You Had To See It To Believe It

Sometimes you were sure the whole thing was a DreamWorks production. When McGwire hit his 61st, he hit it in front of his father, John, who turned 61 that day. He hit it in front of his 10-year-old Cardinals batboy son, Matt, whom he scooped up and hugged. He hit it in front of the sons of Maris, the man who had been so tortured by the number, and now, thanks to McGwire, redeemed by it. McGwire saluted them, touched his heart and threw a kiss to the sky in Maris's memory. And in the chaos John said quietly to himself, "What a wonderful gift."

Earlier, after another cloudscraper, McGwire sat down in a cavern under the stands and started answering questions from 600 reporters in his own square-as-fudge way. Two seconds after each answer, he'd hear this great cheer coming from the field. He couldn't figure it out until somebody explained that the press conference was being piped outside to the thousands of fans who had waited, in the wilting Missouri heat, an hour after the game to hear him.

Well, that was just too much for McGwire. He took his big waffle-sized hands and pulled his hat over his head and leaned back in his chair and giggled. "They're still here?" he said.

Some of us never left.