By A.J. Hayes
He hasn't made a basket catch since the early 1970s. He's not the best at remembering names. And his pride-and-joy godson has decamped the scene for good. But at age 76, is still the San Francisco Giants MVP - Most Valuable Personality.
Last week in Scottsdale, AZ, the baseball living legend held court in the spring training clubhouse and the room was riveted.
Whether they were fresh faced minor leaguers, millionaire All-Stars or men who have known him for decades, everyone's focus was directed at Mays, the greatest all-around ballplayer -- ever.
Despite his amazing accomplishments - 660 home runs, 3,283 hits, karats of gold gloves - for some reason, Mays has never received the type of adulation you would think he deserved from the national media. While the likes of Ted Willliams, Mickey Mantle and Joe DiMaggio have canonized by writers with syrupy prose over the past 25 years, Mays has been taken somewhat for granted.
It could have something to do with the east coast sports media, that generally discounts anything accomplished west of Manhattan as trivial.
More likely it results from the fact that those other players are white and Mays is not.
Mays is no stranger to racism, subtle or not. His father, the late William "Kitty Kat" Mays, was an accomplished player himself, but was denied the opportunity to play major league baseball because he was African American. It was "Kitty Kat" who taught Willie how to play all the positions on the diamond, inviting him to play on his semi-pro team amongst older and more accomplished athletes.
Later, the younger Mays played in the segregated Negro Leagues, appearing in the final Negro League World Series in 1948. Mays is one of a quickly dwindling group of men still living that competed in the segregated baseball association.
Once he became a star with the New York Giants in 1951, many white writers still claimed that he was over-rated, and was a distant third behind the city's triumvirate of great center fielders, including the Yankees Mantle and Dodgers Duke Snider.
The Giants move to San Francisco in 1958 didn't make things easier for Mays.
You can still talk to old time San Franciscans today and hear racially tinged resentment towards Mays for having the audacity to play center field in the great DiMaggio's hometown. Then there was the brick that flew through Willie's front window after he bought a home in the Miraloma District and white neighbors complained that a home owners association agreement banned blacks from buying into the area.
No one would blame Mays if he became bitter. But he never did. He remained in the house and soon was toting kids on his block to Giants games in the back of his Cadillac convertible.
Today, high-pitched voice still intact, Mays remains as upbeat as he did when he broke in in '51, famously playing stick ball with neighborhood kids in his off time.
Some feared that Mays would stay away from the Giants clubhouse this season, now that the Giants have cut ties with his godson Barry Bonds. A more light-hearted Bonds would emerge whenever Mays dropped by before a game. Willie enjoyed Barry doting on him, too.
But not only is Mays - who works for the team as a goodwill ambassador - back at his familiar circular-topped Formica table in the players dressing room, he's also more animated than he's been in recently years when national reporters kept bugging him with questions about Bonds supposed steroid-tainted home runs.
The other day someone asked Mays, "Why do you come down to spring training every year?"
"Well, if I don't," said Mays, peering over his thick glasses and smiling, "How am I supposed to make a living? They don't pay you if you stay home on the couch."
Mays could make a king's ransom scribbling his name on 8-by-10's and Louisville Sluggers at home - but its clear Mays feels most at home hanging around the crack of the bat and hampers filled with dirty socks - even though he claims not to know much about today's big-league landscape.
"Ï don't know what any of these new guys look like," said Mays.
"Well let me introduce you to the Giants new center fielder, Aaron Rowand. He's your heir apparent in center," joshed play-by-play man Jon Miller, who had pulled up a folding chair.
Mays squinted at the strapping former Philadelphia Phillie and deadpanned: "Don't you run into any more walls. That's the only way I played so long. I stayed away from those fences." Mays knew all too well that Rowand rearranged his face two seasons ago, hustling after a long drive.
Thankfully for Giants fans Mays, Willie McCovey, Orlando Cepeda, Juan Marichal and other legends from the team's San Francisco past will be around the ballpark a lot in 2008 as the club celebrates its 50th Anniversary on the west coast. This will be a pleasant diversion to what is forecast to be a train wreck on the diamond.
"I learned long ago that you can't take this game baseball too seriously," Mays said. "You gotta have some fun. These guys will do just fine."
When the subject shifted to politics, Mays said he would remain neutral. At least publicly.
"Bill Clinton is a very good friend of mine. And I've met Barack Obama, he's impressive too," Mays commented. "Ï'm going to stay out of it, because I want to go back to the White House some day."
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Comments (1)
NY was definitely not biased against Willie,then or now.What Willie ran up against during the 50's was the exploitation by the media of the "Golden Boy" phenomena(sp).In the era of Mickey Mantle, James Dean,Marilyn Monroe,JFK et al,Willies skin color did not merit the idolation in the 50's that he most deservedly attained in the 60's.He,like others of his race during this period earned every bit of respect that came their way.To his everlasting credit,Mantle always deferred to 'The Say Hey Kid' whenever asked to compare teir game.
Posted by John Downing | March 11, 2008 09:05 AM