The death this week of Robert Brown "Bobby" Thomson rekindled still another intense brush fire of debate over who belted baseball's greatest home run, Thomson or Bill Mazeroski.

Locally, the discussion is generally a non-starter, as most every baseball fan within 100 miles of an epicenter called Forbes Field remembers from his or her baseball catechism that the greatest homer ever left Maz's bat Oct. 13, 1960, in the ninth inning of the seventh game of the World Series, making the Pirates not only champions but joyful vanquishers of the iconic New York Yankees of Mantle, Maris, Berra and Ford.

Next question.

But the problem, see, is the question itself.

By the greatest homer ever, do we mean the most dramatic, the most important, the most unlikely, the longest, the highest, the loudest or the one that went off Jose Canseco's head?

On many pseudo-official lists of baseball's greatest moments and most famous homers, Maz's solo shot off Ralph Terry to snap a 9-9 tie leading off the ninth gets relegated to second place behind Thomson's so-called "Shot Heard 'Round the World. That's because many consider Thomson's three-run homer to win the pennant for the Giants in a playoff against the Brooklyn Dodgers Oct. 3, 1951, more dramatic than even Mazeroski's homer, even though Maz's homer was the only one ever to end Game 7 of a World Series.

The Thomson scholars say it's not just because it happened in New York, where so many things are just presumed to resonate worldwide, but because of the broader circumstances between the Giants and Dodgers, the astounding comeback by the Giants (13 games behind on Aug. 11) that summer, the three-game playoff, the galloping enmity between the clubs and especially the fact that the Giants were behind 4-1 when the ninth inning started and 4-2 when Thomson stepped in against Ralph Branca.

But it's also due to Russ Hodges' frantic play-by-play of the moment: "There's a long drive; it's going to be I believe -- THE GIANTS WIN THE PENNANT! THE GIANTS WIN THE PENNANT! THE GIANTS WIN THE PENNANT!"

But if we're going to judge these events purely on drama, the pitfalls are cavernous, because the essential nature of drama engenders limitless colors and hues, probably one for every homer ever hit on any level in any venue, in fact.

I would humbly submit, for example, the least dramatic homer ever as the one I hit against Billy Morana in a Little League fray, circa 1965. It was raining. There were maybe eight people there. We were behind, 7-0. It cleared the right-field fence by no more than a couple of feet. It struck a tin shed and made a loud bang that could be heard around the block. It was literally "The Shot Heard 'Round the Block."

Mrs. Bottomley burst out onto her porch across the street because her husband was working the night shift and was trying to sleep. She yelled "Damn kids!"

Mrs. Bottomley, you're no Russ Hodges.

Then it poured and everyone went home, and I never hit another one.

Perhaps as a reward for that non-moment in home run ignominy, I've since been privileged to see some of the most dramatic homers in baseball history as an eyewitness, including the only other home run ever to end a World Series, Joe Carter's liner over the left-field fence that won it for the Blue Jays against the Phillies in 1993.

Carter's moment did not rise to the level of Maz's, as it came in Game 6 of a World Series that was pretty clearly going in Toronto's direction anyway.

I was even more fortunate, probably, to have been in Fenway Park Oct. 2, 1978, when Bucky Dent's three-run homer broke New England's heart into 10 million pieces. The place reeked of drama, mostly because the Red Sox had been in first place for 127 days through Oct. 1. But Dent's homer came in the top of the seventh, so the home team still had three more shots, and Reggie Jackson's homer in the top of the eighth turned out to be the difference in a 5-4 New York win.

Had Dent's homer come in a playoff game between the Royals and the Twins, no one would remember it.

Because drama must by definition encompass tragedy, the most dramatic homer ever is likely the one Dave Henderson hit against Donnie Moore in the American League Championship Series, Oct. 12, 1986.

Needing one strike to advance to their first World Series, the then California Angels could only watch in horror as Moore's 2-2 pitch was drilled over the left-field fence to overturn what remained of a 4-1 lead.

"The pitch," began Al Michaels, "to left field and deep, and Downing goes back -- and it's gone! Unbelievable! Astonishing! Anaheim Stadium was one strike away from turning into Fantasyland! The Red Sox lead, 6-5! You're looking at one for the ages here!"

Technically, the Angels tied the game in the bottom of the inning and lost in the 11th, but they didn't win again that fall.

Far, far worse, Moore never recovered from the heartache. Less than three years later, he shot himself.

Henderson's homer proved too dramatic, way too dramatic, and I think that must clearly make it the most dramatic.

God bless Donnie Moore.

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