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03-06-2002, 05:48 PM
The Three-Dimensional Homerun Hitter
by Richard A. Gooden
SFM Features Writer
The myth that St. Louis Cardinal first baseman Mark McGwire single-handedly saved baseball in 1999 is just as much a farce as the notion that he is a great ALL-AROUND baseball player.
His announced retirement has fathered several media-driven embellishments, many of them are as undeserved as the $15 million he banked this year.
He did one thing worth note, and that was hit 583 baseballs to legendary distances. His tag as our era's "Greatest Homerun Hitter" is conceivable since he did hit a homerun every 10 times to the plate. The idea of him being some sort of savior is inconceivable.
Selective amnesia allows people to forget he seemed to have struck out the other nine times up when he wasn't hitting homers.
McGwire earned a guaranteed pass into the Hall of Fame following his 70-homerun 1999 season. Ironically, he went through much of the 'historic' 1999 season kicking and screaming about how he didn't want people asking him questions about 61 homers and Roger Maris' single-season record. In May of 1999 he whined about the attention. In June he complain about the premature predictions of 60 plus homers. In July he was tightlipped as the Cardinals were freefalling out of playoff contention. In August he had nothing to swing for and was still stressing out like a Wall Street stockbroker. By the time September rolled around he was trying to downplay his usage of andro. It wasn't until a complete player, Sammy Sosa, arrived on the scene and deflected some of the attention did McGwire begin to loosen-up. Sosa, the Chicago Cubs' star outfield who spoke marginal English, rescued the all-American California-boy from his self-inflicted public relations nightmare.
Sosa taught McGwire how to tease the camera, work the writers and appease the flocking fanatics. He schooled the grumpy redhead on how to smile and wave to the world at the right time; don't forget lifting your son at home plate after smacking No. 62. Under Sosa's tutelage McGwire morphed into a national celebrity with a smidge of personality.
So who really saved baseball?
Too bad Sosa couldn't teach McGwire how to truly be a complete player. For every homerun McGwire is remembered for he should also be remembered for the homeruns he could've hit if he wasn't stamped to the disabled list. His weight-training program was just as one-dimensional as his game.
He developed a physical structure full of mass but void of flexibility. While his biceps ballooned to WWF proportions he became increasingly vulnerable to the simplest tweaks or pulls of his muscles, tendons, or ligaments. He took his frail Rookie of the Year body and developed a hulking frame that looked stiffer than his baseball bats. He was never limber and nothing without his lumber.
Can You See Jose?
McGwire is undoubtedly the era's most overrated, one-dimensional player.
Making mattered worse is he is destined for the Hall of Fame with strings attached. Other than table manners, what was the difference between McGwire and his "Bash Brother" Jose Canseco? One could ague that in his prime, Canseco's ability to steal bases and hit for average made him a more complete player than McGwire ever ascended to. If McGwire is a sure-fire bet to secure a spot in Cooperstown, the Hall of Fame gatekeepers better leave a spot open for the player best known for using his head in the outfield.
Canseco has more runs scored, hits, doubles, triples, twice as many World Series rings and only seven fewer RBI than his former teammate.
Although Canseco would need to hit an almost unattainable average of 30 homers over the next four years to eclipse McGwire's total, if he surpasses 500 dingers, which he could do with back-to-back seasons of a meager 20 homers, his spot should be safe on baseball's hollow grounds.
Adding to their career similarities is the fact that both players approached defense like Shaq approached acting. But baseball purest shouldn't cry foul because these are the standards that have been set for Hall of Fame candidates and just like McGwire is assured to stomp in with his Paul Bunyan legend so should Jose Canseco with his Rico Suave persona.
But it probably won't happen like that because Canseco's image will tarnish every time he brings his ever-present one-dimensional game to the diamond while McGwire has saved his character with what appears to be an early retirement.
Now reporters are reciting how McGwire turned down a guaranteed $30 million contract because he felt like his skill-level didn't warrant such a hefty reward. While he is at it, why doesn't he give back the money he collected from the last two seasons because those skills escaped him following his historic campaign?
He said he didn't want to be an "embarrassment." Too late: he is coming off of a season in which he hit under .200 and had more SportsCenter time than Dan Patrick. But it was no different from much of his career because each SportsCenter appearance featured him either hitting a homerun, striking out, or on the disabled list frowning as he downed sunflower seeds. So excuse me, he isn't one dimensional but rather three-dimensional.
McGwire didn't save baseball; he simply prospered off of what was the only things he could do: hit homeruns, strikeout and ride the bench.
by Richard A. Gooden
SFM Features Writer
The myth that St. Louis Cardinal first baseman Mark McGwire single-handedly saved baseball in 1999 is just as much a farce as the notion that he is a great ALL-AROUND baseball player.
His announced retirement has fathered several media-driven embellishments, many of them are as undeserved as the $15 million he banked this year.
He did one thing worth note, and that was hit 583 baseballs to legendary distances. His tag as our era's "Greatest Homerun Hitter" is conceivable since he did hit a homerun every 10 times to the plate. The idea of him being some sort of savior is inconceivable.
Selective amnesia allows people to forget he seemed to have struck out the other nine times up when he wasn't hitting homers.
McGwire earned a guaranteed pass into the Hall of Fame following his 70-homerun 1999 season. Ironically, he went through much of the 'historic' 1999 season kicking and screaming about how he didn't want people asking him questions about 61 homers and Roger Maris' single-season record. In May of 1999 he whined about the attention. In June he complain about the premature predictions of 60 plus homers. In July he was tightlipped as the Cardinals were freefalling out of playoff contention. In August he had nothing to swing for and was still stressing out like a Wall Street stockbroker. By the time September rolled around he was trying to downplay his usage of andro. It wasn't until a complete player, Sammy Sosa, arrived on the scene and deflected some of the attention did McGwire begin to loosen-up. Sosa, the Chicago Cubs' star outfield who spoke marginal English, rescued the all-American California-boy from his self-inflicted public relations nightmare.
Sosa taught McGwire how to tease the camera, work the writers and appease the flocking fanatics. He schooled the grumpy redhead on how to smile and wave to the world at the right time; don't forget lifting your son at home plate after smacking No. 62. Under Sosa's tutelage McGwire morphed into a national celebrity with a smidge of personality.
So who really saved baseball?
Too bad Sosa couldn't teach McGwire how to truly be a complete player. For every homerun McGwire is remembered for he should also be remembered for the homeruns he could've hit if he wasn't stamped to the disabled list. His weight-training program was just as one-dimensional as his game.
He developed a physical structure full of mass but void of flexibility. While his biceps ballooned to WWF proportions he became increasingly vulnerable to the simplest tweaks or pulls of his muscles, tendons, or ligaments. He took his frail Rookie of the Year body and developed a hulking frame that looked stiffer than his baseball bats. He was never limber and nothing without his lumber.
Can You See Jose?
McGwire is undoubtedly the era's most overrated, one-dimensional player.
Making mattered worse is he is destined for the Hall of Fame with strings attached. Other than table manners, what was the difference between McGwire and his "Bash Brother" Jose Canseco? One could ague that in his prime, Canseco's ability to steal bases and hit for average made him a more complete player than McGwire ever ascended to. If McGwire is a sure-fire bet to secure a spot in Cooperstown, the Hall of Fame gatekeepers better leave a spot open for the player best known for using his head in the outfield.
Canseco has more runs scored, hits, doubles, triples, twice as many World Series rings and only seven fewer RBI than his former teammate.
Although Canseco would need to hit an almost unattainable average of 30 homers over the next four years to eclipse McGwire's total, if he surpasses 500 dingers, which he could do with back-to-back seasons of a meager 20 homers, his spot should be safe on baseball's hollow grounds.
Adding to their career similarities is the fact that both players approached defense like Shaq approached acting. But baseball purest shouldn't cry foul because these are the standards that have been set for Hall of Fame candidates and just like McGwire is assured to stomp in with his Paul Bunyan legend so should Jose Canseco with his Rico Suave persona.
But it probably won't happen like that because Canseco's image will tarnish every time he brings his ever-present one-dimensional game to the diamond while McGwire has saved his character with what appears to be an early retirement.
Now reporters are reciting how McGwire turned down a guaranteed $30 million contract because he felt like his skill-level didn't warrant such a hefty reward. While he is at it, why doesn't he give back the money he collected from the last two seasons because those skills escaped him following his historic campaign?
He said he didn't want to be an "embarrassment." Too late: he is coming off of a season in which he hit under .200 and had more SportsCenter time than Dan Patrick. But it was no different from much of his career because each SportsCenter appearance featured him either hitting a homerun, striking out, or on the disabled list frowning as he downed sunflower seeds. So excuse me, he isn't one dimensional but rather three-dimensional.
McGwire didn't save baseball; he simply prospered off of what was the only things he could do: hit homeruns, strikeout and ride the bench.