The talk had flowed everywhere
for weeks. Who'd catch it? Should
they keep it? Would the IRS come
calling?
And the most pressing question:
Give it back gratis or take Mark
McGwire and the Cardinals for as
much cash and cool stuff as
possible?
Unlike so many of McGwire's
home runs, this one didn't make it into the left-field stands.
Instead, the line drive shot over the left field fence, where
Tim Forneris ran it down and picked it up -- Tim
Forneris, part of the Busch Stadium grounds crew.
He promptly returned the specially and secretly marked,
individually numbered ball to The Man Of The Hour.
"It's not mine to begin with," the 22-year-old Forneris
said, though technically it was once he got his hands on it.
"McGwire just lost it, and I brought it home. I'm just a
regular Joe."
When the ball flew off McGwire's bat, Forneris and his
brother, Tino, were working behind the outfield fence
under, appropriately enough, a sign for "Target"
department stores. Both joined other members of the
grounds crew in a mad dash to where they thought it
would land, under a "Konica Copiers & Printers" sign.
"I figure, if it's not gone, it's going to hit the wall. If it is
gone, it's mine," Forneris said.
He beat them all.
"He was always the better player," Tino Forneris said.
In the left-field stands, fans
suddenly certain they
wouldn't get to the ball
rushed out to the smoking
areas and restrooms, lining
the concourse.
Forneris stuffed the ball
into his shirt and ran onto
the field with dozens of
other employees as McGwire rounded the bases. He gave
the prize to Cardinals equipment manager Buddy Bates. In
a moment, the jubilant McGwire had his piece of history
back.
"It makes everybody happy," Cardinals spokesman Brian
Bartow said. "Our employees love the game just like the
fans do. I am not surprised that an employee felt so
strongly about it that he rushed to give it to Mark."
McGwire has said the ball belongs in Cooperstown -- at
the Baseball Hall of Fame, home of 5,000 other
significant baseballs.
"It's refreshing," said Don Marr, the hall's president,
carrying a case containing the bat Roger Maris used to hit
No. 61. "People short-change America. These baseball
fans are showing their true colors."
McGwire's last six home-run balls have been returned to
him.
Fans who saw No. 62 but didn't get the ball had to think
about it for a while, but most arrived at the same verdict.
"I would definitely give it back," said Rich Keim of St.
Louis.
"I think it's great Mark got the ball. I would have done the
same thing," said Bridget Dawson, also of St. Louis.
"We didn't come here to try to catch the ball. I wasn't
going to get killed going for that baseball," said Rick
Miller of Alton, Illinois. "I just wanted to see him hit the
home run."
The mass of cowhide-covered yarn
and rubber that makes up a
Rawlings official National League
baseball, which retails for $9,
could have been worth more than
$1 million to anyone who caught it.
There was a brief flurry over the
weekend when there were reports
that whoever caught the ball might
be taxed heavily even if they gave
it away. But the IRS said Tuesday
that wouldn't be the case.
McGwire, who earns $9.5 million a year, had implored
whoever retrieved the ball to return it.
"I just totally disagree with all this money talk about a
ball," he said over the weekend. "It is outrageous. Why
would somebody hold the ball hostage when really,
basically, they had nothing to do with it?"
The "magical one," he says, "belongs in Cooperstown."
Deni Allen, who caught No. 60 after skirting security and
getting into the section where it landed, got his wish
Tuesday and took batting practice. Mike Davidson, who
nabbed No. 61 Sunday, gave it back with no strings.
Sal Durante, a 19-year-old working in an auto-parts store
in Brooklyn, caught Roger Maris' 61st. It won him $5,000
plus two trips to the West Coast to see the man who
purchased it.
Durante was taken under the stands to meet Maris in the
runway to the Yankees' dugout. "Somebody said, `Roger,
the kid wants to give you the ball,'" Durante recalled
recently. "Maris said, 'Keep it. Make whatever you can on
it.'"
For the Fornerises, Busch Stadium is a family endeavor;
his mother, Rita, is a concierge on the ballpark's
clubhouse level. Forneris, besieged by reporters shortly
after his feat, ran into Marr and asked him for a family
pass to the Hall of Fame. Marr promised the young man
one -- for life.
"I'll see you in Cooperstown," Marr said to Forneris.
"I'll be there," the grinning groundskeeper said. "With
bells on."