1998 MLB Home Run Chase That Reignited Baseball's Soul

Summer of Long Balls: The 1998 Home Run Chase

There are summers you remember for the weather, the music, or the road trips. And then there’s the summer of 1998 – a season remembered for the sound of baseballs cracking off bats and soaring into the warm evening air. That year, two sluggers – Mark McGwire of the St. Louis Cardinals and Sammy Sosa of the Chicago Cubs – captivated the nation in a home run race that felt more like a shared national holiday than a baseball season.

It was a time when fans tuned in nightly, radios crackled with anticipation, and even casual observers found themselves checking box scores. The 1998 MLB home run race wasn’t just about numbers – it was about healing, hope, and the timeless joy of watching a ball disappear into the bleachers.

Before the Chase: A Game in Need of a Hero

To understand why the McGwire vs Sosa saga mattered so deeply, you have to go back a few years. In 1994, Major League Baseball suffered a devastating blow: a players’ strike that canceled the World Series. Fans were disillusioned. Attendance dropped. The magic of the game felt dimmed.

Baseball needed a spark. And in 1998, it got two.

The home run had always been baseball’s most dramatic punctuation mark. Babe Ruth‘s 60 in 1927 set the standard. Roger Maris‘s 61 in 1961 broke it, but not without controversy – his record came in a longer season, and some fans never fully embraced it. For 37 years, Maris’s mark stood as a symbol of unreachable greatness.

Then came McGwire and Sosa.

The Race Begins: Power, Personality, and Pure Joy

Mark McGwire, already known for his towering home runs, came into the 1998 season with 58 homers from the year before. He wasted no time, launching 11 in April and 16 more in May. By the All-Star break, he had 37. His swing was compact, violent, and unmistakable. Every at-bat felt like an event.

Sammy Sosa, meanwhile, started slower. But in June, he caught fire – hitting 20 home runs in a single month, a record that still stands. His charisma was infectious. He sprinted around the bases after each homer, finger-pointed to the sky, and smiled like a kid who couldn’t believe his luck.

The media couldn’t get enough. ESPN ran nightly updates. Newspapers printed side-by-side home run tallies. Fans in St. Louis and Chicago – usually bitter rivals – found themselves united in awe.

Moments That Made the Summer Eternal

There were so many moments that summer that felt like they belonged in a movie:

June 25: McGwire and Sosa both homered in the same game, a symbolic nod to their shared spotlight.
August 19: McGwire hit No. 48, tying Sosa. The race was neck and neck.
September 8: In front of a packed Busch Stadium, McGwire hit No. 62, breaking Maris’s record. He hugged his son. He hugged Sosa. He hugged the Maris family. It was raw, emotional, and unforgettable.
September 25: Sosa briefly took the lead with No. 66.
September 27: McGwire finished with 70. Sosa with 66. Two men, forever linked.

More Than a Game: A Cultural Phenomenon

The 1998 MLB home run race wasn’t confined to the ballpark. It spilled into living rooms, classrooms, and water coolers. Kids mimicked McGwire’s stance and Sosa’s hop. Baseball cards flew off shelves. Attendance soared. For the first time in years, baseball felt like America’s game again.

And it wasn’t just about the numbers. It was about the way McGwire and Sosa carried themselves. They weren’t adversaries – they were co-stars. They cheered for each other. They embraced. They reminded us that competition could be joyful.

In a summer filled with political scandals and global uncertainty, two men with bats gave us something simple and beautiful to believe in.

The Shadows That Followed

Of course, no story this big comes without complications.

In the years that followed, the steroid era cast a long shadow over baseball. McGwire eventually admitted to using performance-enhancing drugs. Sosa has remained more elusive, denying wrongdoing but never fully clearing the air.

Congressional hearings, Hall of Fame debates, and shifting public opinion have all reshaped how we view that summer. Some fans feel betrayed. Others choose to remember the joy.

But even with the hindsight of controversy, the emotional truth of that season remains. It was real. It mattered. And it brought people together in a way few sports stories ever have.

Little-Known Details That Add Color

Matt McGwire, Mark’s son, was the batboy during the record-breaking game. His presence added a layer of intimacy to the moment.
The ball from McGwire’s 62nd home run was caught by a groundskeeper and later donated to the Hall of Fame.
Sosa’s 1998 MVP award was the first for a Cubs player since Ryne Sandberg in 1984.
The Cubs made the playoffs that year, while the Cardinals did not – yet McGwire’s 70 overshadowed everything.

Why It Still Matters

The McGwire vs Sosa home run race wasn’t perfect. But it was powerful. It reminded us why we love baseball – not for its purity, but for its poetry.

It was about fathers and sons watching games together. About strangers high-fiving in the stands. About the thrill of possibility every time a slugger stepped to the plate.

In a sport that often measures greatness in numbers, the summer of 1998 gave us something more: a feeling. A memory. A moment when baseball felt bigger than the game itself.

A Season That Lives in the Heart

Ask anyone who followed baseball in 1998 where they were when McGwire hit No. 62, and they’ll tell you. Not because they memorized it, but because they felt it.

That summer wasn’t about saving baseball. It was about reminding us why we cared in the first place.

And even now, decades later, when the ballparks are quieter and the headlines have faded, the echoes of that season still linger – like the sound of a bat meeting a ball, and the crowd rising to its feet, one more time.