A Giant among Giants

“The first thing you have to establish about Willie Mays is that there really is one.” Jim

Murray.”

Last night, I streamed CNN just past 6PM, and then cried like a baby for 20 minutes.

Major League Baseball Hall of Famer Wille Mays died at age 93. And of course,

most of us would say yes to a brilliant 93 years of a Willie Mays life in a heartbeat.

It’s the collateral damage that hurts when heroes leave our lives here

on the planet and take away a little bit of some of us as well.

I grew up so long ago that I saw most of Bill Walton’s college basketball career on late

Saturday night re-broadcasts, courtesy of the late, great Dick Enberg. I saw Jerry West

play college ball at the old LA Sports Arena with my dad during an annual Holiday

Tournament.

And I saw Willie Mays live, by way of transistor radio, and black and white, and color TV.

I saw Willie play during my childhood prime, my wonder years.

But to think three iconic athletes, and people I thought just might live forever could all pass

within a period of three weeks?

My big brother Jay was ten years my senior; and he was my sports fan consigliore. Jay started

recruiting me early. By the time I was ready for Kindergarten, I was a Giants, 49ers,

Celtics, and USC Trojan diehard. I was also a sworn in Dodger Despiser.

To this day, patients, colleagues, and little ole ladies from Pasadena find my Dodger

dislike unacceptable, unwarranted, and more than slightly distasteful. My default

reply: “Did Willie Mays ever play for the Dodgers?”

When you were twelve years old and anything like me, you knew every MLB stat for

every player on your favorite team. Baseball was the first sport that introduced you to being part of a team. You played over-the-line with wiffle balls, baseballs, and softballs on the

street, at the park, and at school all summer long.

The first time I ever walked into a ballpark, I was so little my dad held my hand on the way in. It was old Wrigley Field in Southcentral LA, and at first sight, it took my breath away; it was like seeing the Pacific Ocean for the first time.

Willie Mays and Michael Jordan are the two greatest athletes I’ve ever seen. And

Michael was the reason my mom finally opted for cable TV (We could see

Jordan play THREE times in one week!) But Wille Mays was my childhood extended

family superhero. When I left the house, Wille was in center field.

I was never officially introduced to Willie Mays, but I did achieve a touch and a word when I was an

adult…some 31 years ago.

Going into the final regular season series with the Dodgers in 1993, the Giants needed to sweep the

four games to force a playoff for the National League pennant. The Giants won the first

three games. I had back row field level tickets just to the third base side of home

plate. At the start of the eighth inning, the people down in front started to rise and clap

and cheer; Willie Mays was leaving Dodger Stadium and receiving a standing ovation

from LA fans. I was on the aisle, when Willie walked by, I got part of his arm and said, “I

love ya Willie!” It was way beyond the greatest 12-1 Giants loss I’ve ever seen.

24 years later, three of my best friends and co-workers treated me to a B-day visit

to San Francisco and the final home game of the Giants’ season (Mays was born on May 6, me on May 3- if only Mom could have held on three more days.) And the photo I still have on my phone showing me smiling with a few tears next to a statue of a baseball god brought the 12-year-old in me back to life…even with me checking in at seven candles.

Oddly, I don’t remember being that much of a crybaby back then when I was a kid.

I don’t know about you, but when I sadly read all the social media Willie Mays posts last

night, it occurred to me heroes seem to be harder to find these days. Instead of courageously

breaking through barriers with otherworldly skill and kind humility, today’s opportunists are more likely building walls, searching out scapegoats and replacing solutions with beliefs catered to our lowest standards of honor and decency. I’m not referencing sports figures.

Said former President Bill Clinton, “Willie Mays made it absurd to be a racist.”

When President Obama placed the Medal of Freedom on a truly Greatest of all Time, he

shared, “Because of giants like Willie, that’s why someone like me could even think

about running for president.”

And that’s why someone like me can still channel Wonder Years Jack, and as time relentlessly goes on, appreciate life’s spontaneity, its magic, and its heroes.

Miss you Willie.