Sense of Team Makes Him Quite an Individual

By Thomas Boswell
Washington Post Columnist
Monday, September 14, 1998; Page C1

Sammy Sosa, the best is yet to come.

Just a few days ago, millions of baseball fans assumed the apogee not only of this season, but of many seasons, had been reached. Nothing was going to match Mark McGwire's 62nd home run.

Right, right? After all, how greedy can we get?

When Sammy Sosa and McGwire met last Tuesday in St. Louis, the great Cub said to the mighty Cardinal, "Wait for me."

But who thought McGwire would wait? Or that Sosa, four homers behind Big Mac with less than three weeks to play, could catch up?

Wasn't Sosa already swimming in water far over his head? When you're almost 30 years old and have never hit more than 36 homers – a fine total, but not uncommon-are you really going to hit 66? Wasn't McGwire destined not only to break Roger Maris's home run record, but to end with the single-season record? The last person so designated for history – in advance – was Mickey Mantle in 1961.

That, of course, is the point. Yesterday, baseball produced a moment that, for me, may have been more enjoyable than McGwire's 62nd homer: Sosa hit his 61st and 62nd. Hit them in a crucial game in the wild-card race won, 11-10, by the Cubs in the 10th inning. He hit them at Wrigley Field as the wonderful ivy-addled loonies went nuts. Both balls were crushed at least 480 feet.

When McGwire hit his 62nd, he had all the perfect, generous, sportsmanlike and – yeah, sure – heroic responses. He hugged the entire Maris family. He embraced his son and lifted him high in the air. He hugged Sosa and lifted him in the air. He blew kisses to everybody.

Yesterday, Sosa matched McGwire in every way. When Sosa came to the plate with one out, nobody on base and the Cubs trailing by two runs in the ninth, my 11-year-old son Russell was literally jumping up and down in front of the TV.

"Sammy's going to get a good pitch to hit," I said. "Why?"

My son answered: "Because they are two runs behind. The Brewers don't want to walk him" and bring up the tying run.

After Sosa hit a ball so hard that pitcher Eric Plunk actually threw both his arms in front of his face out of fear, Sosa took several goosebump curtain calls. But he never smiled.

"Why isn't he smiling?" I asked.

My son thought. Then-and I really, really want to thank Sammy Sosa for this-he answered, "Because his team is still a run behind."

With Sosa on deck in the 10th inning and Mark Grace at the plate, Grace homered to end the game. Then, my favorite thing happened.

Sosa waited at home plate, picked up Grace and carried him a few steps toward the dugout. Just as McGwire had picked Sosa up.

"Why is Sosa carrying Grace?" I asked Russell.

"Because Grace won the game," said my son.

Sammy, thanks for that, too.

Sosa and McGwire are showing many of us how to do a lot of things correctly – with spirit, yet in the proper spirit – at a time in our national history when their example is especially useful. We can tell our children, or ourselves, that, no matter where you are in the big pageant – the millionaire who hits the homer or the groundskeeper who catches it – you always have the same choice. High road or low road.

Everybody knows the difference, from presidents and prosecutors to the last fan in the top row of the bleachers. Nobody has any excuses. If you've just hit your 62nd home run-but your team is still down – nobody's going to blame you if you grin. But think how much more personal authority you carry if you don't. Everybody wants to be carried off the field. But not everyone knows who should be carried off.

Of course, after Sosa carried Grace, the Cubs carried Sosa. Just the way it should have been.

At dinner Saturday, I told a friend that, as a baseball moment, McGwire's 62nd homer hadn't ranked at the very top for me. In a team sport, how can an individual moment be the best that the game can offer? For me, apparently, it can't. I just don't get the big chills.

But Sosa's and McGwire's behavior – now that's a different category and a different matter. And, for me, a more important one.

If we change the question and, instead of asking, "How big was this?" say to ourselves, "How deep was this?" then we understand why we've been so moved by the last couple of weeks.

In the Wrigley Field stands yesterday, parents were hugging their infant children – in Sosa jerseys – as they cried and cheered at the same time. Everywhere, you saw cell phones in palms. People wanted to share their feelings with somebody far away, somebody they wished was with them.

Cubs announcer Chip Caray may have felt that way, too. "Holy Cow, what a game!" he said, appropriately mimicking his late grandfather's call.

What a game, indeed. And two more weeks of 'em, as well. Just when we need it most. As usual.