It was the single most exciting event in professional sports that I have ever seen in person. The drama of it all has stayed with me ever since July 9, 1946, the day on which the best hitter in the history of the Boston Red Sox did the impossible.

On that day, in the All-Star Game at Fenway Park, Ted Williams hit a home run off the famous eephus pitch thrown by Pittsburgh Pirates pitcher RipSewall. And it was Williams’ second home run of the game, leading the way to a twelve-to-nothing American League rout.

Quite untypically for me, I can visualize that long-ago action in detail as it happened. Sewall’s pitch, after leaving his hand, seemed to arc some twenty feet in the air. Most experts and fans thought it inconceivable for anyone to drive such a pitch very far.

But Williams apparently did not believe that. As the pitch descended toward him, the slugger stepped up to the front of the batter’s box and took the balanced but mighty swing for which he is still celebrated.

The ball took flight high and far as it sped toward the right field bleachers, some four hundred feet away. Like everyone else I rose to my feet and admired the trajectory of this shot as Williams started around the bases. How thrilling it was to see the home town hero achieve this feat with such grace and style!

These memories rose to the surface last week when the 1999 All-Star Game took place at Fenway Park. Though not there in person (much to my chagrin), I watched it on television. What a dull game it was, by comparison to the admittedly one-sided but still classic contest that I saw fifty-three years ago!

This time, the pitchers so dominated the hitters as to forbid any home runs like Ted’s. No matter how formidable during the regular season, these hitters were shut down enough to make exciting fielding plays almost impossible also. Only the five strikeouts of Pedro Martinez made for drama.

Most of the highlights of the evening came in the pre-game show. That’s when many of the titans of baseball history were introduced and doffed their caps to the crowd. I felt especially stirred by the sight of Willie Mays, Hank Aaron, Frank Robinson and the other great black stars. The television commentator’s remark that no players of color appeared in the 1946 game dis-mayed me anew.

I also found it poignant to see the changes that age had brought to certain players. When I first started going to games, Bob Feller of the Cleveland Indians had the greatest fast ball in the game; now he looked more worn than I had expected.

Physically, Ted Williams has fared much worse. Hobbled by a stroke, he was driven across the outfield to the area near the pitcher’s mound. When he threw out the ceremonial first ball, he needed the steadying arm of Tony Gywnne to hold him up.

How gratifying it was to see this year’s All-Stars crowd around Williams and hail him as a hero! They surged toward him in the effort to shake his hand and exchange greetings. The word “hero” still rang true as I  recalled that he had left baseball and served for three years as a Marine fighter pilot during World War II.

Such recognition from young major league players does not always come forth. Some-times they show themselves ignorant of the predecessors who have paved their way. I felt shock some years ago when a black player for the New York Mets claimed never to have heard of Jackie Robinson.

Does seeing the heroes of the past, with the sometimes dismaying physical decline that afflicts them, make the baseball heroes of today think of their own future? Can they ever imagine themselves being old and coming back at 80 or 90? Most likely, they share in the provision of nature that shields most young people from ever imagining themselves old.

To an old-time fan like me, current big-league baseball poses many problems. I hate the dominance of money that determines so many choices. New stadiums furnished with high-price suites that enable their holders to distract themselves from the game in utmost comfort, leave me disgusted.

I still hold to my original though now naïve approach: when I go to a game, I want to watch the action on the field. Of course, I also relish talking with friends during the game, but the players remain my main focus.

Perhaps I have an advantage because of continuing my own play with the Harvard Sta-dium Irregulars, our motley softball group that has competed for years on the playing fields nearby. Often inglorious as it is, such active sport helps me admire all the more the remembered feats of Ted Williams and his fellow All-Stars.

Richard Griffin