An Unlikely Home Run King

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It was 50 years ago today that Roger Maris broke what may have been the most cherished record in baseball at that time — Babe Ruth's single–season home run record.

I found myself thinking about that a lot this summer — not because I remember the achievement (it happened before my time) but mostly, I guess, because the brutal heat brought back memories of the sweltering summer of 1998, when Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa waged an epic duel to see who would surpass Maris.

It was the first such duel since that summer of '61, when Maris and his much more popular teammate, Mickey Mantle, tried to be the one who would surpass the Babe. Injury sidelined Mantle for a time, giving Maris the opportunity to challenge the Sultan of Swat by himself.

Of the two, I guess, Mantle was the one who was always the most likely to challenge the Babe's status in the single–season record book. He was always more popular with Yankee fans than Maris, and his numbers always suggested that it was possible that he could challenge that record.

His numbers have held up, too. Even now, more than 40 years after he retired and more than 15 after he died, Mantle is 16th on the all–time home run list.

So perhaps that injury could be seen as something of a fluke, an intervention of some kind — except for the fact that Mantle was plagued with injuries most of his career. That's often the topic of speculation among baseball experts. How great could Mantle have been, they have wondered, if he hadn't been injured so often?

Maris' career numbers, on the other hand, have to be regarded as somewhat ordinary. If you exclude the 1961 season, Maris averaged about 20 home runs a year. I guess the 1960 season — when Maris hit a then–career best 39 home runs — that even greater things might be in store the next year ...

Except that Mantle hit 40 home runs to lead the American League in 1960. I guess the only thing one could conclude from that would be that Maris and Mantle might have been poised for some kind of spirited battle between the two of them in 1961 — but threats to the Babe? Come on.

Until this summer, the summer of 1998 was the second—hottest on record in many places — second only to the legendary summer of 1980 — but a lot of baseball fans may not have noticed unless they went to the games.

And there is no doubt that many did go to games that summer — certainly, they came out to watch the games in St. Louis and Chicago.

In the end, both McGwire and Sosa shattered Maris' mark that had stood for nearly 40 years. And, a few years later, Barry Bonds broke that record as well.

All available evidence suggests, however, that steroids played a key role in those achievements. If not for those performance–enhancing substances, what Maris did 50 years ago today might still be the record — but it wouldn't be carrying that asterisk with it.

Ah, yes, the asterisk.

When folks refer to it on a telephone's keypad, they often call it a "star" — because it kinda looks like one.

I don't usually correct people when they call it a "star" just as I don't correct people when they say "oh" when they really mean "zero" or if they call a hyphen a dash (although I do think it because, well, I spent many years working on newspaper copy desks, and I have been teaching developmental writing at the local community college for more than a year now so I suppose I am conditioned to think of these things even if I don't verbalize them).

But it isn't really a star — and the way it was planned to be used in 1961, it couldn't have made Maris feel like one, either.

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The asterisk concept was intended to permit the Babe's record to remain in the record books even though it had been broken.

I say "concept" because, apparently, it is something of an urban legend that an asterisk was used. What happened was this:

The sports establishment of the time was still very protective of Babe Ruth in 1961, and the commissioner announced midway through the season that, unless someone hit 61 home runs within 154 games, as Ruth had, his mark would remain in the record books for a 154–game season, and the new record would be designated as having been achieved since the 162–game seasons began.

Maris failed to match Ruth's record — let alone surpass it — in 154 games, but, on the last day of the season — 50 years ago today — he hit his 61st home run, igniting a debate that continues in some circles. No asterisk was used, but Ruth's mark remained in the record books as the record for a 154–game season.

Several years after Maris hit 61 homers, baseball's commissioner concluded that a season is a season, however many games are played, and Maris' mark was the only true record. That should have been the end of it.

When Ruth hit 60 home runs back in the Roaring '20s, as I say, major league baseball seasons were 154 games. When Maris played in the 1960s, a season was 162 games. The story was dramatized in a made–for–TV movie on HBO 10 years ago. Billy Crystal, a lifelong New York Yankees fan, directed it and was, by nearly all accounts, faithful to the facts.

But the asterisk was in the title — helping to perpetuate the myth.

I'm sure that wasn't Crystal's intention. But it was effective at reminding people of the mild controversy that was sparked by that pursuit of the record.

I guess it wasn't so mild from Maris' point of view. He received hate mail and death threats. I've heard that he was under so much stress in 1961 that his hair literally began to fall out of his head — and I've also heard that the stress hastened his death at the age of 51 (although I have considerable doubts about that).

He was an unlikely home run king who claimed his crown on this day.

The Say Hey Kid Turns 80

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When I was a kid, there was a raging debate among baseball fans.

Who would be the first to surpass Babe Ruth on the all–time home run list, Hank Aaron or Willie Mays?

My money was always on Willie, and he got a considerable jump on the somewhat plodding but steady Aaron early in their careers.

I always felt Mays was more charismatic, and I guess I gravitated to him because of that in those days ... but Aaron caught up with him and passed him on the home run list. I don't remember which one made it to 600 homers first, but Aaron went on to exceed Ruth's career total (which Mays never did) and become the all–time home run champion for the next three decades.

Even so, Mays left his mark — many of them — on major league baseball:

• Nearly four decades after he retired, only three men have hit more home runs in their careers than Mays — and only one played his entire career after Mays left the scene.


• And none of those guys ever hit four home runs in a game — which Mays did 50 years ago last weekend in a game against Aaron's Milwaukee Braves.


• Only half a dozen players have scored more runs than Mays. His closest competition among active players is Alex Rodriguez, who needs to score more than 250 times to equal Mays.


• Rodriguez may well outscore Mays before his career is over. If he does, it seems to be a cinch that he will pass Mays on the all–time RBI list. He trails Mays by fewer than 50 in that category — and, if he does pass him, he will be in the all–time Top 10.


• Mays led the National League in batting average once and finished as the runnerup three times.


• Only 10 players have more career base hits than Mays — and his most serious competition among active players, Derek Jeter, needs more than 300 hits to pass him.


• He was the first major league baseball player to hit 30 home runs before the All–Star break — an achievement that became much more commonplace during the steroids era.

Anyway, as hard as it is to believe, Mays is 80 years old today.

I guess it shouldn't be so hard to believe. And it isn't, really. I mean, I know when he retired, and I know when he was born.

It's just hard to accept that so much time has gone by since he graced the baseball fields of America.

Barry Bonds

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"Doctors ought to quit worrying about what ballplayers are taking. What players take doesn't matter. It's nobody else's business. The doctors should spend their time looking for cures for cancer. It takes more than muscles to hit homers. If all those guys were using stuff, how come they're not all hitting homers?"

Barry Bonds
2002

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I feel kind of indifferent to Barry Bonds.

There was a time, not too long ago, when Bonds was still playing — and being referred to, at every at–bat and often when he was in the field, as the home run king — and I wished the worst things I could for him.

No, I did not wish that he would die. I don't judge people for deciding to take their own lives, but if a person is alive (and, presumably, wishes to remain that way), I do not wish for his/her life to end.

But I did wish that his career would end, which it did.

And I did wish that he would be exposed for what he is — and he has.

Well, kinda sorta.

Bonds has been convicted of obstructing justice, but mistrials were declared on the perjury charges — all stemming, of course, from his use of steroids in his pursuit of the all–time home run record.

I never thought for a second that Bonds didn't take steroids.

OK, I admit I never liked him personally — but that is only because he is not likable. I have rarely, if ever, seen a professional athlete who was as universally disliked as Bonds. The only people who ever seemed to like him were the people in the cities where he played — and they always stopped liking him when he stopped wearing their team's uniform.

He started his major league career in Pittsburgh, kind of a scrawny fellow, but he was still something of a power hitter. His numbers weren't eye–popping — average for a power hitter, I'd say.

But he never had a season like the one he had in 2000. He was in his mid–30s at the time, and he became only the second man to hit 70 home runs in a season. Actually, he smashed that record.

In seven seasons in Pittsburgh, Bonds' best home run output in a season was 34. But in the next seven years in San Francisco, that was just about his low point. In fact, in every season from 1993 to 2005 (including the strike–shortened 1994 season), Bonds hit at least 33 home runs — and in eight of those seasons, he hit at least 40 home runs.

He followed the 2000 season with three consecutive seasons of 40–plus homers — at the point in a baseball career when just about any other power hitter you'd care to name experiences a sharp decline in production. The guys he passed on the way to the all–time home run crown — Hank Aaron, Babe Ruth, Willie Mays — saw their numbers tumble in their 30s — although, to be fair, Aaron did have some great seasons in his late 30s.

But Aaron was consistent. He never had a pro season in which he hit 50 or more home runs — and rarely had a 40–homer season. He passed Babe Ruth primarily through sheer endurance.

Bonds, on the other hand, only experienced a dropoff in productivity starting in the 2005 season — the same season in which baseball put its current anti–steroid policy in place.

I never saw how anyone could believe that Bonds hadn't taken steroids — or hadn't been aware that he had.

I was glad when his career was over, and I wish major league baseball would put an asterisk (or a little hypodermic needle) next to his name in the record books because I believe his single–season and career home run records were obtained fraudulently.

What's more, I think Bonds should be banned from baseball and kept out of the Hall of Fame because his use of performance–enhancing drugs is a more blatant form of cheating than gambling.

But none of that will happen — because steroid use didn't even lead to brief suspensions before 2005. It wouldn't be fair to penalize him for violating a policy that didn't exist.

Pete Rose and Shoeless Joe Jackson will remain barred from Cooperstown because gambling was and is explicitly against baseball rules.

But Bonds will continue to be eligible for the Hall, even if baseball adopts an even tougher policy.

And his records will stand indefinitely.

But, as I say, I'm pretty much indifferent to Barry Bonds these days. He's yesterday's news.

And, for Bonds, that may be the worst punishment possible.