The sky seems a little less bright today. The music sounds just a bit bluer. The stars feel farther away. Willie Mays is gone. He stopped playing baseball more than 50 years ago, and yet you can see him, even if you never actually saw him. He’s chasing a fly ball, and he will never get there in time. Sayers was effortless. Orr was effortless. Griffey was effortless. But Mays? He runs like he’s racing after a missed bus. He exerts every muscle, each limb seems to have a mind of its own, and he moves with such speed and abandon that his baseball cap holds on for dear life until it cannot hold on and goes flying off his head like a rodeo cowboy getting bucked off a bull.
What an absolutely magical article!!! Utter and complete poetry!
Bless you for sharing words that convey the “essence”of the “greatest baseball who ever lived” in a manner few would be able to match.
Heaven is illuminating like never before…
Heaven has become even more joyful…
Heaven will be displaying a greater grace forevermore…
The planet is less than today! However, how about this?
Let’s contemplate what a new, fresh perspective on life might look like. Let’s vision the mystic scene of the wondrous Willie Mays playing some stick ball above us. And, finally, with the passing of number 24, let’s allow that tug coming from our souls to energize us, bringing some hope, some laughter, and some thoughtfulness into tomorrow…
Wouldn’t Mr. Mays be so proud of us?
After all, he taught so much more than running the bases, than driving the baseball into the gap, than going back, back, back and catching a deep fly ball…
Masterful. It captured my memories about Willie Mays perfectly. His true greatness has always been hard to to articulate. Perhaps that quality might have been joyful violence. He was 5' 11" and 170 pounds but played like he was 6' 3" and 225. He ran down fly balls like a lion after prey. Not gracefully but with intensity of effort as if his life depended on it. He threw the ball using every part of his body behind the throw, like a javelin thrower thrower leaping into the final step. He ran the bases with that same intensity and abandon. At the plate he seemed to step in the bucket but still hit rockets and still covered the outer half of the plate. I've never seen a better player. And to top it alll off, joy just radiated from him on and off the field. Rest In Peace Willie, We love you.
Most writers who had written the Baseball 100 would just reprint the great column about Mays they already wrote. Not Joe. He writes yet another great column about Mays. That’s why I subscribe to Joe.
A brilliant piece which vividly makes the case for those who never actually saw Mays play as to why he was the greatest all around baseball player and probably the best all around representative for the game. Also, effortlessly working Ethel Barrymore and Tallulah Bankhead into the story is a nice touch. The only thing missing was a reference to Hamilton.
there aren't enough words to express my feelings and memories of Willie Mays; thank you for a heartfelt tribute, Joe- one that made my eyes well up w/even more moisture...
i am grateful i got to see him play so often, even if it was at always wretched Candlestick (which probably robbed 60-100 HRs off of his overall total- wind was always blowing in from left and the fences were a bit farther than they should have been considering conditions)
I first started watching baseball in 1960. It was either in that year that the game of the week was between the Cubs and Giants. I turned the tv on at sometime during the game. I only have one memory. When I turned on the game a Giant was batting, and the camera showed a shot of the back of the next batter up, kneeling in the batters box. I saw the number 24 on the back of the uniform and mumbled aloud “That’s Willie Mays. That’s Willie Mays.”
Nice piece, particularly the conclusion, "Willie Mays will never be gone." I am more alerted to how much it means to you as well knowing that this is how you begin your pieces, by writing the final line first.
You speak of the importance of noting the awe of people who saw him play, and Brian Kenny was returning to that point again and again on television. I think something else that underscores it is if you see the preoccupation with Mays that pervades "A Glory of Their Times." Now, part of that I'm sure is what New York Larry Ritter was asking, but Mays is seen as the counterpart to Cobb and Ruth, the one modern player the old-timers have to acknowledge was maybe as good as anyone they ever played with. It's kind of like how John Madden said Walter Payton made Jim Brown shut up about the shortcomings of the modern football player. I don't think there's as much talk about other current players combined as there is of Mays in "A Glory of Their Times." As someone who crunched hitting stats when I was first reading the book, it fatigued me a bit, and seemed disproportionate, because I knew May was not head and shoulders above some of his contemporaries, and certainly didn't rate with Ruth from that standpoint. But now we know more, and that overall, Mays did probably deserve to be considered apart, if anyone did.
It had never dawned on me before now that Mays and Williams both had their final minor league seasoning in Minneapolis. Seems like a place that has nothing to do with them. The town certainly agreed with them, though; both put up otherwordly statistics.
I did not know that Mays went on such a streak after his 1-26 start that he was hitting .322 three weeks later. It wasn't a straight upward trajectory for him; while Rookie of the Year, he finished 1951 at .274. He was also clearly going through growing pains finding himself as a power hitter. He played 29, 29, 29, and 28 games per month, yet hit 6, 10, 2, and 1 home runs, June through September. I guess he wore down, and when he came back for his next full season, in 1954, he was a man (and hit 41 home runs).
I'm not sure if you overuse joy, finding it as the undergirding element of so many situations and admirable characters, or if that's you and how you see the world, and it would be artificial to use other words, let alone take another tack. We write ourselves and our own value systems into others when it doesn't strictly apply, but I'm not sure that's a bad thing. It's what we have a window into. There might not be all joy in some people, but I think you can find the joy and explicate it for us.
I unearthed my childhood ticket stubs from Shea and found these three: July 29, 1972, April 7, 1973 and April 21, 1973. (Sorry...We missed each other by about a month roughly 52 years ago.) I had others...but the box scores from these games verified what I've always known: I saw Willie Mays play at Shea Stadium.
My first Mays memory is the 1971 NLCS. Mays went blazing into second base. Composite box score shows 2 doubles and a stolen base. Have no clue which event this was. But probably one of the doubles, because my memory tells me that, in that moment, I didn't think he had any chance to make it.
Contemporaneously: I asked my grandfather who that was. He said: The best ballplayer I've ever seen. He then said: Willie Mays. The conversation turned to Ruth. He said: Better than Ruth.
Thirty five years or so later, I asked my mid nineties grandfather who the best ballplayer that he ever saw was. He said "Willie Mays". I told him he'd told me that in 1971.
Answer: "Did you think I changed my mind?" Response: I wasn't sure. Counter: "I didn't change my mind!"
More questions: "Did you see Ruth? At Yankee Stadium? "
Answer: "Yes. And Mays is better than Ruth".
I asked about Barry Bonds. "Nope, I TOLD YOU: Willie Mays."
No further questions were asked on that topic!
But I had the documentary memory that I wanted.
I obviously miss my grandfather more...but he and I will always have Willie Mays.
In 1973 as a new 12 year old baseball fan who loved reading about the great players, I pleaded with my Dad to take me to the Vet to see Willie Mays when he played for the Mets. Sadly the one thing I remember from that game was Willie dribbling a ball off the Vet’s hard-as-concrete artificial turf on his way to the outfield. The only thing more unusual than dribbling that ball was seeing Mays in a Mets uniform instead of the Giants.
Thank you for another memorable column. I have read a number of solid tributes but your tribute was the best and you didn't see him play! You just have a way of capturing the essence of ball players that very few have the ability to do.
Damn…. I worked all day yesterday, and them jumped on the road to head out to Syracuse, NY with my wife to pick up a car for her. We just listened to music and talked and the only thing I used my phone for was navigation. I paid no attention to sports or current events on the 3.5 hour drive there and back, and the couple hours we spent in the Syracuse area.
So, at some point this morning, I opened YouTube to my subscription page (I follow a ton of baseball content), and saw one tribute after another for Willie Mays. What a punch in the gut. I never saw him play (80s baby), but for me, he always served as some inexorable bridge to the past. For some reason, it just felt like he would last forever. But, I guess I felt the same way about Hammerin’ Hank and Yogi, and there time came as well.
RIP, Say Hey Kid, the world is a more depressing place today.
Thanks for this, man. I think one of my favorite things about him is the way we all say his name, like it’s one word, “Williemays,” or as my dad used to say it, “Willuhmays.” There’ll never be another like him, or rather, knowing baseball, there will be others, but they join him, not exceed.
It just got a bit dusty in here. Joe, another masterpiece of writing. Thank you.
What an absolutely magical article!!! Utter and complete poetry!
Bless you for sharing words that convey the “essence”of the “greatest baseball who ever lived” in a manner few would be able to match.
Heaven is illuminating like never before…
Heaven has become even more joyful…
Heaven will be displaying a greater grace forevermore…
The planet is less than today! However, how about this?
Let’s contemplate what a new, fresh perspective on life might look like. Let’s vision the mystic scene of the wondrous Willie Mays playing some stick ball above us. And, finally, with the passing of number 24, let’s allow that tug coming from our souls to energize us, bringing some hope, some laughter, and some thoughtfulness into tomorrow…
Wouldn’t Mr. Mays be so proud of us?
After all, he taught so much more than running the bases, than driving the baseball into the gap, than going back, back, back and catching a deep fly ball…
Rest in Peace!!!
Masterful. It captured my memories about Willie Mays perfectly. His true greatness has always been hard to to articulate. Perhaps that quality might have been joyful violence. He was 5' 11" and 170 pounds but played like he was 6' 3" and 225. He ran down fly balls like a lion after prey. Not gracefully but with intensity of effort as if his life depended on it. He threw the ball using every part of his body behind the throw, like a javelin thrower thrower leaping into the final step. He ran the bases with that same intensity and abandon. At the plate he seemed to step in the bucket but still hit rockets and still covered the outer half of the plate. I've never seen a better player. And to top it alll off, joy just radiated from him on and off the field. Rest In Peace Willie, We love you.
Most writers who had written the Baseball 100 would just reprint the great column about Mays they already wrote. Not Joe. He writes yet another great column about Mays. That’s why I subscribe to Joe.
I shook Willie’s hand in 1956 in the tumbledown centerfield clubhouse at the Polo Grounds. I was 8, practically breathless when I met my idol.
A brilliant piece which vividly makes the case for those who never actually saw Mays play as to why he was the greatest all around baseball player and probably the best all around representative for the game. Also, effortlessly working Ethel Barrymore and Tallulah Bankhead into the story is a nice touch. The only thing missing was a reference to Hamilton.
tears in my eyes for 2 days now...
there aren't enough words to express my feelings and memories of Willie Mays; thank you for a heartfelt tribute, Joe- one that made my eyes well up w/even more moisture...
i am grateful i got to see him play so often, even if it was at always wretched Candlestick (which probably robbed 60-100 HRs off of his overall total- wind was always blowing in from left and the fences were a bit farther than they should have been considering conditions)
This was so incredibly good, I became a paying subscriber on the spot.
I first started watching baseball in 1960. It was either in that year that the game of the week was between the Cubs and Giants. I turned the tv on at sometime during the game. I only have one memory. When I turned on the game a Giant was batting, and the camera showed a shot of the back of the next batter up, kneeling in the batters box. I saw the number 24 on the back of the uniform and mumbled aloud “That’s Willie Mays. That’s Willie Mays.”
Nice piece, particularly the conclusion, "Willie Mays will never be gone." I am more alerted to how much it means to you as well knowing that this is how you begin your pieces, by writing the final line first.
You speak of the importance of noting the awe of people who saw him play, and Brian Kenny was returning to that point again and again on television. I think something else that underscores it is if you see the preoccupation with Mays that pervades "A Glory of Their Times." Now, part of that I'm sure is what New York Larry Ritter was asking, but Mays is seen as the counterpart to Cobb and Ruth, the one modern player the old-timers have to acknowledge was maybe as good as anyone they ever played with. It's kind of like how John Madden said Walter Payton made Jim Brown shut up about the shortcomings of the modern football player. I don't think there's as much talk about other current players combined as there is of Mays in "A Glory of Their Times." As someone who crunched hitting stats when I was first reading the book, it fatigued me a bit, and seemed disproportionate, because I knew May was not head and shoulders above some of his contemporaries, and certainly didn't rate with Ruth from that standpoint. But now we know more, and that overall, Mays did probably deserve to be considered apart, if anyone did.
It had never dawned on me before now that Mays and Williams both had their final minor league seasoning in Minneapolis. Seems like a place that has nothing to do with them. The town certainly agreed with them, though; both put up otherwordly statistics.
I did not know that Mays went on such a streak after his 1-26 start that he was hitting .322 three weeks later. It wasn't a straight upward trajectory for him; while Rookie of the Year, he finished 1951 at .274. He was also clearly going through growing pains finding himself as a power hitter. He played 29, 29, 29, and 28 games per month, yet hit 6, 10, 2, and 1 home runs, June through September. I guess he wore down, and when he came back for his next full season, in 1954, he was a man (and hit 41 home runs).
I'm not sure if you overuse joy, finding it as the undergirding element of so many situations and admirable characters, or if that's you and how you see the world, and it would be artificial to use other words, let alone take another tack. We write ourselves and our own value systems into others when it doesn't strictly apply, but I'm not sure that's a bad thing. It's what we have a window into. There might not be all joy in some people, but I think you can find the joy and explicate it for us.
At my first baseball game — June 27, 1972, at Shea — Willie came in for Agee in CF to start the top of the sixth.
Can’t say I remember the moment. But I was there with my father and grandfather. At the time, about 75 years of NY baseball fandom.
I’m gonna assume they told me who the dude wearing 24 was. I hope I was as excited then as I am now.
Farewell to a baseball, New York, and American legend.
I unearthed my childhood ticket stubs from Shea and found these three: July 29, 1972, April 7, 1973 and April 21, 1973. (Sorry...We missed each other by about a month roughly 52 years ago.) I had others...but the box scores from these games verified what I've always known: I saw Willie Mays play at Shea Stadium.
My first Mays memory is the 1971 NLCS. Mays went blazing into second base. Composite box score shows 2 doubles and a stolen base. Have no clue which event this was. But probably one of the doubles, because my memory tells me that, in that moment, I didn't think he had any chance to make it.
Contemporaneously: I asked my grandfather who that was. He said: The best ballplayer I've ever seen. He then said: Willie Mays. The conversation turned to Ruth. He said: Better than Ruth.
Thirty five years or so later, I asked my mid nineties grandfather who the best ballplayer that he ever saw was. He said "Willie Mays". I told him he'd told me that in 1971.
Answer: "Did you think I changed my mind?" Response: I wasn't sure. Counter: "I didn't change my mind!"
More questions: "Did you see Ruth? At Yankee Stadium? "
Answer: "Yes. And Mays is better than Ruth".
I asked about Barry Bonds. "Nope, I TOLD YOU: Willie Mays."
No further questions were asked on that topic!
But I had the documentary memory that I wanted.
I obviously miss my grandfather more...but he and I will always have Willie Mays.
In 1973 as a new 12 year old baseball fan who loved reading about the great players, I pleaded with my Dad to take me to the Vet to see Willie Mays when he played for the Mets. Sadly the one thing I remember from that game was Willie dribbling a ball off the Vet’s hard-as-concrete artificial turf on his way to the outfield. The only thing more unusual than dribbling that ball was seeing Mays in a Mets uniform instead of the Giants.
I can't add anything but my admiration and appreciation for both of you.
Thank you for another memorable column. I have read a number of solid tributes but your tribute was the best and you didn't see him play! You just have a way of capturing the essence of ball players that very few have the ability to do.
Damn…. I worked all day yesterday, and them jumped on the road to head out to Syracuse, NY with my wife to pick up a car for her. We just listened to music and talked and the only thing I used my phone for was navigation. I paid no attention to sports or current events on the 3.5 hour drive there and back, and the couple hours we spent in the Syracuse area.
So, at some point this morning, I opened YouTube to my subscription page (I follow a ton of baseball content), and saw one tribute after another for Willie Mays. What a punch in the gut. I never saw him play (80s baby), but for me, he always served as some inexorable bridge to the past. For some reason, it just felt like he would last forever. But, I guess I felt the same way about Hammerin’ Hank and Yogi, and there time came as well.
RIP, Say Hey Kid, the world is a more depressing place today.
Thanks for this, man. I think one of my favorite things about him is the way we all say his name, like it’s one word, “Williemays,” or as my dad used to say it, “Willuhmays.” There’ll never be another like him, or rather, knowing baseball, there will be others, but they join him, not exceed.
Thank you for capturing a small part of Willie. Words cannot adequately describe his personality or ability.