The Mac and Sosa summer of 1998 answers to no one

Pocket your ethics and pay attention. The summer of Mac and Sosa won't be exchanged for moral high ground.

John Biever/Sports Illustrated

I remember running behind the leaderboard. Sprinting behind the manual scoreboard at old Busch Stadium wasn’t a good idea. You were bound to hit something: metal edge of a pole, sharp wood from the spaces where numbers were kept, or a piece of scaffolding that was sticking out. Running meant one of the big boppers had gone deep again, changing the score of a history chase during an immortal season.

The summer of 1998 doesn’t need an alibi for the morally just portion of baseball fans. It is a 98% sure fact that Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa were juiced up on steroids during their illustrious pursuit of Roger Maris’ home run record, and it doesn’t change an iota of my feelings on that season. As Bernie Miklasz said during the Mac-Sosa Netflix documentary released a few years ago, you need to go into the entire Hall of Fame and every player who had access to the performance-enhancing drugs used by players.

Fun Fact: Major League Baseball didn’t employ steroid testing until 2003, five years after the big chase that brought fans back to baseball. Players could have used and used with reckless abandon to enhance their careers and overall chances; McGwire and Sosa were one of the few gifted with lethal hand/eye coordination. You could arm a hundred players with juiced up abilities and get 5-10% produce anything powerful.

For one summer, Mac and Sosa showed us what the 1% of that equation looked like. One could accuse me of being biased due to the proximity that I acquired during the Busch Stadium games, especially when the two were in the same ballpark. It was like watching a couple heavyweight fighters with padded gloves wage war on one of history’s most cherished records, even if Maris’ accomplishment was met with narrow eyes back in 1961.

Baseball fans weren’t protecting the purity of the game in that fight; they didn’t like Roger’s personality enough for him to take down the Babe. Mickey Mantle was their preferred choice, because he was much more colorful. Mantle would have loaded his body up with every chemical enhancement known to man. He put every other drug and playing time willpower into his system, so some P.E.D. would have washed down the same. Maris was just a quiet guy, a Baumbach to Mickey’s Tarantino.

Between Mac and Sosa stood two of the game’s most loyal fanbases: The Cardinals and Cubs produced a rivalry that entered one of its greatest phases with Tony La Russa and Dusty Baker locking horns for a good while. They were ready to lock fists that one afternoon (my money would be on Baker’s height and punching ability). Baker went to great lengths not to pitch to McGwire, but the home runs happened anyway. The Cards had a fair amount of protection around him, forcing pitching staffs to work to Mac at times when a walk would suffice.

Sosa couldn’t be stopped either. He added a personality to the race that McGwire couldn’t care less about. From springing out of the box after a blast to pointing to the sky with that big smile, Sammy was the Mantle in this race. Once again, the quieter guy won. The theatrics and emotions felt were second to none.

If you asked me to name a better time of baseball in my life, that summer would sit up against any season from the next 15-20 years. 2006 and 2011 could pose a fight, but those were partial season thrills. The home run race lasted for most of the season, catching fire in June and July before getting better down to the end. The running, not sprinting, to the official Mac/Sosa leaderboard intensified in September.

Located on the bottom rung of the National League side, the leaderboard took the space of a game, with the team names being “McGwire” and “Sosa,” red versus blue with ownership of the Midwest in the balance. Chicago had the playoff team that summer, even if it would take another 18 years for the Cubs to find the promised land. Whoever got to the leaderboard first won the prize to change the number; all of us had a hand on #62 and 70, though, or so I recall.

In all honesty, I got to the board late when he hit the record-breaking line drive off Steve Trachsel. Then again, the 70th and final home run of the season for McGwire was more special. Before Barry Bonds swallowed the same superpower juice and blasted 73 years later, fans hadn’t dreamed or imagined a human being hitting 70 home runs in one summer. St. Louis fans still hold pride that their guy got their first. After all, Bonds had no tango partner during his big season.

McGwire and Sosa had each other, and that made it extra special. Seeing them embrace and show wonderful sportsmanship throughout the whole thing added comfort to the heat. Akin to hockey players embracing after a tough series or boxers meeting in the middle of the ring with their arms wrapped around each other, it’s never bad to see on such a competitive stage. Young kids see that and take it to heart. Older fans see it and remember that baseball could be great again.

That’s the thing. I wouldn’t trade the summer of ‘98 for moral high ground. The folks who now blast that summer for ruining the game or starting a terrible trend are missing all the emotional power behind it. Think about the purity of watching a good movie. Some of the people involved and things occurring may not be real or legitimate, but what they made you feel is wholly legitimate. While they were enhanced, the production did help rescue the game.

Every single player who has won a thing or made money after 1998 owes some measure of gratitude to the two who made it sexy again. If you’re going to punish them, open up the HOF and start filtering through it like Internal Affairs would a suspect police department. Don’t center your rage or disgust on the two guys who did something with it. Complain about an unjust record chase, and I’ll enlighten you about how the world works unfortunately.

I was 16 years old during the chase, binding myself to a scoreboard crew that made the sweaty nights under the lights worth it. P.J. and Jimmy are two pals that I still speak with and enjoy the attention from on this blog. The late Troy Siade would enter the manual scoreboard picture later, just in time for the Albert Pujols breakout era.

“McGwire and Sosa” was similar to “Maris and Mantle;” two players going after a record that some wanted them to pass and others hoped they would stumble. Ruling it out as a fraud would rob so many of warm memories that would freeze over with disgust. I choose to enjoy the summer. Take it away for a sense of honor and being morally right? No thanks.

I’ll take the emotion. Thanks for reading.