Everything Old Is New Again

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One hundred years ago today, Wrigley Field (known then as Weeghman Park) hosted its first baseball game. It was the home of the Chicago Whales of the Federal League.

In the first half of the 1920s, it was known as Cubs Park, and it was the home of the National League's Chicago Cubs — as it still is today. In November 1926, it was renamed Wrigley Field after chewing gum bigwig William Wrigley Jr., who owned the Cubs at the time.

"Most of what we know of Wrigley Field came to be in 1937," writes Tim Newcomb for Sports Illustrated, "when then–owner P.K. Wrigley urged Cubs general manager Bill Veeck to spruce up the stadium, which had already been renovated in 1921 and 1926. ... The owner wanted a park–like setting, similar to what he'd seen in trips to ballparks in California. That vision gave us the park we know today, complete with ivy, a brick outfield wall and a scoreboard."

When a sports venue has existed for a century, it is to be expected that it has hosted its share of luminaries, but Wrigley may have had more than its share in that time. Many stadiums have doubled as homes for baseball and football. Wrigley has truly been an all–purpose facility.

"Wrigley has also hosted professional boxing, professional soccer, college football (Northwestern and DePaul have both called it home) and even a ski jump competition from the upper deck in 1943," Newcomb writes. "All those events, not to mention a visit from every National League team since 1916 (and Michael Jordan once during his baseball days, the only big–league stadium he played in), have brought a who's who of visitors through the locker room."

Only Fenway Park, which observed its centennial a couple of years ago, is older, but Fenway is home to an American League club. In the National League, no stadium is as old as Wrigley Field. Not even close.

In a season that has already saluted the 40th anniversary of Hank Aaron's record–setting home run, baseball has another milestone in Chicago today — and lots of folks will be on hand to celebrate.

The game will match the Cubs and the Arizona Diamondbacks. This may be the brightest the spotlight will shine on these teams all year. After last Sunday's games, both teams were already eight games behind their divisions' leaders.

The teams are unimportant. A game must be played, and Commissioner Bud Selig will be there to see it, as will several noteworthy Cubs, such as Ernie Banks, Billy Williams, Andre Dawson, Fergie Jenkins.

"The first 30,000 fans will receive a replica 1914 Chicago Federals jersey," reports MLB.com, "and the first 10,000 fans will get a birthday cupcake."

WGN will be on hand to provide coverage of the big event — which, appropriately, will take place during the day. Until 1988, all the games that were played in Wrigley Field were played in the day. But lights finally were installed in 1988, and the ballpark joined the rest of the baseball world and began scheduling night games.

Day games are still played at Wrigley Field, and today's game will be played in chilly but sunny conditions, according to the forecasters.

It's funny, but I never realized before that Wrigley Field and Harry Caray, the longtime announcer for Cubs games, were born less than two months apart. Caray was born in March 1914.

It does seem appropriate, though.

The Race to Break Maris' Record

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There are two things I will always remember about the summer of 1998 — the worst heat wave in nearly 20 years that gripped most of the country and the duel between St. Louis' Mark McGwire and Chicago's Sammy Sosa to see who would break Roger Maris' 37–year–old single–season home run record.

(Maris, as baseball historians will tell you, broke Babe Ruth's single–season home run record in 1961, but he benefited from the fact that baseball seasons were 162 games by then, not 154 as they were in the Bambino's day. And for many, many years, Maris' record had an asterisk next to it in the record book because it was not achieved in 154 games.)

The home run chase made that summer of '98 memorable. Well, the heat wave did, too. It was the worst heat wave I've seen since 1980. But the McGwire–Sosa duel was truly riveting. If one had to stay inside because it was so miserably hot outside, watching SportsCenter for the latest update in the home run chase was worth one's time. And there was almost always a daily update.

In hindsight, one must wonder if the '98 home run chase would have happened at all if not for steroids.

In fact, McGwire did concede at the time that he used an over–the–counter substance that had been banned by, among others, the NFL — but not (at that time) major league baseball.

(McGwire was slipperier on his use of other substances.)

So my feeling is that the '98 season should have an asterisk next to it — or maybe it would be more appropriate to have a little syringe instead — in the record books.

But it doesn't, and it probably won't so 1998 will stand as the year that McGwire broke Maris' record. McGwire was eclipsed three years later by Barry Bonds, who has his own unanswered questions about steroid use, but 15 years ago today, McGwire was on his way to wrapping up the home run–hitting season of a lifetime.

("These long–ball extravaganzas were putting fans back in the seats," Greg Stejskal wrote recently in the New York Daily News, "but the cost was the integrity of the game.")

McGwire hit 70 home runs that year. No one before — and only one man since — hit that many home runs in a single season. (That year, in fact, Bonds hit slightly more than half as many home runs as McGwire.)

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That summer, I was working for a trade magazine that served the imprinted sportswear industry. Part of my job was attending trade shows in different parts of the country, and I recall attending a show in Chicago. Exhibitors at these shows were often regional representatives of licensed sports products, and major league baseball was a hot (pardon the expression) commodity in Chicago that summer.

At these shows, I would walk around the hall and sit down to interview exhibitors who caught my eye. As a former sports editor, I was particularly interested in these sports licenses. Major league baseball had a crippling strike a few years earlier, and there had been talk that baseball's popularity was on the decline.

The McGwire–Sosa home run derby was the first thing to breathe some life back into the sport. It was baseball's goose that laid the golden egg.

And the exhibitors were all too eager to talk about McGwire and Sosa — but none, that I can recall, had any interest in talking about steroids.

If they were concerned that I might quote them on the subject in one of my articles, they worried needlessly. I only asked because I'm a sports fan, and I like baseball (although not as much as I did when I was a boy).

Maris' record finally fell 15 years ago today, about three weeks before the scheduled end of the season. McGwire had broken the record in far fewer games than it took Maris — or Ruth, for that matter. That should have raised some red flags.

But, like the exhibitors I spoke to that summer, no one wanted to talk about steroids. Not the teams' management or coaches or players — or fans, for that matter. They wanted to talk about all the home runs, not the steroids that even a casual observer could conclude had made them possible.

The thought of steroids definitely crossed my mind in the summer of '98, but, as I say, I never found anyone who was interested in talking about that angle.

Perhaps now those people have learned that there is a frightful price to be paid for ignoring an approaching storm. It's like ignoring a persistent toothache, hoping it will go away. (In the words of writer Aldous Huxley, "Facts do not cease to exist because they are ignored.")

But then I remember — that's the kind who never learn from the past.