The Small, Good Thing

The anniversary of 9/11 reminds us that in times of catastrophe, sports connect us to the remarkable and shine a light back to the routine.

- Tom Junod

On Sept. 21, 2001, 10 days after two hijacked planes turned the twin towers of the World Trade Center into effgies of ash and killed 2,753 people, Mike Piazza hit a home run for the New York Mets.

It was the 312th of a career in which he hit 427. He had hit one two days earlier, in Pittsburgh, and he would hit another four nights later, in Montreal. But this was Piazza’s first home game in the aftermath of what would become known simply as 9/11, in front of 41,235 people who had come to Shea Stadium still throbbing with grief and shock and uncertainty and fear. He came up in the eighth against Steve Karsay of the Atlanta Braves and was behind in the count 0-and-1. The Mets were behind by a run, with a runner at first. Piazza swung at a 94 mph fastball intended for the outside of the plate, and Karsay did not have to turn around to find out where it went. If he couldn’t tell by the sound of the bat, he could tell by the roar of the crowd, the choir of throats unthrottled by a sense of relief and even deliverance.

It was a hit that scored two runs and won the game for the Mets 3-2. But it was of course much more than that, because Piazza did not hit his home run in the context of baseball but rather in the context of history—of mass murder perpetrated for global consumption and ultimately of unceasing war. He had done all a baseball player could do and hit his pitch; he had done all a human being could do and risen to his moment. He had answered, and such is the nature of sports—such is the nature of our relationship with sports—that in the 23 seconds required for him to round the bases, we claimed his answer as our own.