McGwire seemed to be relatively honest too. He is also delusional. To suggest that steroids did not improve his hitting is laughable. He apologized over-and-over. If they didn't help your career Mark, why are you apologizing? I personally do not accept your apology. Are you trying to tell me that I should cherish my memory as legit as if I had seen Roger Maris hit his 50th in '61? Why all the tears than?
Obviously Mark only did this because he now has a job with the Cardinals. Who knows if he actually believes what he said last night, and who really cares. I just hope he never makes it into the Hall of Fame. Please Hall voters, spare us having to watch McGwire cry anymore.
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