he great debate of'98
Was to see who could step up to the plate
McGwire and Sosa were the contenders,
Together they had more hits than the Pretenders.
Mark and Sammy were their names, respectively,
What their friends might call them,
When speaking casually.
By the time the season had begun,
And the players woke up to a morning sun,
The pace was set and the race was on,
But "Big Mac" McGwire was already gone.
In the first couple months,
The contenders were many,
Rodriguez, Castilla, and Ken Griffey.
Sammy wasn't in the picture yet,
But Big Mac sure was,
He was way in the lead,
Making history.
All of a sudden
Sammy was coming on strong,
He was right up with Big Mac,
Where he will always belong.
As the chase picked up pace,
Words long unheard
Began popping up
Like a morning bird
Babe and Roger,
Hack and Mac,
Race and record,
Staying with the pack.
Now the boy's numbers were getting very high,
Old-time records were being broken
By baseballs in the sky.
Hack's record was the first to go,
Babe's and Maris would follow,
But these strong boys just would not stop.
The pace just would not slow.
We all knew that someday,
Maris would not be on top,
But would it be Big Mac,
With one big eighth-inning pop?
Yes, it would
We now can say,
With this new record,
And that fine day.
As Big Mac stepped up to the plate,
It seemed as if the world stopped turning,
To find out the fate
Of this future baseball great.
Big Mac stepped back,
Stomped the dirt off his cleat,
Glanced at his bat, as it seemed to say,
"I will not be beat. Today is the day."
That bat was right,
And as Big Mac stepped in,
The crowd was hushed,
You could have heard a pin.
The next pitch came,
It looked good,
A little high,
But he swung with all he could.
Roger's record was no more,
Now McGwire got to roar.
That image of Mac,
Hitting that ball,
Was like a great tree,
Hitting a rock, farther than far,
Far beyond all.
As the sun sank slowly,
Beneath the serene sky,
62 for Sammy soon became real.
In that same week,
A 37-year-old record
Was now his dinnertime meal.
Their lives are a young boy's dream,
Nothing else could be more supreme.
The rest, you know, is history,
Untouchable 70,
And, just behind that, 66.
Shall there be another race?
Now that, my friend,
is a mystery.
© 
