Last Friday afternoon, I ate lunch with a friend at the bar across from my apartment building. The bar had several televisions tuned to SportsCenter and the Rockies-Giants game.

My eyes wandered often to the ballgame, as a man's eyes will, and finally I asked my friend if she liked baseball.

"Oh yes," she said. "My grandfather played professional baseball, so in my family we weren't allowed to dislike baseball."

"Did he ever play in the majors?" I asked.

"For a little while," she said. "He played in the World Series with the Cubs."

"What was his name?"

"Marvin Gudat."

Marvin Gudat made his big league debut with the Cincinnati Reds on May 21, 1929. He only played in nine games that year, primarily as a pitcher. He returned to the majors with the Chicago Cubs in 1932, playing in 60 games as a pinch-hitter, outfielder, and first baseman, as well as pitching one scoreless inning. Chicago won the National League pennant that year, and Marv Gudat went hitless in two at-bats as the Cubs lost the World Series to the despised New York Yankees. For his career, Marv Gudat went 1-1 as a pitcher with a 3.38 ERA. As a batter, he collected 24 hits, including four doubles, a triple, and one home run.

One home run. I wonder what Marv Gudat did when he hit his only major league home run. Did he charge around the bases like a dumb rookie, not daring to hope the ball would clear the fence? I prefer to picture him standing at home plate with his mouth hanging open, staring in amazement as the ball disappeared into the stands, and then trotting slowly around the bases -- not so slowly as to earn a fastball in his ear his next time at bat, of course, but slowly enough to savor the experience.

Did Marv Gudat spend the rest of his life reliving that home run in his head? I bet everything about that day stood out in sharp relief in his memory -- what he ate for breakfast, the jokes his teammates told in the clubhouse, his practice swings in the on-deck circle, the noise the crowd made when he stepped to the plate, and the opposing pitcher's name and face and the pitches he threw. And I know Marv Gudat never forgot the sensation of sweet contact as he pounced on that pitch and the ball leaped from his bat.

Thinking about Marv Gudat reminded me of a post the Maximum Leader wrote about his 1988 meeting with President Reagan. I don't care if you didn't like Reagan -- read the post and notice how sixteen years have failed to dim the bright details in the Maximum Leader's mind. He remembers what he wore, the gruff comments from the advance man, the masking tape "X" on the floor, the feel of Reagan's hand, and the exact words his hero spoke to him.

Too often, our extraordinary existence devolves into drudgery -- one day dissolves into the next until life becomes a homogeneous gray mass, bland as oatmeal without raisins. These glittering moments remind us why we bother to stay alive.

What's your one major league home run? What's your meeting with President Reagan? One of mine is finishing my first marathon in St. Louis on October 12, 1997. I remember vividly turning the last corner, spotting the finish line 200 meters away, and flipping the fuck out. All the exhaustion from the previous 26 miles drained away, and I sprinted the final stretch whooping and pumping my fist in the air. The spectators started cheering with renewed vigor, and one fellow shouted "Yeah, man!" and stuck his hand out. I ran to the side and started handing out high-fives. I have tears in my eyes as I type this. That's what life is about.

Marvin Gudat died March 1, 1954 in Los Angeles. Rest easy, Mr. Gudat. You hit one big league home run.

+posted by Lawrence @ 7/22/2004 01:08:00 PM