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Once the season began, opposing pitchers felt as though they had awakened a sleeping lion. Though he has sat out 39 games so far this season, Aaron has been belting the ball as if a time machine had somehow subtracted ten birthdays. As of last week, the man who said that he would be satisfied with 30 home runs this year already had 37−the fourth highest total in the majors. Going into the 1973 season, Aaron was averaging one home run for every 16 at-bats. Now he is hitting one round-tripper every nine times he goes to the plate. The old man, in fact, is having a golden autumn. In his last 14 games, Aaron hit six homers, drove in 17 runs and batted a lusty .510.
Now that Aaron is closing in on 715, his fans are growing restless. Two weeks ago, after Aaron hit Nos. 708 and 709 against the San Diego Padres, the California crowd roundly booed Padre Pitcher Mike Caldwell for striking Henry out on his last time at bat. After a rash of racist hate mail early this year, Aaron has been receiving nearly 2,000 letters weekly from such varied admirers as moonstruck teen-agers ("We love you, Hanky-poo") and Alabama Governor George Wallace. NBC stands ready to interrupt its regularly scheduled programs to show Aaron hitting Nos. 712 through 715. Computer analysts, astrologists and assorted clairvoyants are issu ing almost daily predictions on his chances for the record this year (latest consensus: a cliffhanger until the season's last day, Sept. 30). Aaron himself says: "I don't know. I can't predict. I just want to keep messing up that computer."
On the road Aaron draws up to 10,000 additional fans to the host team's ballpark. Last weekend in Cincinnati, the leftfield seats were pregame sellouts. At home, attendance remains woefully low because Atlanta is pre-eminently a football town, because the Braves are nowhere near being pennant contenders and because an Aaron home run is a common occurrence in a stadium that the players call "the launching pad." Nonetheless, the Braves and the city fathers are beating the promotional drums. Giant billboards have been erected to give Aaron's latest homer total. A street and school will be renamed for Aaron. Cash rewards for returning Aaron home-run balls have attracted loyal bands of fans equipped with everything from catchers' mitts to lacrosse sticks and huge nets attached to fishing poles. "Of course, I'd like to hit 'em in front of 50,000 fans," says Aaron. "But when I cross the plate, I don't care if it's 2,000 or 50,000. It counts."
What makes his success this season all the more remarkable is that many teams are defending against him by using an "Aaron shift"−moving the second baseman and the rightfielder to the left side of the diamond to counter his pull-hitting power. Pitchers are giving him nothing but bad stuff or walking him intentionally. "Hell," says Aaron, "I don't even see good pitches in batting practice anymore."