It was a swing, a crack, and then a surge—not just off the bat, but through PNC Park and the memory of a franchise rich with lore. Andrew McCutchen, with a calm stride and a reverent heart, sent his 241st home run soaring over the left-center fence, sliding past Roberto Clemente on the Pirates’ all-time list. The crowd didn’t just rise—they exhaled history, applauding not just the milestone but the man.

The ball, struck at 103.5 miles per hour and wedged beneath the bleachers, came back to McCutchen courtesy of a fan who understood the moment. It bore a scar on its cover—a slash of steel that seemed symbolic, as if baseball itself had chosen to leave a mark. Like Clemente before him, McCutchen had made Pittsburgh not just a stop in his career, but a calling.

In the dugout, interim manager Don Kelly—once a teammate, now a witness—reflected with visible awe. He remembered a younger McCutchen in Triple-A, rounding the bases as if gravity were optional. Eighteen years later, that same fluid grace had endured, hardened into legacy by resilience, consistency, and a bond with a city that never stopped believing in him.

This wasn’t about chasing records for McCutchen. As he said after the game, “I’m more excited about the win than the home run.” Yet the numbers don’t lie: Only Ralph Kiner and Willie Stargell now sit above him. It’s rare air, and fittingly, earned on a day when the Pirates won—a moment of personal glory wrapped in a team victory, just the way Cutch prefers it.

To see McCutchen pass Clemente is to witness more than statistics. It’s to see what happens when longevity meets loyalty, when a player returns to where it all began and adds one more chapter to a story we thought was already complete. The swing may have belonged to Cutch, but the cheer belonged to Pittsburgh.

​​And one day, when his sons challenge his greatness in the backyard, McCutchen will point to that scarred ball and say with a smile, “Your dad wasn’t bad, you know.” Not bad at all. Just good enough to pass a legend. And humble enough to tip his cap while doing it.