stl sports

When Ken Burns’ first made news through the airwaves that he was going to follow up his baseball documentary with ‘The Tenth Inning’, I was just excited to see a new documentary about baseball. I had never actually seen the original. Had no idea what year the second part would start its story.

Turns out 1994. That year, I turned six. The Christmas before the season, I unwrapped my first baseball glove. Growing up in Springfield, IL, we had a farm team for my favorite team, the St. Louis Cardinals. That is, up until the 1994 season when the franchise was moved due to poor attendance and a ballpark which couldn’t hold up to new, crisp stadiums.

Nevertheless, I remember going to Lanphier Park to watch the Springfield Cardinals. I distinctly remember seeing Dmitri Young’s name across the scoreboard. There was an early fascination with this curious game.

I remember loving baseball - the one thing my parents let me and my younger brother stay up past bedtime for. I would listen to a radio situated between our two beds, and eventually fall asleep to Jack Buck illustrating the game.

Baseball, and the reason it is so beloved, started to make sense to me. That is, until the strike.

This Sports Illustrated photo the second image that appears searching ‘1994 baseball strike’ on Google. I will forever identify with this picture. 

The four years between the strike and the monumental 1998 season included my first season of organized baseball, countless games at old Busch Stadium and an new idolization of Mark McGwire.

My brother and I met a old teammate (I wish I could remember his name) of McGwire’s in 1998, and my brother asked him, “How big is he in real life?” The guy laughed and said, “My legs…are about the size of his arms.”

Yeah, it was funnier at the time.

I was amazed at McGwire’s sheer power and size. I knew the batting practices three hours before the actual game would be something to tell stories about someday. So, apparently, did about 10,000 other fans.

(When the footage of McGwire’s BP came on, I paused the TV to see if I was in there. That’s how amazing the show of his batting practice was. You couldn’t believe the frenzy happened every day, it had to been just for you. I love how we now talk about the Home Run Derby messing up batters. McGwire had a derby every freaking day.)

I was certain I was watching history. I mean, McDonalds named a section of the stadium for him after just half a season in St. Louis. His statue, reserved for Cardinals Hall of Famers, was made well before he was even officially considered for the award.

Our family visited relatives in Minneapolis that summer, and it was quickly decided we had to see the Twins-Cardinals interleague game. So June 27, 1998, we arrived early for batting practice, of course. First the thoughts were, can I catch a batting practice homer? Wait, what if I actually caught a Mark McGwire home run ball during the game?

That Saturday, I was three rows and 12 seats away from catching his 36th home run of the season. So damn close.

Apparently, the Cardinals won 7-2. I had to look that last part up.

Fast-forward through the Sosa-McGwire rivalry that season, perfectly punctuated as a Cubs-Cardinals rivalry. 

I never had any doubts about McGwire breaking the record. It was only a matter of when he would turn it loose.

The 62nd home run was perfect. Bob Costas broke it down perfectly in ‘The Tenth Inning.’ The celebration afterward was perfect. Lifting his son into the air. Congratulations from Sosa. Hugging the Maris family. And, of all things, a groundskeeper hands McGwire the home run ball.

I mean, come on. It’s what a cheesy Hollywood director would write into an unbelievable script. It was too perfect. It shouldn’t have been real.

“If some of that doesn’t touch your heart, you shouldn’t be a baseball fan.” - Bob Costas

That’s why it hurts so much.

I think about the McGwire-Sosa home run race quite often, about the time I spent watching that era. About what it means.

Forgive me if I’m speaking for you, but my generation justs wants steroids to go away. But, it dominates headlines every single f@#king year. It stays and haunts me, reminding me players had to lie or cover up their actions during the historic season. They are ashamed of it.

Yet, I can’t forget about those years. I have so many memories of when I was happy during those years. That is when I truly fell in love with baseball. I don’t think Bud Selig realized how much the topic of steroids hurt the current generation, and every time he failed to take action, wounds deepened.

I won’t lie, I watched ‘The Tenth Inning’ to try to achieve some sense of closure. Maybe it will come in the second half tomorrow night. I don’t know. Probably not. But, at the very least, it made me fall in love with the game all over again.

I broke down watching Cal Ripken Jr. round Camden Yards. I saw Griffey’s sweet, sweet swing. Ken Burns actually made me like the Yankees for a small moment, but only because of Joe Torre - my first baseball hero thanks to those late night Cardinal games told by Jack Buck.

Much pain has been alleviated by Albert Pujols and the 2006 Championship team. I will be forever grateful for that team. But, I feel I will forever remained transfixed on the timeline of the top of ‘The Tenth Inning.’