Mark McGwire

I'll never forget where I was when Mark McGwire hit his 62nd home run of the 1998 season of Major League Baseball. I was doing homework at the time and at Covenant Christian School, we were required to construct and apply book covers to our textbooks since they were passed on from year-to-year to the following grade until the book was replaced by a newer, updated version. I covered all my books with brown paper, the kind they use for paper bags at grocery stores. So on that fateful night in September, I was sitting in front of the TV with my book, staring at the TV instead of whatever I was supposed to be studying, and I watched as McGwire hit a line drive shot that was probably going to be a long, loud single. He must have been thinking the same thing, because he came sprinting out of the batter's box like he was going to try and stretch it into a double. But as fate would have it, the ball kept rising just long enough to barely get it over the short porch in left field and into the Cardinals' bullpen. Big Mac was so shocked that he had to turn around and make sure that he touched first base, giving the first base coach and awkward high-five/hug/handshake all at once before turning and finishing his lap around the diamond. I'll never forget that moment as long as I live. It was history.

Unfortunately, as many of us realize today, much of the history written back in 1998 and the ten years before and after it turned out to be pretty tainted. Even when the home run race between McGwire and Sammy Sosa was going on, people had to realize that something was amiss. They had to notice how baseball players were suddenly breaking records, hisoric, long-standing records at an amazing, unfathomable pace. They were getting bigger and stronger and better by the barrel full. But still, baseball was coming off a very ugly strike from a few years before, and the home run race brought the national eye and curiosity back to the game, so almost everyone turned a blind eye to the seemingly underhanded tactics taken to bring the national pastime back to life. From what I remember, the only part of McGwire's approach to the game that was ever questioned was his use of the popular supplement "andro," which has a much longer scientific name that I'm not going to waste the 21 seconds looking up in a separate tab. A reporter spotted McGwire's andro supply in his locker after one of the Cardinals' games, and he questioned Mark about it, but the fact remained that the supplement wasn't illegal at the time. In a year or two, it would be, but not at the time. So... that was that. McGwire broke Roger Maris's single-season home run record on that night that I sat in front of the TV watching baseball instead of working on history or math or science... all of which was playing out before me anyway.

I didn't really know the first thing about steroids back then. Nobody really did. It wasn't a part of the public eye until much later down the road... Really, until Barry Bonds started to come into the limelight. McGwire was one of baseball's heroes, and very nearly one of my heroes. I can't say that he was someone I looked up to, because I only have one spot reserved for each sport for a real, actual hero, and that spot was and most likely will be permanently taken by Dennis "El Presidente" Martinez. That's a story for another time. The point is that people looked up to the guy. He smashed home runs and he had his son, Matt, as the batboy that he'd hug every time he crushed another ball out of the park, he looked like the brawny paper towel man, the idealistic lumberjack with the heart of a lion. He laughed and smiled and cried at all the right times. He showed class toward the Maris family that attended all of his games as he neared and passed their patriarch. In short, he was a great guy.

Toward the end of his career, the spotlight started to be shone on what's come to be known as the "Steroid Era." McGwire was an obvious suspect and culprit along with Sosa, Bonds, and others. His retirement hardly made a ripple as many just wanted to see him away from the game in order to preserve his respectability in baseball lore. And to a point, that's what happened. All of a sudden, as quickly as he burst into the national picture, he was gone. Vanished. Disappeared. Years went by and people would suddenly say, "Whatever happened to Mark McGwire?" and no one really knew. Eventually, Congress came calling, and for the first time in a long time, McGwire spoke in public, and all he had to say was, "I'm not here to talk about the past." He wasn't about to perjure himself in front of a congressional committee. As he revealed this week, his attorneys tried to secure immunity for him in order to allow him to admit to his steroid use, but since the act itself is still illegal without a prescription, he would likely have been charged had he expressed anything resembling an admission of guilt. After that witch hunt put on by the legislature, McGwire was villainized. All the good will he had built over his career was gone. And just like that... he vanished again.

Sometime over this baseball offseason, I heard that McGwire was coming back as the hitting coach for the St. Louis Cardinals, working under his old coach Tony LaRussa, the man who watched McGwire go from tall, powerful kid in Oakland to the muscled, brick-house machine he become in St. Louis. Knowing that soon enough reporters and questions and microphones would be in his face after every single game, detracting from the team and rehashing the harsh memories of what he suffered on Capitol Hill, McGwire went preemptive this week, admitting in a one-hour interview that he did, indeed, use steroids off and on for ten years of his career, including the year in which he broke the single-season home run record.

Other players have admitted to steroid use in the past using various words and schemes to do so. Jason Giambi simply said he was "sorry" without elaborating on what it was that he was sorry for, exactly. Andy Pettite said that he did use performance enhancing drugs, but that he only did it once or twice in the same year, and it was only to come back from an injury. Alex Rodriguez... well... let's just say that his revelation was a disaster, and was only brought on after a book was about to be released detailing how and when he went about using the drugs. From what I've seen from McGwire's interview, he seems genuine and appears to have given full-disclosure. He didn't say he only used it a couple times, he admits to using it for years. He didn't shy away from saying that he used it when he broke the record. He explained how he got into it. He explained how he wished it all never happened. And while some have been cynical about his explanations and his confessions, I kind of feel for the guy. He was a bonafide hero, someone that the whole country was in love with at one point, and he lost it all. He's been exiled and in hiding for the better part of a decade, and now that he's come to the surface, he's trying to come clean. He's trying to be a better man. And really... that's something to be respected and applauded, not criticized and picked apart. He may not have said everything that he needed to say, he may still have problems admitting that the drugs led directly to his superior performance, but he's stepping in the right direction. He's getting out in front of the media firestorm that he knew was coming.

He's looking for redemption. In the time where most of our top sports stories are about coaches hitting players and getting fired, golfers cheating on their wives with a dozen plus women, and players getting suspended and kicked off basketball teams for carrying guns into the locker room? We deserve a story about someone getting a measure of themselves back. We deserve a story about forgiveness. Let this be it.