Thanks, Josh.

For the first time in recent memory, I decided to watch the Home Run Derby from the comfort of my home instead of a bar (mostly because I had unknowingly attempted to destroy my liver over the weekend, but that’s a story for another time). As the event began, I realized that I might have made a grave error. Without gambling to keep my interested in each hitter or alcohol to dull my senses when ESPN, for reasons I still can’t figure out, tries to stretch out the length of their broadcast to a level that would make the Academy Awards producers blush, I realized that the Home Run Derby can be a complete and utter bore.

Without what I would call “big name stars” (Howard, A-Rod, Griffey) or at least “guys who could be classified as clinically insane by the AMA” (Ortiz, Bradley), this year’s derby was in jeopardy of being over-shadowed by the Whoopi-Crystal double play combo in the Celebrity Softball game. Not a good sign.

Not to take anything away from guys like Utley and Uggla, but line drives that barely clear the wall are not why I tune into the Derby. Then there are the players who appear be emotional-less robots like Morneau (smile once for me, Justin) and Braun (ditto) who are as exciting to watch as C-SPAN 3. That leaves me Fat Elvis (who I’m not a fan of mostly because I have a morbid fear of jowls) and the young kids (Sizemore, Longoria and Hamilton) to cheer for. That’s a hard sell for insane baseball junkies like me, let alone the casual fan. Not good.

So I was far from shocked when after the first 3 or 4 batters, my wife put into words what I had been thinking from the start, “Remind me again why people find the Home Run Derby exciting?” I didn’t have an answer. Then Josh Hamilton happened.

Give ESPN credit for realizing that Hamilton was the big show for this event and putting him last. Smart move. After suffering through exciting HR barrages of 6, 7, 3, 6, 7, 7 and 8 (or something close to that), there was a noticeable change in the mood of the fans in attendance when Josh strode to the plate.

Mind you, they had been listening to endless chatter about his miraculous comeback over and over again for as long as those of us watching on TV, so it was far from surprising that they were prepared for something spectacular. Not to mention, Hamilton had told everyone who would listen that he thought he could hit one out of the stadium (which has NEVER been done before). We all like a little cockiness in our HR Derby participants.

So there he was, with a huge grin on his face, awaiting the first pitch from his 71-YEAR-OLD AMERICAN LEGION BALL COACH and BAM! Crushed. I mean, he CRUSHED that first ball. I sat up on the couch and mumbled something along the lines of “holy crap,” as my arms got all goose-bumpy (that’s a word, right?). Then, to me, the coolest thing happened. Josh stepped out of the box, turned to the random catcher with a grin as wide as the Grand Canyon and said, “That was awesome.” And it was.

You could see the joy on his face as he drove ball after ball into the upper deck of the stadium. Each one getting closer and closer to actually leaving the park. People throw around the term “awe-inspiring” quite a bit, but this felt that way. He was having fun. He was on the ride of his life and we were right there with him.

Nothing that happened after that first home run landed 500 feet away seemed contrived or cheesy. The stopping to sign autographs was cute. The chant of “Ham-il-ton” by 55,000 NEW YORKERS was unreal. Even Bradley coming up to wipe off his brow seemed genuine (for a crazy person).

Of course, he didn’t win. But for what seemed like an eternity, we were all reminded why we love this sport. It was written all over Josh’s face that night. After the Derby ended, Peter Gammons said that this was a great way to “turn the page” on the steroid black eye and for fans to start believing in this sport and it’s players again. I couldn’t agree more. So thanks, Josh. Thanks for the smile. Thanks for the tears. Thanks for everything. You said it yourself, that was awesome.

Go Cubs.