The Misanthrope’s Corner

THE Home Run Chase promised to be the perfect antidote to the first anniversary of Princess Diana’s death. As late August approached, all signs pointed to a shutout of female compassion by male competition and the victory of cold dry statistics over hot moist emotions. Vulnerability was out, virility was in. Pecs were in, pathos was out. The inner child was out, the outer hunk was in. This year, I told myself, things would be different; these guys would eat teddy bears for breakfast.

My prediction had the same stuff on it as the pitching of Wild Man Williams, the Phillies closer who fell off the mound in the ’93 World Series and almost got lynched after blowing the game. No sooner did I make it than the sports pages filled up with plangent accounts of the long rocky road of self-discovery traveled by Mark McGwire in his painful quest for the overflowing warmth, spontaneous affection, and unselfish caring that are now his trademarks.

About the Author

Florence King

Florence King was a contributing editor of National Review.

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THE Home Run Chase promised to be the perfect antidote to the first anniversary of Princess Diana’s death. As late August approached, all signs pointed to a shutout of female compassion by male competition and the victory of cold dry statistics over hot moist emotions. Vulnerability was out, virility was in. Pecs were in, pathos was out. The inner child was out, the outer hunk was in. This year, I told myself, things would be different; these guys would eat teddy bears for breakfast.

My prediction had the same stuff on it as the pitching of Wild Man Williams, the Phillies closer who fell off the mound in the ’93 World Series and almost got lynched after blowing the game. No sooner did I make it than the sports pages filled up with plangent accounts of the long rocky road of self-discovery traveled by Mark McGwire in his painful quest for the overflowing warmth, spontaneous affection, and unselfish caring that are now his trademarks.