This year has been one for the ages for sports fans, and it's only half over. You had the Giants upsetting the unbeaten Patriots in the Super Bowl (well, it wasn't a great moment for me and every other Pats fan, but it was a momentous game nonetheless), Jon Lester's unbelievable no-hitter (a much better moment for me), Big Brown evoking memories of Secretariat and Seattle Slew, the Celtics' return to the top of the NBA (also a better moment for me), Tiger hobbling around on one good leg for 91 holes and winning the greatest U.S. Open ever over one of the most likeable golfers you'll ever see in Rocco Mediate, and the epic Federer/Nadal Wimbledon final that rightfully takes its place next to all-time great matches like Borg-McEnroe in 1980. What Hamilton did last night at the Home Run Derby - and in Yankee Stadium in its final season no less - was nothing short of truly remarkable, and I would argue that, although it was in what amounts to a BP session on steroids (ouch, just to say that is tough) played for charity, it belongs among those aforementioned moments, and even above some of them.
It would be truly remarkable even if there wasn't the backstory that comes with it. Hamilton, once the #1 pick of the then-Devil Rays in 1999, spiraled into a debilitating drug addiction after a car accident in 2001, and was completely out of baseball from 2002 to 2006. He was taken by the Cubs in the 2006 Rule 5 draft, sold to the Reds soon after, and traded after the 2007 season to the Rangers, where he's having an MVP-caliber season. Add to that his choice of BP pitcher last night - his 71-year-old Legion coach Clay Counsil - and the story just gets more and more unbelievable.
Prior to the start of the Derby last night, I had my *imaginary* money on either Hamilton or Chase Utley - the latter's swing being perfect for the short porch in right. However, Utley is more of a line drive hitter, and couldn't get the loft he needed when he needed it. I liked Hamilton for the Derby for two reasons. One, he's tremendously strong. Two, he was supremely confident about his chances, going so far as to all but guarantee a shot completely out of the old Stadium off his bat.
I was sitting in my living room last night watching the whole thing unfold. And I can tell you, even without seeing my face, I had a giddy "can you believe this?" grin on the whole time. It wasn't just that Hamilton hit 28 HR's and obliterated Bobby Abreu's old mark of 24 in one round. It was how far he was hitting ALL of them. Abreu, meh, he was hitting them over, but nothing remarkable. Hamilton was an entirely different story. You want proof? Usually, as you hit more HR's, the average distance goes down as the outliers make less of an impact. Hamilton hit almost 30 HR's and his average distance was 445 feet. That's right, he hit the equivalent of 28 445-feet home runs. Dan Uggla's longest singular home run, by comparison was 437 feet. Hamilton wasn't just hitting home runs - he was absolutely destroying the ball. He hit 13 straight at one point. His second one, estimated at 502 feet, conked off the back wall in right center. He hit another one 504 feet almost off the wall again. His longest, at 518 feet, almost hit the wall just to the right of the famed black in center. He hit the black halfway up at least 3 times. Almost all of the balls he hit to right field landed in the upper deck. The whole Stadium was chanting his name, Milton Bradley came out, rubbed his shoulders, and then took a picture, and his other Rangers teammates there (Bradley, Michael Young, Ian Kinsler) finally knew that everyone else was seeing what they've been seeing all year long. It was almost like we knew that wherever and however Hamilton hit the ball, it was going out. Didn't matter if it looked like he popped it up to the deepest part of the park, didn't matter if it looked like he hit it no more than 20 feet high into right - it was going out. In a lot of ways, it was reminiscent of Mark McGwire's first round at the 1999 Derby in Fenway, when he took aim at the Monster and systematically destroyed it, hitting 13 homers - a huge total at the time - most of which ended up in the general vicinity of the MassPike, which is a good 520 feet away from home plate. While McGwire's legacy is now tarnished by steroids, that incredible display lives on in the collective memory of all who watched it, myself included. When Hamilton finally finished his own assault on the ball, the Stadium, the record books, and Clay Counsil's arm, we were all struggling to comprehend what had just happened.
After that chill-inducing display of power, everything just seemed inconsequential. It was hard to believe that the Derby was still going on, because surely, Hamilton had already won. Never mind who made it to the finals to challenge Hamilton. The only relevant question of the Derby at that point was whether Hamilton would come back out for the second round. Well, he did. After finding out that he would be facing Justin Morneau of the Twins in the finals, he came out for exactly 8 swings. After launching 4 more moonshots to up his total to 32 and widen his cumulative lead to 15 homers, he quit after 4 outs in an attempt to conserve both his energy and the arm of his old Legion coach.At this point, it was impossible not to root for the guy. Even though a part of me kept remembering that guys who go on a tear in the first round usually don't win, it just didn't seem possible that Hamilton could lose. Not one of his homers was lucky, he didn't look tired, and he was supremely confident. Plus he was facing Morneau, a nice guy and good player, but not nearly up to Hamilton's level of talent and power. Well, Morneau set the bar at 5, a pretty decent number for the final round. Hamilton came out and immediately jacked one. It was a couple of outs before he hit his second, and he steadily crept up to 6 outs, then 7. I was getting nervous, but when he crushed his third homer 491 feet to dead center, I thought there was absolutely no way he could lose. Not with power like that so far into the competition. Not with 53,000-plus yelling his name and willing him to keep going on. But then the dream died. Hamilton went gentle into that good night, and quietly made his last three outs, giving the crown to Morneau. I don't think I've ever been sadder to see someone lose a Home Run Derby.
And here's where I have a problem. Look, I know it's theoretically more exciting to wipe the slate clean and level the playing field for the final round, and it brings in the ratings, which is all that matters to the TV execs. But how can Josh Hamilton put on such an unforgettable show, end up with 13 more cumulative homers than the next guy, and still lose? The way the Derby is structured right now, it actually plays more to the advantage of the guy who does just enough to get into the finals rather than the leader. See, while Hamilton was hitting 20 HRs more than the next guy in the first round and putting on a show for all of us (rightfully so, because that's what it's all about), he was tiring himself out. What does Hamilton, or anybody for that matter, get for ensuring themselves a spot in the next round (or in his case the finals) and tiring themselves out? A disadvantage in the subsequent rounds, that's what. Which is exactly what happened to McGwire in '99, in the second round. Which is exactly what happened to Jason Giambi after his 14 in the first round in '01, also in the second round. Which is exactly what happened to David Wright after his 16 in the first round in '06, in the finals. Which is exactly what happened last night. While Hamilton was annihilating every pitch he saw, Morneau was hitting 8 HR's in the first round to tie for second, 9 in the second round, and then 5 in the finals. Apparently, consistency is what wins the Home Run Derby, not who actually hits the most home runs. NASCAR had this problem a few years back when Matt Kenseth won the points championship while only winning one race. They instituted the Chase for the Championship and bingo! - much fairer way of determining the winner. Plus much higher ratings as an added bonus. The head honchos at MLB really have to seriously think about reconfiguring the Derby in order to make sure this doesn't happen again. Cumulative homers would be the obvious choice, but if ESPN wants to ensure its freaking ratings, then you could keep the playoff as it is. Only, for each "X amount" of home runs the leader is ahead - let's make it 3 for the sake of argument, but 2 or 5 would work as well - he gets a homer lead in the finals. Fair enough? I sure think so. Under these rules, Hamilton would've been up 5-0 going into the finals, and would've won 8-5. The potential drama of the playoff is still kept intact, but at least now the leader has a reward for tiring themselves out.
Another gripe - Chris Berman. Honestly, the guy gets to be way to much sometimes. Case in point - last night, as Hamilton was putting new dents in the right-center bleachers, Berman says of one bomb "and that one's in the same neighborhood! Another 500-footer!" Or something like that. He was referring to a ball that landed halfway up the bleachers in right-center a good 440 feet away or so, which was apparently in the same neighborhood of a previous tape-measure shot that nearly conked off the back wall, possibly the 504-foot one. Um, Chris? I don't know what you were watching, but the last time I checked, "halfway up the bleachers" isn't in the same neighborhood as "conking off the back wall", nor is it even close to 500 feet. Same zip code maybe, but definitely not the way he called it. I don't have as much of a problem with the other ESPN guys, they're usually insightful enough, but Berman needs to back off - a lot.
I guess the best way I can make sense of this whole thing is to go back something I said last night. To my knowledge, there are only 2, maybe 3 baseball-related things that are not to be taped over: The Joe Carter walk-off homer to win the '93 World Series, and anything related to the Sox winning the '04 and '07 World Series. Last night, after what Hamilton did, I turned to my mom and said, "We are not taping over this. Ever." Even without the backdrop of Yankee Stadium in its final year, even without his 71-year-old coach throwing the pitches, even without his incredible story and the inspiration he provides to so many people, what he did last night was just that special.
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