Now, however, many baseball players are very good. Andre Dawson would be a bona fide superstar if it weren't for Don Mattingly and Wade Boggs. Dawson knows that even if he hits 30 home runs, he'll still be only one of many excellent players.

Dave Kingman and Greg Luzinski seemed larger than life in their time. But if they were in their prime now, they'd be receiving about all the attention that Steve Balboni merits. Given this context, the temptation to add some flair to a home run--to garner some additional attention--is great.

Likewise, pitchers could handle it when Reggie Jackson took them deep. But it's a little hard to take when a red-faced rookie like McGwire manhandles you--not to mention having the insult repeated by literally dozens of sluggers.

The frustration level has risen in response to the glut of hitting talent. It's been almost a decade since the game was last populate by so many players who legitimately deserve the label "future hall-of-famer."

And not surprisingly, at the same time that the game has become hitter rich, it's also gone pitcher poor. The American League this year even had a reliever with a four-plus earned run average on its all-star roster.

With so many batters better than so many hurlers, the potential for conflict has been greatly increased. Eventually, there may come a time when the number of standouts is few, and the game will have a place for the Kurt Bevacquas and Bernie Carbos again.

But until then, 20-homer hitters will have to be on the lookout for frustrated pitchers--and those in the bleacher seats won't have to strain to look in the dugouts and see who's on the bench.

Instead, they'll be able to find the benchwarmers on the field, wrestling their opponents to the ground in yet another "beanbrawl."