EDITORIAL Baseball, for a moment, was more than
sport
For a few enchanted minutes last week time stopped, we ceased
battle, and our weary nation reached into tradition to seize common ground and
revel in youthful dreams.
Mark McGwire had just belted his 62nd homer. And we were called to
share in the glory, remembering the Babe, while healing a
37-year-old wound. It was finally time to give Roger Maris his due.
Born two years to the day after Maris hit his 61st homer in 1961,
McGwires solo home run in the fourth inning off Chicago Cubs pitcher
Steve Trachsel capped a chase that began with his grand slam on opening
day.
Trite, perhaps, but it was a storybook moment as the big and
self-effacing redhead rounded the bases and stepped on home plate before
lifting his beaming son high above his head in a this ones for the
boy in every one of us move.
McGwire was quickly swamped by teammates as viewers watched from
sea to shining sea and up and down the Americas and around the globe.
There was Big Mac, high-fiving, blowing kisses, waving his
glove-covered hands to the admiring crowds.
And now the big man was jumping into the lower box seats to
embrace the Marises, whispering quiet thoughts to the offspring of the deceased
and newly toppled record-holder.
No need to hold back the tears for all the pain and unfulfilled
dreams, ideals never achieved, for the joy and rare giddiness of pure
delight.
Moments later, with the game resumed and our new home run king
covering first with Sammy Sosa at his side, both men were winners. Long rivals
for the sluggers crown, theyve demonstrated a refreshing grace and
class. The two never showed any acrimony toward each other despite tortured
media efforts to send them to battle.
Perhaps its been their shared, pressured journeys that
bonded them. Maybe it is as simple as character. But standing there, jostling
each other, full of smiles, they became examples for all.
Baseball last week became more than sport. It offered reminders
and a vision that spirit matters, that generosity and good will can accompany
fierce competition. That we can be civil and generous.
Baseball represents a patient, deliberate side of the American
psyche. Football certainly requires more brute strength and courage, basketball
greater fluidity, athletic prowess and conditioning. Major league baseball, on
the other hand, is a collection of agonizing detail and endless columns of
statistics bound together by layers of fussy rules, all held in wonderful
tension by bursts of awesome individual skills. And of all the skills, hitting,
the devilishly difficult matter of swinging a round bat and striking a round
ball with sufficient force and direction to get oneself on base, is the most
treasured. And to be able to do it skillfully enough to send 62 (and certainly
more to come!) over the fence -- well, the world stops and admires.
If baseball reflects culture, it is, then, not perfect. But it
does provide, like life, those little bursts of glory. And sometimes they are
enough to lift us all, for the briefest moment, to common celebration of simple
pleasures.
National Catholic Reporter, September 18,
1998
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