On Sept. 21, 2011, when Mike Piazza stepped to the plate for the New York Mets, an entire city and nation was still hurting from an unthinkable tragedy that brought unmeasurable loss.
What followed was a moment far bigger than baseball.
That night, for the first major sporting event in the city since the 9/11 attacks, the people of New York went to then-Shea Stadium _ which was used to house vehicles, supplies and more during the relief efforts _ trying to heal.
Many weren't sure if the game should be played, but there they were, trying to get back to life, trying to be together and believe in something.
In the bottom of the eighth, with the Mets trailing 2-1 to divisional rival Atlanta, Piazza crushed a two-run home run to center field that gave the Mets a 3-2 win. In the stands as he rounded the bases, there were cheers, there were tears, there were American Flags and then a USA! USA! chant broke across the stadium.
Baseball is not the most important thing in the world. It never will be. But one of the beautiful things about baseball _ and, in fact, all sports _ is that it has a way of acting as a conduit for a more powerful, meaningful message. It allows for moments that offer healing, inspiration, something bigger than what goes into the box score.
Along with bringing communities together and being something for people to bond over, this is the real value in athletics.
For just a few seconds, the people of New York were given, possibly, their first moment in which they could cheer and be joyous as one. It must have been an impossible mixture of emotions. Because it gave the people of New York that moment, and something extra to believe in, I've long thought that Piazza's home run that night was perhaps the most meaningful, seminal home run ever hit.
It was so much more than a two-run shot in the eighth of a September game. It was one moment that so many hurting people desperately needed.
Miami's Dee Gordon delivered another one on Monday night. The Marlins had to play a game less than 48 hours after the sudden, stunning loss of pitcher Jose Fernandez in a boating accident. Many players were in tears as the game began just after a sobering video tribute and rendition of "Take Me out to the Ballgame." Some who were covering the game were shocked they could play the game at all.
Gordon was the first Marlins hitter of the game. He stepped to bat as a right-handed hitter _ for Fernandez _ and had Fernandez's helmet for the first pitch. He then stepped to the left side, his natural side, for the second pitch. On the third, Gordon belted a home run to right field. It was his first home run of the season. He said later he's never hit one farther, even in batting practice.
He was in tears as he crossed home plate, seemingly exhausted from the raw emotion of the moment. In the first at-bat after Fernandez's death, a hitter who almost never hits home runs somehow found it in himself to crush one farther than he ever had. Hollywood wouldn't have believed the script.
In Ohio, the Indians will enter October trying to win the World Series, the first for the franchise since 1948. They'll try to follow the Cavaliers' title, which for so many people in Northeast Ohio was far more than a basketball team winning a game. It was connected to their identity, for better or worse. Those moments are the kind that can carry people through some bad ones _ or, like in New York and Miami, help to heal and lift us up.
There could be some great moments this October, like in every postseason. Perhaps they will be in Cleveland, perhaps not. But there are some important lessons that teach us to revel in them when they come along. It's unfortunate that those lessons often come in harsh ways.
There have been some monumental home runs in history. There could be a few this October that carry some extra meaning for some. But few will go down in history in the same way as Piazza's and Gordon's. Those are bigger than the game.
It's why, in baseball and in life, we try to enjoy the ride.
