So Long Say Hey Kid

Justin Panson

That over-the-shoulder catch Willie Mays made in ‘54 in the deep reaches of the Polo Grounds is one of the single most iconic plays in the annals of the game, a grainy black and white film clip looping in the collective memory of generations of ball fans. With straightaway center measuring 483 feet it’s hard to fathom the difficulty of patrolling such a pasture. And the situation was critical—Game 1 of the World Series tied in the 8th. Mays’ catch robbed a sure extra base hit, and with a man on second his ability to wheel around and get off a strong throw held the runner from tagging. And just the pure aesthetics of the play, the body control. Some said it looked like an optical illusion. Others said It wasn’t even close to his best catch. Since then, the game has become a longball fest. That’s even more reason to love the way Willie Mays played center field, with grace and flair, and with one of the best arms in the game during his era or ever. His outfield assist record cannot adequately communicate how mesmerizing he was to watch.
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There’s a photo of Mays, Aaron and Clemente from the All-Star game in Detroit in ‘71 that is like the Mount Rushmore of my baseball idols. These three players, all outfielders, followed shortly after Jackie Robinson into the newly integrated game, enduring all the ugly racism America would dish out in the era of civil rights and space rockets and the Vietnam War. Mantle, Dimaggio and Williams had faded and Mays, Aaron and Clemente became a new kind of prototype, what has become known as a 5-tool player—hitting for power, hitting for average, speed on the bases, a rifle arm, and gold glove fielding abilities. These guys set the standard for guys like Ken Jr., Barry Bonds, Curtis Granderson and now Mookie Betts.

Mays and Clemente played on the Santurce Crabbers together in winter of 1955 in Puerto Rico. You look at the photo of them on the Crabbers and there's a lost innocence to the image. There is a story I have not been able to locate about the years before a teenaged Mays broke into pro ball at Rickwood Field for the Birmingham Black Barons. Typically there weren't enough gloves to go around, so the outfielders would leave the glove on the grass between innings for the opposing outfielder to use. The game that is now played by millionaires and kids toting big equipment bags was humble back then.

I got to see Mays play with the Mets near the end of his career. In the mid 70s when he was a Mets hitting coach he kindly signed autographs a few times for us ragtag kids staking out the players entrance at Three Rivers Stadium. Even a 12-year-old who didn’t fully understand the backstory could see how he carried himself like royalty.

My dad had a sportswriter friend named Roy McHugh who covered the Pirates for the Pittsburgh Press for decades. He told me a story about the day the Pirates beat the Giants in the 1971 National League playoffs to advance to the World Series. After the game McHugh was in the Pirates locker room and didn't make it over to the Giants locker room until everyone was gone, except Willie Mays who was the last guy left. Mays asked Roy for a ride across the Fort Duquesne bridge to the Hilton where the team was staying. Roy said they got stuck in traffic on the bridge and that Mays thanked him and jumped out of the car with his bag and Roy watched him run through traffic across the bridge like some kind of superhero.

That was the last game Mays played for the Giants, a tenure with the team that went back to 1951, exactly twenty years. Mays will always remain the heart and soul of the Giants franchise, and almost certainly the greatest all-around player to play the game.  At 93 years old, he was one of the last connections back to the mid twentieth century era of baseball.

June 19, 2024
Flowers left at the Mays statue at Oracle Park in San Francisco in memory of a cultural icon