Columnist Dean Juipe: Unlike Maris, McGwire has fans' support

THE ANIMOSITY he faced knew no bounds and extended at least from the grandstands to the commissioner's office.

When Roger Maris was chasing Babe Ruth's home run record in 1961, baseball fans all but rebelled. They would hurl insults and toss debris in Maris' direction, attempting to unnerve a player they never fully embraced.

Maris, who lost clumps of hair during the season as a result of stress, was no Babe Ruth in the fans' hearts. He wasn't as lovable, he wasn't as congenial and he was playing in a pitching-diluted expansion year.

No one outside of the New York Yankees appeared to like him.

And no one treated him as shabbily as the commissioner at that time, Ford Frick.

Frick, who was from the old school, jeered Maris in his own way. He idolized Ruth and seemingly detested Maris, given the decree he issued right about this time in the '61 season.

It was coldhearted to an extreme, especially coming from the supposedly unbiased caretaker of the game. And it only added to Maris' heartache.

The statement from Frick's office said an asterisk would forever be placed next to Maris' name in the record book, even if he broke Ruth's single-season home run record of 60 during the 154-game 1927 season. Because baseball had gone to a 162-game schedule in '61, Frick said any record Maris might set would have an asterisk attached unless he hit his 61st home run within 154 games.

It took Maris until the final game of the season to hit No. 61 and, at least until Frick passed from the scene, the asterisk was, indeed, linked to his name in the record books of the era.

Not to generate any belated compassion for Maris, but compare what he experienced 37 years ago to the public's reaction today as Mark McGwire takes aim at the sport's most sacred record. McGwire, it seems, is out and out revered.

Mammoth crowds are greeting McGwire at every stop on the St. Louis Cardinals' schedule and the majority of those people are arriving hours early to catch McGwire's batting practice exploits. The ovations are automatic as he reaches the plate.

While he has always been perceived as a decent man and as a feared hitter, McGwire has never been idolized like he is now.

The question then becomes, why?

Perhaps it's because Maris, even with the advantage of retrospect, is reviled as a one-year anomaly and his record is still seen as something of a fluke.

Or, perhaps, it's simply a matter of the passage of time and the desire to see someone, anyone, hit 62 home runs.

Or, perhaps, the attention McGwire is receiving reflects a generation obsessed with individual achievements and an I and me mentality.

It really doesn't matter, of course, yet McGwire should consider himself blessed. He's taking a stab at a vaunted record at a perfect time and the fans are responding with papal-like reverence.

He's not facing any hoots, hollers or blasphemous distractions. The media may be an intrusion but the spectators are open-armed and welcoming.

Roger Maris, long since deceased, can only look on in envy.

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