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Authors: Adam Hughes
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that Monday, David was beaming and
bursting with the anticipation of telling Dan the good
news.
They were going to see the
Reds on Opening Day!
Opening Day in Cincinnati
was the baseball equivalent of Mardi Gras, and red-blooded males
from the youngest schoolboys to the most accomplished of executives
made it a point to skip out on class or board meetings to drink in
the atmosphere no other city could match. For the most part, Reds
fans in the Queen City were excused their dalliances on this one
day, because baseball was a virus that festered all through the
winter and could only be treated by an afternoon in the weak
sunshine of early spring in a ballpark filled with the aroma of
peanuts and beer.
Dan, as David had
expected, was ecstatic, and he was also full of questions. Who were
the Reds playing? Who was the Reds’ starting pitcher going to be?
And, finally, what would he do about work?
David explained that he
had already cleared the time off for both of them, and he was also
happy to report that righty Jack Billingham would be on the mound
for Cincinnati that Thursday afternoon. Who else could it have
been, really, after Jack had posted a record of 19-11 in 1973,
narrowly missing the 20-win plateau?
And the best part of all?
The Reds were hosting the Atlanta Braves.
“ I love Hank Aaron!” Dan
exclaimed.
David smiled across the
cab at his son. “I do, too, Dan,” he said.
Theirs wasn’t a sentiment
shared by all baseball fans, however.
For years, it had been
assumed Mickey Mantle or Willie Mays, or maybe both, would mount a
serious threat to Babe Ruth’s all-time home run record of 714.
Mantle’s knees broke down, though, and Mays sputtered through the
latter part of his career until, as a 42-year-old with the New York
Mets in 1973, he was infamously relegated to crawling around the
outfield on his hands and knees.
Meanwhile, Henry Aaron
continued to play at a consistent level throughout the late 1950s,
all of the 1960s, and well into the 1970s. In any other era, and
against any other backdrop, Aaron’s production would have been
considered spectacular, but the one-season heights reached by Mays,
Mantle, and even Roger Maris pushed Hammerin’ Hank toward the back
of the line of baseball greats who made their hay in the Major
Leagues during the Vietnam era. By the time the early ‘70s rolled
around, Aaron was closing in on 40 years of age but still hammering
out his 30-40 homers every season to go along with about 100
ribbies and all sorts of other offensive goodies.
As the 1973 season came to
a close, it had been four full seasons since Mantle stood in the
batter’s box, and it was clear Mays was done, but Aaron had the
Babe in his sights. On September 29, Hank swatted his 713th career
home run, leaving him just one short of the record with one game
left in the season. That he came up short in that final contest
against the Houston Astros set Aaron up for an uneasy off-season
and one of the first long-term build-ups of record-chasing hype in
baseball history.
Even though America had
made great strides during the Civil Rights Movement of the 1950s
and 1960s, there were still plenty of people who resented any kind
of notable success by a black man, and that sentiment was sharpened
all the more in Aaron’s case because he was chasing down the most
hallowed individual record in all of sports, held by the most
mythical and arguably the most beloved figure in all of sports,
Babe Ruth. A wide swath of baseball fans would have had held
ill-will toward any player trying to take down the Babe, black or not. Even
Mantle himself would have faced naysayers had he been able to keep
his game, and his body, rolling long enough to approach the
record.
But in 1973, it was Aaron
who stepped squarely into the baseball spotlight, and thus became
the recipient of all the glories and indignities such lofty status
entails. While fans across the country like Dan and
bursting with the anticipation of telling Dan the good
news.
They were going to see the
Reds on Opening Day!
Opening Day in Cincinnati
was the baseball equivalent of Mardi Gras, and red-blooded males
from the youngest schoolboys to the most accomplished of executives
made it a point to skip out on class or board meetings to drink in
the atmosphere no other city could match. For the most part, Reds
fans in the Queen City were excused their dalliances on this one
day, because baseball was a virus that festered all through the
winter and could only be treated by an afternoon in the weak
sunshine of early spring in a ballpark filled with the aroma of
peanuts and beer.
Dan, as David had
expected, was ecstatic, and he was also full of questions. Who were
the Reds playing? Who was the Reds’ starting pitcher going to be?
And, finally, what would he do about work?
David explained that he
had already cleared the time off for both of them, and he was also
happy to report that righty Jack Billingham would be on the mound
for Cincinnati that Thursday afternoon. Who else could it have
been, really, after Jack had posted a record of 19-11 in 1973,
narrowly missing the 20-win plateau?
And the best part of all?
The Reds were hosting the Atlanta Braves.
“ I love Hank Aaron!” Dan
exclaimed.
David smiled across the
cab at his son. “I do, too, Dan,” he said.
Theirs wasn’t a sentiment
shared by all baseball fans, however.
For years, it had been
assumed Mickey Mantle or Willie Mays, or maybe both, would mount a
serious threat to Babe Ruth’s all-time home run record of 714.
Mantle’s knees broke down, though, and Mays sputtered through the
latter part of his career until, as a 42-year-old with the New York
Mets in 1973, he was infamously relegated to crawling around the
outfield on his hands and knees.
Meanwhile, Henry Aaron
continued to play at a consistent level throughout the late 1950s,
all of the 1960s, and well into the 1970s. In any other era, and
against any other backdrop, Aaron’s production would have been
considered spectacular, but the one-season heights reached by Mays,
Mantle, and even Roger Maris pushed Hammerin’ Hank toward the back
of the line of baseball greats who made their hay in the Major
Leagues during the Vietnam era. By the time the early ‘70s rolled
around, Aaron was closing in on 40 years of age but still hammering
out his 30-40 homers every season to go along with about 100
ribbies and all sorts of other offensive goodies.
As the 1973 season came to
a close, it had been four full seasons since Mantle stood in the
batter’s box, and it was clear Mays was done, but Aaron had the
Babe in his sights. On September 29, Hank swatted his 713th career
home run, leaving him just one short of the record with one game
left in the season. That he came up short in that final contest
against the Houston Astros set Aaron up for an uneasy off-season
and one of the first long-term build-ups of record-chasing hype in
baseball history.
Even though America had
made great strides during the Civil Rights Movement of the 1950s
and 1960s, there were still plenty of people who resented any kind
of notable success by a black man, and that sentiment was sharpened
all the more in Aaron’s case because he was chasing down the most
hallowed individual record in all of sports, held by the most
mythical and arguably the most beloved figure in all of sports,
Babe Ruth. A wide swath of baseball fans would have had held
ill-will toward any player trying to take down the Babe, black or not. Even
Mantle himself would have faced naysayers had he been able to keep
his game, and his body, rolling long enough to approach the
record.
But in 1973, it was Aaron
who stepped squarely into the baseball spotlight, and thus became
the recipient of all the glories and indignities such lofty status
entails. While fans across the country like Dan and
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