Since yesterday was the UCB project, I didn't get the chance to talk about something I wanted to share yesterday. As you may or may not know, yesterday, September 8th, was the tenth anniversary of Mark McGwire's historic home run number 62. Putting all vendettas and grievances aside, I just wanted to reflect on my memories of that special season and night.

On September 8th, I was lucky enough to go to the baseball game with my mom, dad, and grandpa. We hadn't planned it to correspond to the time Big Mac was going to break any records, but, as luck would have it, he was approaching 62 and fast, hitting two home runs on September 2nd, one on the 5th, and number 61 on the day before. I remember riding in the car with the feeling that this may be the night. I was only 9 years old at the time, so any sabermetric or probability stats would have flown right over my head. It was the night, in my eyes, my night to watch history.

Our seats were up in Big Mac Land. Big Mac Land was clearly a promotional appeal riding on the coattails of McGwire, but they would never admit that. Placed in the upper deck of left field, there was only one man who could hit a ball far and high enough to land there, and his nickname just happened to be the name of a hamburger. I was itching to sit in Big Mac Land for that whole season. The hard hats, foam fingers, and 10-seconds of TV time were enough to get any little kid excited to sit there. That wasn't the first game I was able to attend that season, but it had a different feeling than the others, nonetheless.

I remember my grandpa sitting with us. It was special having him attend the game with us, since he plays an important role in our family. His seat was actually supposed to be for my brother, but my brother declined because the "fireworks were too loud." (He was pretty young at the time.) When I see my grandpa now, I'm reminded of moments like September 8th, and the cool experiences I've been able to share with him over the years. When I think of my grandpa, I think of baseball in its purest state, without any steroids, showboating, commercial deals, and sponsorships. I think of that night in September and what it did for me and my love of baseball.

When McGwire stepped up to bat, I remember thinking that this could be the one. It was the fourth inning, no one out, and Steve Trachsel was on the mound. Man, I dislike Steve Trachsel. I remember him saying something after the game that made him seem like a jerk, even though he was just trying to deflect the attention off himself. When I see Steve today, I can't think of any other picture than him being on that mound. My family, all sitting in a row, had a direct view at the batters box. The in-game chatter was starting to die down, as people began to focus on history. As the pitch came, thousands of cameras flashed in anticipation, nearly blinding you if you looked at them. The ball cracked off McGwire's bat, directly at us. For a moment, I remember thinking that this ball could actually land in Big Mac Land, maybe in my seat! The ball descended like a rocket, though, landing directly below us. I couldn't see it. I thought it went out, but it was so low that maybe it stayed in the park. I looked around in a frenzy, anxious to see if I had just witnessed history.

Then I heard it.

The roar of the crowd engulfed the stadium. Heck, it engulfed the entire game of baseball. I looked to McGwire, and he was skipping over first base in jubilation. A banner dropped over the scoreboard pronouncing the 62nd home run, and confetti dropped from what seemed like the heavens on top of the earth, on top of our little magical moment. I don't know who all I high-fived that night. No one seemed to care in the slightest. I've never been to a baseball game like that, where people gathered around a common cause and shared joy with each other so profoundly. I was too young to understand how bruised the game of baseball was before the 1998 season, but I wasn't too young to see what it meant for baseball fans. I remember thinking about Roger Maris in that moment. Even if he had his record broken, how happy he'd be to see fans celebrating baseball and each other together like that.

The rest of the game seems like a dream. How could there even be a game after that? The field crew member, a young man not much older than I am now, delivered the ball back to McGwire instead of keeping it for himself. Would that ever happen in today's game? I'm not so sure. The critics and cynics have overrun the game - in the media, in the stands, on the couch, everywhere - to the point that there'd have to be a debate before we were allowed to celebrate. Guilty until proven innocent, I suppose.

That game has a special meaning for me because I remember what my family did for another Cardinal fan sitting by us in the stands, before Big Mac had hit his home run. He didn't have a camera to take a picture of himself and his son, so we offered to take one for him. I don't know if he would have any other way to remember the game other than a souvenir. We sent the picture to him, and he sent a grateful message back to us. I just keep thinking of how special it must have been for a man and his son, who didn't get to see many games, to share that moment together on a night like that. Man, that must have been cool.

On this tenth anniversary of Mark McGwire's home run, try not to think of the negative memories of him in a suit and tie, sitting in front of a nationally televised audience. The moment was more than him, anyway. It was about putting aside our differences and embracing a game that is beautiful in so many ways. The moment wasn't about Mark McGwire and never will be. It was about us, the fans, and what baseball should be. No one can take away or taint my memories of that September 8th game. It's what inspired me to follow baseball with a passion, it's what I think of when I think of my grandpa, it's what makes the game of baseball so great.