A pinch of perspective

Wildcat File Photo Arizona Daily Wildcat Craig Degel

We take note of where we were, what we were doing and how we reacted. Your parents remember exactly what they were doing when the news broke that President Kennedy was assassinated.

To a lesser extent, we remember where we were when great sporting events are presented. In terms of capturing the nation's attention, though, very few of those have caused the kind of recall that the Kennedy Assassination, the Apollo 11 moon landing or the Challenger shuttle explosion do. Hank Aaron's 715th, Carlton Fisk's dramatic World Series home run in 1975, and Kirk Gibson's World Series blast in 1988 are the kind of moments that stand out.

How many of you will be able to recall what you were doing on Sept. 8, 1998, when Mark McGwire went where no baseball player had ever gone? When McGwire ripped his biggest - and ironically his shortest - home run of the year, Fox carried it live to the entire nation. The big three networks broke into programming to give a special report that McGwire had just broken what is considered the most dramatic of baseball's records - 61 home runs by Roger Maris.

It is certainly not the most unbreakable of baseball's records. You will get arguments for Joe DiMaggio's 56-game hitting streak in 1941 or Jack Chesbro's 41 pitching victories in 1904 before fielding any on the single-season home run record.

But Americans are obsessed with the idea of power. What captures our attention more than a slam dunk, a quarterback sack or a blind check into the boards? Just one thing. Nothing is so dramatic and singular as the home run. It is the ultimate display of power in sports. It can bring 50,000 people simultaneously to their feet at the same that it brings one poor soul - the pitcher - to his knees.

In the last 114 years, only four men have owned the single-season home run record. Ned Williamson held it with 27 in 1884 until Ruth broke it in 1919. Ruth kept breaking his own record until he hit 60 in 1927. The record stayed with Ruth until Maris' assault in 1961. And Tuesday, McGwire smacked his own piece of immortality just under the neon strikeout tally board at Busch Stadium in St. Louis.

What defines a historic home run? The question has been posed and is a difficult one to answer. Does the moment define the home run or does the home run define the moment? Most often it is the drama of the moment that defines the home run.

Yet, last night, the home run defined the moment. An elated McGwire, so excited that he missed first base and had to go back and touch it, rounded the infield and hugged just about everybody he could get his hands on, including the Maris family, which had flown in to witness the occasion.

Over the course of the last 21 games, as McGwire launched an all-out assault of 15 home runs, we waited, watched and wondered. Fans were having fun, players were having fun, even casual fans were reminded of baseball's power on the emotions as McGwire hit No. 61 to tie Maris, then pointed to Maris family, then to his heart and then to the sky to let the world know that Maris was with him.

And the images provided by McGwire after No. 62 - pointing to the sky, hugging his son and embracing the Maris children - will live along with the home run in our minds just as Gibson limping his battered body around first base and Fisk practically willing his ball into fair territory will.

Mark McGwire did not save baseball, he just reminded all of us how much fun it can be.

Craig Degel is a journalism senior. He can be reached via e-mail at Craig.Degel@wildcat.arizona.edu.