Willie Howard Mays. Born 6/6/31, Westfield, Alabama. Center Field, New York Giants 1951-1957 (two thirds of '52 and all of '53 in the Army), San Francisco Giants 1958-1972, and two swansong years with the Mets, '72 and '73. National League Rookie of the Year, 1951. National League MVP, 1954 and 1965. In his day, he had ten times as much name recognition across the country, even among non-sports fans, as anyone playing the game today, especially his Godson.
When I was little, and the Giants came to town (or the Mets visited the coast), I'd watch the game on TV, and Willie Mays would come up to bat. The first visible thing was his smile, which was bright enough to supply power to Western Europe. The smile told me that he loved what he did more than life itself, and that there was nowhere on the entire planet he'd rather be than there at the Candlestick plate, swinging his bat. The truth was not far off the mark here...I remember his final season with the Mets, and hearing about how incredibly depressed he was that it was all coming to an end. It was all this man ever wanted to do in his life, play baseball. Nothing else.
I attended Willie Mays Night at Shea, in September '73, during one of the great pennant races of the day, one in which the Mets eventually triumphed. It was one of the more tearful goodbyes of the age, as I remember, it had much longer than the usual 72 hour media shelf life that such special events normally have.
He's going to be 73 in May...I hope one day to meet him, I only hope I don't act like some kind of idiot when I do 😀