Say Hey!

Growing up in my family involved fealty to three very significant institutions…The Roman Catholic Church, the Republican Party and the New York Yankees. My Dad’s devotion to all three were markers for me and my three younger brothers; and in my younger years my loyalties to all three were unquestionable. In the center of my universe was a star that wore pinstripes with the number 7 on the back. Mickey Mantle, even the same sounded like a home run. I lived and died with every homer, strike out and sadly too many injuries. At the same time there were friends of mine with family loyalties that extended into very different tribes…especially strange to me were those who were National Leaguers and in particular the ones who rooted for the then NY and later San Francisco Giants. Oh we Yankee fans loved reminding them about how many World Series we had won in comparison to their total but they always held a hole card that left me speechless. They had Willie Mays.

I hated the fact that although I’d make my brave arguments in support of The Mick theirs was more powerful…no one not even Mantle could match what Willie Mays could do on a ball field…and absolutely no one could do it with more joy and style. If you’re a sports fan you always hear commentators and players talk about “playing the game the right way”. Willie was the personification of that cliche in every respect and if you were on the opposing side he would strike terror in your hearts whether at bat, in the field or especially on the base paths.

As the years went by and I started to chart my own path I found myself more of a Mets fan though I would never be a Yankee hater. All it took was a pretty girl whose Dad had access to box seats @ Shea, and the miracle Mets of 1969 to put me into my own full on version of the Summer of Love! And then in ‘72 came the news that Willie Mays was coming to be a NY Met. Though clearly in the twilight of his incredible career the fact that he was coming to Queens was exhilarating. I was @ Shea one night when he homered twice against the Cubs and looked very bit like the Mays of old. But as his teammates later explained knee injuries that should have kept him from playing at all would make those kinds of nights the exception. The World Series of ‘73 would be a fitting capstone as it both celebrated his continued ability to contribute to a win but also show the inevitable consequence of age and decline when he stumbled.

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It was late that year while the Mets were on what became their Division winning run that my law school classmates and I drove to Shea to get tickets for a late season match up. When we got to the parking lot there was a scrum of people huddled around someone who as we got closer we could see was Willie. He was coming from the press conference where he had announced his retirement. We grabbed paper out of our spiral notebooks and joined the scrum and got his autograph. We were like little kids again as this brush with greatness was just that thrilling. (Minutes later as we saw the NY Jets getting on the team bus to go to practice @ Randall’s Island we got Joe Namath’s autograph on the same sheet of losseleaf paper! And yes I still have it) I’ve been very fortunate to see true greatness “up close and personal” more than a few times in my lifetime and the closer you get to those who are true greats the more the paradox…they seem to be like us and yet are so unlike us and special. Willie Mays will forever be one of the greatest and those of us who got to be witnesses to that greatness will never forget it or him. RIP Willie.

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