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Forget the number, remember the
night
Posted: Wed September 9,
1998
The funny thing about 62 is that it only will be for just a
day or two. The number we will remember will be the one
Mark McGwire ends up with this season—or maybe, even,
Sammy Sosa finishes with, ahead of him. For posterity, 62
will only be a number
along the way to something larger. Who cares now—who
knows—what high-game total Wilt Chamberlain passed on
his way to the
record? All we remember is the 100 points he had at the
end.
This is good, for baseball is a game so crammed with
figures—often, even, surfeited by figures—and now we
will be able to forget the cold number, so that we can more
perfectly remember the warm
moment.
You know, criticize baseball all you want, but it is
getting awfully good at this sort of thing. When Cal Ripken
passed Lou Gehrig by playing in some number of consecutive
games (that you don't remember), that September evening in
Baltimore was lovely. But this night of September the
eighth, 1998, in St. Louis was even better because we
couldn't be sure that it would be
ours.
We didn't know
exactly when Number 25 would slug 62. There was mystery to the
majesty. That was why we savored even more the sheer
happiness that went with the achievement. Last night was
only coincidentally a statistic. Rather, it was but first
and
only: a joy to
behold.
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