Dear Major League Pitchers,
It's the first inning. You're already past the first two batters of the game and you are about to face your first real dilemma. I'm not talking about a normal pitching dilemma, like runners on second and third with no out. You could have struck out the first two batters. It wouldn't matter. You are facing the San Francisco Giants. The number three hitter is Barry Bonds.
The ball is in your hand. Sixty feet, six inches away from you is the worst of baseball. He is the biggest stain in baseball history -- bigger than Pete Rose, bigger than Ty Cobb, bigger than the 1919 Black Sox. He is marching toward history now. Seven good swings from passing Babe Ruth and forty-eight from passing Hank Aaron.
I want you to remember when you first fell in love with baseball. You were probably somewhere between six and eight years old. The men on that field were gods to you. You may have been looking at Mike Schmidt or Reggie Jackson and thinking no one could hit the ball like them. Then your father told you about Babe Ruth, the greatest ball player anyone had ever seen. Babe Ruth, the man who made the home run what it is. Babe Ruth, the first player to 200, 300, 400, 500, 600 and 700 career home runs.
Think also about Henry Aaron, his quiet class, his courage in the face of racism and how he managed to pass Babe Ruth. Henry Aaron, the perfect man to sit on top of that throne, wearing the crown that reads "All Time Home Run King."
Take one last moment to reflect on the torment that Roger Maris had faced, how everyone, including major league baseball, seemed against him. Yet he managed to pass Babe Ruth's single season mark. In doing so, he had to endure a lifetime of pain. It wasn't until recently that we've come to appreciate his greatness.
Think of these three men. Barry Bonds is sixty feet, six inches from you. He is spitting on these men, these gods of baseball. He's spitting on the game itself, the game you love. He's spitting on you. Babe Ruth, Roger Maris and Henry Aaron shared one thing in common. They played naturally (well, Babe Ruth played drunk sometimes, but that was the era in which he played -- and booze does not enhance your performance). They didn't stick needles in their arms. They didn't swallow dozens of pills.
Look out again toward home plate. Sixty feet, six inches. Barry Bonds. Does he deserve history? It is you, now, that can affect that history. If you throw a strike, you give him a chance. You can walk him. You can hit him. Or you can give him what he doesn't deserve -- a shot at that crown.
It's up to you now. Baseball's greatest record is in your hands. Just sixty feet, six inches away.
The ball is in your hand. Sixty feet, six inches away from you is the worst of baseball. He is the biggest stain in baseball history -- bigger than Pete Rose, bigger than Ty Cobb, bigger than the 1919 Black Sox. He is marching toward history now. Seven good swings from passing Babe Ruth and forty-eight from passing Hank Aaron.
I want you to remember when you first fell in love with baseball. You were probably somewhere between six and eight years old. The men on that field were gods to you. You may have been looking at Mike Schmidt or Reggie Jackson and thinking no one could hit the ball like them. Then your father told you about Babe Ruth, the greatest ball player anyone had ever seen. Babe Ruth, the man who made the home run what it is. Babe Ruth, the first player to 200, 300, 400, 500, 600 and 700 career home runs.
Think also about Henry Aaron, his quiet class, his courage in the face of racism and how he managed to pass Babe Ruth. Henry Aaron, the perfect man to sit on top of that throne, wearing the crown that reads "All Time Home Run King."
Take one last moment to reflect on the torment that Roger Maris had faced, how everyone, including major league baseball, seemed against him. Yet he managed to pass Babe Ruth's single season mark. In doing so, he had to endure a lifetime of pain. It wasn't until recently that we've come to appreciate his greatness.
Think of these three men. Barry Bonds is sixty feet, six inches from you. He is spitting on these men, these gods of baseball. He's spitting on the game itself, the game you love. He's spitting on you. Babe Ruth, Roger Maris and Henry Aaron shared one thing in common. They played naturally (well, Babe Ruth played drunk sometimes, but that was the era in which he played -- and booze does not enhance your performance). They didn't stick needles in their arms. They didn't swallow dozens of pills.
Look out again toward home plate. Sixty feet, six inches. Barry Bonds. Does he deserve history? It is you, now, that can affect that history. If you throw a strike, you give him a chance. You can walk him. You can hit him. Or you can give him what he doesn't deserve -- a shot at that crown.
It's up to you now. Baseball's greatest record is in your hands. Just sixty feet, six inches away.
posted by E-Luv at 9:38 AM
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