Chasing the Magic

In this episode, Chasing the Magic: How the Summer of ’98 Inspired the 'Ball Boys' . . . 

Do you remember that feeling?

The late-summer air was thick with humidity, radios crackling on porches, the smell of fresh-cut grass and barbecue smoke in the backyard. Every evening carried a new kind of suspense—the country holding its collective breath after every pitch. “Did he hit one today?” became more than a question; it sparked a nationwide conversation. 

For me, and millions of others, the summer of 1998 wasn’t just another baseball season. It was theater, a movement, a time when the game recaptured something sacred. As sportswriter Mike Lupica said so perfectly,

  “No matter how old you are or how much you’ve seen, sports is still about memory and imagination. Never more than during the summer of ’98, when baseball made everyone feel like a kid again, when it felt important again.”

   Just four years earlier, the 1994 players’ strike had left the sport bruised and fans bitter. Attendance was down, and the romance of the game was lost. But then came Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa, a duo whose power, personality, and pure joy for the game reignited America’s passion for baseball.

   They weren’t just chasing a record; they were chasing history, day after day, home run after thunderous home run. Every swing was rewriting the record books. “Did Sammy hit one today? Did Big Mac go deep?” These questions weren’t just small talk; they were the pulse of summer.

And I remember it vividly—September 15, 1998. 

My dad (Doc), Rodger, Ronnie, and I—the “Ball boys”—piled into Mom’s car for the three-hour trek to St. Louis. We packed a cooler, snacked on Snickers bars, and argued who would drive home that night, as we sped down I-55, filled with anticipation. We were heading to Busch Stadium for what had become the second game of a doubleheader against the Pittsburgh Pirates. Just a week earlier, McGwire had hit his 62nd homer, surpassing Roger Maris’s iconic 1961 record. That moment had shocked the sports world, but we weren’t trying to match history. We were chasing the next chapter.

That night, we got it.

Mark McGwire hit number 64.

The roar of the crowd was deafening. Flashbulbs popped like fireworks. Strangers high-fived, hugged, and shouted with sheer, childlike joy. It wasn’t just a home run—it was history unfolding before our eyes. And we were a part of it.

For those not glued to their radios, box scores, or maybe who weren’t even born yet, it’s impossible to overstate how electric that season was. While McGwire had already broken Maris’s mark, Sosa’s record-shattering surge—including 20 home runs in June alone—kept the rivalry alive and the drama white-hot. They traded the lead. They lifted each other. And they captivated the nation.

"That's a Winner," Cardinals announcer Jack Buck would say. (Pirates game two, Cardinals 9-3).

With Ronnie behind the wheel, we left the stadium that night buzzing, the sound of cheers still echoing in our ears. We couldn’t have imagined that McGwire would go on to hit 70 home runs—seventy!—while Sosa finished with 66. All we knew was that we had witnessed something unforgettable.

The next day, Sosa tied Maris's record of 61 home runs. It wasn’t over yet! 

Of course, time adds layers to any story. In the months that followed, revelations about performance-enhancing drugs cast a dark shadow over that summer. But for those of us who lived it, who felt the pulse of every pitch, the magic of ’98 remains untouched. It was real. It mattered.

The '98 season ended with the Padres vs the Yankees in the World Series. But Sammy Sosa had one last curtain call. Among devoted fans of the game, he received roaring applause as he walked to the mound at Yankee Stadium, smiled, touched his heart, blew a kiss, and threw out the first pitch.

And while Barry Bonds of the San Francisco Giants would surpass McGwire in 2001 with 73 home runs, that season felt different—historic, yes, but not joyful. Not shared.

The Summer of ’98 was something else entirely: a shared national moment, an emotional collective gasp, a time when baseball made us feel young again.

. . . As the All-Star Game approaches (July 15, 2025) and new stars emerge, the Dodgers' Shohei Ohtani, the Yankees' Aaron Judge, and the Cubs’ young 2025 All-Star, Pete Crow-Armstrong, baseball fans still chase that feeling, that magical memory. The kind that compels you to load your car with brothers and your dad, take a three-hour drive, and believe—if only for a night—that you see something timeless.

I’m Patrick Ball. Stay curious, ask questions, see you next episode.