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January 16, 2005

I'm Thankful to God It's All Over

I suspect there are very few people in America who wouldn't recognize the name Babe Ruth. The Sultan of Swat was America's first media superstar, his feats of baseball prowess so phenomonal that his fame has outlived him by more than six decades. Plenty of Americans are probably nearly as familiar with Barry Bonds, the San Francisco Giants slugger whose hitting abilities outstrip anyone else in the game today, and whose relationship with steroids remains a murky question.

Left in relative obscurity is the man who outstripped the Babe and whose record Bonds is currently chasing: Henry Aaron. In 1974, Aaron entered the year at 713 home runs, only one shy of the Babe's record. On Opening Day, Aaron tied the Babe with number 714. On April 8, the Braves' home opener, Aaron took an Al Dowling fastball into the Braves' bullpen for home run 715, the record-breaker. Aaron would hit another 40 home runs in his career to finish at 755, still the record. Yet as impressive as that mark is, it pales next to what Aaron had to endure to reach it.

Babe Ruth, like all major league ballplayers of his time, was white. Aaron is black. In the early 1970s, the notion that a black man was going to surpass a white icon was too much to take for a large number of people. The hate mail Aaron endured was so horrible I won't even print a sample, because no sample can illustrate the combined weight of racist Hell Aaron was forced to endure. He spent the offseason between 1973 and 1974 under police protection, and there was more than one threat to shoot him dead on the field before he could hit home run number 715.

Through it all, Aaron persevered. Aaron had come up through the Negro Leagues, and was the last Negro League player still in baseball by 1974. He was well-acquainted with bigotry. Yet somehow he kept going, noting once that he didn't want people to forget Ruth, only to remember him. The support he got from baseball was, to put it mildly, not great. On the night he hit number 715, baseball's commissioner was not even present. The support of the league against the torrent of hate mail certainly would not have stopped the hate, but it might well have helped to shield Aaron from some of it. But baseball dropped the ball.

Now Aaron has no interest in reliving that time as Bonds closes in on his record. Orrin Judd notes that Aaron will not attend any of the festivities should Bonds break his record, despite the gravitas and grace Aaron's presence would lend to a moment that will undoubtedly be tainted by allegations of steroid abuse. When baseball needs Aaron, Hank asks the reasonable question: where was baseball when he needed it?

Bonds will almost certainly eclipse Aaron's record next year, barring injury. With that, Aaron will no longer be the home run champion, and he will slide even further into obscurity. Baseball owes it to him to remember his story now, when attention will be sharpest on it. Not just the glory of that April evening when Aaron eclipsed Ruth, but everything he endured to reach that moment.

Much like America, baseball has a long and glorious history. Also much like America, baseball history has plenty of less-glorious moments. Hank Aaron is indelibly tied to both of those, and we would all be well-served to remember everything that went into that moment.