Roger Maris got an asterisk for his considerable efforts, and it felt wrong at the time.
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But if his single-season home run record is broken this September in multiple fashion–by Mark McGwire, Ken Griffey Jr. and Sammy Sosa–that won’t feel right either.
We might even recommend that those three sluggers, for all they have done, go down in history beside a question mark. As in, why?
Why did this happen all of a sudden? Was it merely coincidence, that the alignment of these three undeniably gifted stars resulted in all of them hitting 62 or more home runs during the same summer? Or did this grand achievement indicate that baseball’s status has veered too far from quo?
There are several new batter-friendly stadiums. The ball jumps off the bat like a Titleist. The incredible shrinking strike zone is smaller than an editor’s heart. Expansion creates a demand for quality arms that clearly outstrips supply. Pitchers routinely work behind in the count, avoid throwing inside, are rewarded handsomely for a 4.50 earned-run average, and rarely last beyond the sixth inning.
So then, does Powerball ’98 represent a confluence of all these factors that reek of a diminished product? Or is the Great Home Run Chase nothing more or less than it seems, a fortuitous development that has energized the sport and simply should be savored instead of investigated?
I don’t know the answer. And as a minority who still believes baseball is the best game, I’m not sure I want to know the answer.
Babe Ruth’s record was one of the most sacred in sports, but Maris’ tenure as baseball’s home run king has lasted even longer. The Babe hit 60 in 1927 and not until 1961 did Maris hit 61. That year, the American League grew from eight teams to 10 and the schedule from 154 games to 162.
Commissioner Ford Frick declared that Maris, who hit No. 61 in the Yankees’ 163rd game, must bear a mark (quickly dubbed an asterisk), which subsequently was removed. But experts pondered the imponderables–the bloated American League accounted for 338 more homers than the National League–and insisted that autopsies be performed on bats, balls, resin bags.
We don’t advocate the above. We merely suggest something doesn’t feel quite right. The game lacks balance, even beyond standings that reveal four of six division races over, and the world champion Florida Marlins vying for baseball’s worst record.
This stirring chase of Maris is supposed to nourish baseball’s renaissance after that mindless strike in 1994, and there are surely positive vital signs. The game finally has a commissioner, like Bud Selig or not. Animosity between management and labor has subsided, or gone underground.
But after all the smoke clears, and baseball adjourns for the winter, will the game deserve a badge of honor if three players smash Maris’ mark? And what happens if Greg Vaughn and Albert Belle break 1998 records in 1999? What happens after baseball joins the NHL in Columbus and Nashville? Will 70 homers be the mark after the next dilution for dollars?
The pursuit of Maris will be particularly interesting with August here, because two of the candidates are on teams that have conspired to avoid pennant pressures. Griffey’s Seattle Mariners are going; McGwire’s St. Louis Cardinals are gone.
You wonder how Griffey and McGwire will be pitched to in games during the stretch. If Selig were on the mound, he might wish to help his sport by serving up some fat ones, although if you saw dear Bud deliver a ceremonial pitch in Milwaukee recently, you realize he truly is unhittable.
However, will a real pitcher in a pivotal game want to deliver the gopher ball for the ages? The Texas Rangers, who need every victory, finish in Seattle. Or in a nothing game? The Cardinals, who await only McGwire’s next trip to the plate, wind up at home against the motley Montreal Expos.
Amazingly, Sammy Sosa figures to be the only thumper also involved in a chase for first place. And that might explain why this ’98 season, despite the theatrics, has that eerie, strange, full-moon feel to it. He’s on the Cubs.