It was in the bargain aisle of a discount store that we found an object that symbolizes American culture more than any other object we have ever seen. For only $4, we had to buy it.
The object is an oversized zip-up folder depicting 90's baseball star Mark McGuire after he has just swung his bat. He gazes confidently ahead, presumably watching as his 'dinger' reaches heights impossibly high for most, yet comfortably usual for him. His right arm and shin are cloaked in light armor. While not really exerting himself, his every muscle remains cartoonishly inflated, like a monster-truck tire. His pants hang baggy around his knee even as the meaty part of his thigh tests the seam's limits. Even as the nature of the medium limits the image's resolution, the strains in his inflexible neck tendons are clearly visible.
In the late 1990's, baseball needed to "capture the nation's imagination" again, and "just showing up" wasn't going to cut it. No, the only thing that would make the grade would be jacked up dudes hitting longballs. Steroids were never in the discussion -- how would steroids even make one better at baseball? Hitting a sphere with a tapered cylinder was done by practice and god-given hand eye coordination. Steroids were for sprinters and East German swimmers. Power hitters like McGwire were no bigger than your average NFL linebacker anyway. In America, the ends fuck the means, results matter, and just win baby. If a few eggs get broken along the way, cook 'em on the sidewalk, and let a third-world country drink that lemonade.
Mark McGwire was a sympathetic single father who was making America's Game America's Game once again, to the delight of the bandwagon-hopping Bob Costases of the world. His ligaments rendered brittle by age and synthetic hormone, he retired right before people allowed themselves to believe how their sausage was made.
Completing this eternal circle is the merchandising. McGwire's image and likeness were licensed from the MLB by Starline, Inc. based in Holbrook N.Y. In 1999, they lazily designed several folders depicting several broadly recognized professional athletes: Favre. Rice. O'Neal. Illegible logos on the spine of the folder indicate that the folder was "Genuine Merchandise" and one of the prestigious "MLB Players Choice" line of folders. The actual fabrication of the folders was contracted to China instead of Holbrook N.Y. Too many were made and the items languished on the shelf, presumably at stores like Wal-Mart and/or K-Mart. Years later, the color faded but the synthetic fibers unaltered by time, the last few pallets in the back of a warehouse in an interstate-bordering town were unloaded to a discount store, where they were purchased ironically by nostalgia-seeking undergrads.
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