Mark McGwire did not see himself here, standing in the plush green Busch Stadium infield with a small children's bat in his big left hand.
He had moved on, raising his new family in Southern California and playing golf as competitively as he could while still remaining a "normal human being." That's how McGwire saw himself during the last eight years -- a giant departure from the man-child who hit a rookie-record 49 home runs in 1987 and the man who later dominated the art of mashing so much that he would hit a single-season record of 70 in 1998 (of course, he admittedly had some help along the way).
McGwire is not normal. Stephanie, his second wife, knew that and wanted their sons, 7-year-old Max and 6-year-old Mason, to know it, too. A part of the McGwire family history was in danger of being erased if he didn't share baseball with his sons. McGwire's oldest son from his first marriage, Matt, now 22, got to be batboy during the legendary home run chase of '98. Matt is normal, a college student who loves music, but he understands his DNA.
On a recent 82-degree afternoon crafted straight out of heaven for baseball, McGwire brought Max and Mason out to the ballpark for the first time. Three months ago, the boys learned to throw. Now, they're learning how to catch - with not very consistent success. McGwire, 46 and still imposing with a daily workout regimen, slapped grounders with his boys' toy bat and tossed pop-ups as another game day grinded to life around them.
Max and Mason presented a comedy of errors, and McGwire took it all in. They twirled themselves into a dizzying state of euphoria in the park that still features the ever-present "Big Mac Land" in left field. Their white uniforms - brandished with their last name and their father's No. 25 - were suddenly dirty.
"It's actually one of the reasons why my wife was really telling me I should do this," McGwire says of his return to baseball this year as Cardinals hitting coach. "To me, as a father, it's really cool."
There's more to McGwire's return than family bonding. It's a tale fit for the Fourth of July, complete with fireworks, a Congressional hearing on just how those explosions happened and a fallen American hero asking for forgiveness.
"I hope people give me a second chance," McGwire says. "I believe that people have. I stood up to what I had to stand up to. I've dealt with it. I've moved on. I really do believe America has moved on from that subject."
The subject in question is steroids, and in January, McGwire finally gave his answer: He used them during his career to keep his body healthy, not to hit more home runs. He is deeply regretful. McGwire's admission satisfied some but frustrated others - how could he act as if steroids didn't make hitting 583 career home runs easier?
What mattered most was whether the explanation would fly in St. Louis, where he had agreed to become the hitting coach under friend and Cardinals manager Tony LaRussa.
So far, it's been a mixed bag. When former Cardinals slugger Jack Clark publicly ripped McGwire, Clark was swiftly booed at a fan function. McGwire received a standing ovation on Opening Day at Busch. But in May, St. Louis politicians succeeded in passing a state bill to change the name of Mark McGwire Highway, a five-mile stretch of Interstate 70, to Mark Twain Highway.
"I think the fact that we've forgiven a guy certainly doesn't mean he should be someone to hold up and honor in the way of having a highway named after him," says Don Calloway, a Missouri state representative in St. Louis County. "Just because we're ready to move on as a city doesn't mean he did things the right way."
Calloway, who was in college during the '98 season, said McGwire's admission made St. Louis natives also look at themselves. They were at the center of the national obsession that developed as McGwire and Cubs slugger Sammy Sosa went after Roger Maris' single-season record of 61 home runs just four years after the 1994 baseball strike.
"Sports fans needed something to rally around at the time," Calloway says.
Today, with the past placed neatly back where it belongs, the people of St. Louis are concerned with one thing, a pursuit dear to their hearts: Can McGwire get the Cardinals to start hitting?
Mark McGwire considers Tony LaRussa a father figure in his life, and it's unlikely McGwire would be back in baseball without him. McGwire wasn't even looking to make an official return to the game when LaRussa first asked him about it in the fall.
Today, with McGwire by his side, LaRussa is protective of his longtime protege.
"First of all, let me dispel any mistake: There wasn't anything about friendship," LaRussa says. "I know what's at stake here. Our staff is put together to help players reach their potential. I watched Mark (as) a rookie with a lot of talent that didn't complicate hitting. You have only so much ceiling then because the game is going to adjust right around you. The last half of his career, he became very smart about the stroke, the game between the pitcher and hitter. That got my attention."
The fans' attention is focused squarely on the 2010 numbers, which have not met expectations for a team that has arguably the game's best hitter, Albert Pujols, and signed Matt Holliday in the offseason. Entering the weekend, the Cardinals were 15th in the majors in batting average, 12th in home runs and 19th in runs batted in. During a 13-13 June, McGwire was increasingly mentioned as a culprit on the talk-radio circuit and around town.
McGwire has never been one to listen to all the noise around him, and he did not take this job to please outsiders.
"I don't think he came back into this thing saying 'I've got something to prove,'" Cardinals second baseman Skip Schumaker says. "He really likes to help guys get better and see results. He's got so much to offer."
LaRussa can say hiring McGwire was not a favor, but he can't deny pulling some strings to reignite the fire inside his former slugger. After the Cardinals won the 2006 World Series, LaRussa asked McGwire to tutor fellow Southern Californian Schumaker, then trying to earn his way onto the field. McGwire agreed, and Schumaker started meeting with him a few mornings a week at a batting cage one of McGwire's friends owned in Huntington Beach.
"It was very intimidating," Schumaker says. "I grew up in California. One of my Christmas gifts was a rookie card of Mark McGwire. He was a legend where I'm from. He's still an idol in my eyes. I didn't know how it was going to work. I'm a little leadoff hitter; he's this big power hitter."
Schumaker and McGwire connected from the start, and Schumaker hit .302 and .303 in 2008 and 2009, respectively.
"Hitting is hitting," Schumaker says. "He just happened to hit it a little farther."
The jury is still out on McGwire the hitting coach, and it should be. He is learning as he goes, and there is a lot for him to learn. LaRussa says he has been surprised at how quickly McGwire has picked up the "art of coaching."
"It's the art of not saying too much," LaRussa says. "It's something he does really well, and something all the good coaches do. He makes it clear to the players it's about them. This isn't about Mark. This is about the players. Right away, they know you're here for them."
The Cardinals' young hitters are finding out how much passion McGwire has, just as Schumaker discovered during countless four- and five-hour sessions in California.
"He's a baseball rat," Cardinals third baseman David Freese says. "One thing you ask from the hitting coach is to care, and you can't ask him to care anymore. I think he missed the game. You can tell. I think he takes his work home with him too much sometimes, but it's better than not caring."
McGwire has plenty going on at home with Max, Mason and three girls born June 1. A single man for nearly all of his playing career - he and Kathy divorced in 1988 - McGwire has merged baseball and family for the first time.
"I'm happy I've gone through what I've gone through," McGwire says. "My life hasn't been easy. I've had so many things happen in my life, and they're just learning experiences."
Some of his learning has come at a cost. Cardinals fans will never look at him in the same way as Stan Musial, Bob Gibson, Lou Brock, Ozzie Smith and Pujols, but he isn't asking for special treatment. For eight years, he was just fine being normal.
Teaching Max and Mason the game he learned when he was 9 years old, McGwire felt like he had it all. There was Max, catching a pop-up, and McGwire giving him a thumbs-up. And there was the smaller Mason, letting one fly past his glove, and McGwire issuing a playful thumbs-down.
"It's amazing how this universe works," McGwire says. "Things just sort of happen. One thing I can tell you, I'm very happy I'm here right now. Very happy."
