By Christopher Smith
It was the shot heard around the world, again.
Two days after hitting his 61st home run and tying the record for most home runs in a season, Mark McGwire made his pitch for history and immortality.
On the night of Sept. 8, 1998, McGwire in the bottom of the fourth took the pitch from Chicago Cub Steve Trachsel and hit the most important ball of his career. McGwire sent the pitch down the left field line, and over the fence for his record-breaking 62nd home run of the season. McGwire eclipsed the mark set by Roger Maris in 1961, when he hit 61 home runs for the New York Yankees. McGwire rounded the bases to the cheers of a homefield audience that cheered through an 11- minute delay.
The amount of light generated by flash bulbs from the cameras of McGwire admirers was close to that of a small star. McGwire came out of the dugout and tipped his hat to the crowd, and was greeted by a deafening roar of Cardinal faithful and baseball fans.
As we were sitting in the stands, we could sense something special had happened. It was more than the fall of a record that had stood for 37 years.
It was the fact that 50,000 people were joined in one common purpose. In the slew of high-fives and hugs being handed out to the people sitting next to you or in front of you, people did not care who you were or what you looked like, they were happy just to be there.
The flood of friendship and heartfelt warmth was overwhelming. Fifty thousand people had been united by watching a man hit a little white ball in a game that was originally played by children. For one second, mankind was united and at peace. The emotional high of the moment would last over the course of the next two innings and would return whenever McGwire showed his face.
But then, as it always does, reality would return. All the people who, just seconds before, had loved their fellow man for no other reason than because he was there, returned to true form. In the race to see "what can I get out of this," the night took a drastic turn.
Souvenirs such as baseballs, pennants and caps which, before the game, had been overpriced to begin with, hit an all-new high. Baseballs with the number 62 on them started at $20 apiece. Red Cardinal caps with a 62 on them went for $30, and photos of McGwire were $10.
People made a mad dash for programs, or just about anything to commemorate the night, including confetti, ticket stubs and in one case a hot dog wrapper. Angry mobs jammed the lines in front of vendors selling anything with McGwire’s name on it. Panic and fear showed on the faces of the young people who had summer jobs selling memorabilia at games, as people crowded and pushed their way to the front of the line.
Outside the stadium, the scene was not much better, as the St Louis Post-Dispatch was selling special newspapers commemorating the fall of the home run record. The vendors watched as eager opportunists bought newspapers by the hundreds and then sold them for $10 apiece.
In the ceremony after the game, McGwire was paid homage by baseball commissioner Bud Selig, the Maris family, Hall of Famers Lou Brock and Stan "The Man" Musial, and his own team. McGwire remained humble and dedicated the home run to the people of St. Louis. He said the thought of his bat lying next to Roger Maris' in the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, N. Y. made him proud.
McGwire was then presented with a cardinal red 1962 Corvette, which pulled up to the podium and drove him around the stadium in his victory lap.
Mark McGwire, with one swing of his bat, had been able to bring out the best in people. He made us happy beyond means as we rejoiced with and for this humble man.
Unfortunately he also brought out the worst in us, albeit unintentionally, as with that one swing he sent people into a frenzy over what they could get and how much money they could make out of this triumphant event.
To quote Dickens, "It was the best of times, and it was the worse of times."
Sept. 17, 1998 the Apache