LOVING YOUR REPLACEMENT [Sat, 7-6-24]

BEYOND WINTER: The Irrelevant Musings of an Old Man—LOVING YOUR REPLACEMENT [Sat, 7-6-24]

 

Willie Mays died recently, at the age of 93. I am among those who think that Willie was the greatest baseball player of all time. He had such a combination of speed and eye and strength. His lifetime stats do not lead any category—home runs, batting average, stolen bases, etc—but he was proficient at all of them, for a long time.

He came along at the right time, 1950. The color barrier had just been broken, so he did not spend the early years of his career relegated to The Negro Leagues, the way players like Satchel Paige and Ernie Banks were. In the 1950s and ‘60s, baseball was at its zenith. The NFL and NBA barely competed for fans, but TV was making baseball from New York or San Francisco available even to the hinterlands.

Willie did not have good language skills. He is known as “The Say Hey Kid” because he could not remember names and he did not know what to say to people. So he greeted anyone and everyone with “Say, Hey.”

There is one story from his life that has haunted me.

His father, William Howard Mays, Sr, known as “Cat,” was a famous semi-pro player, in an industrial league in Birmingham. He was black, and older, with a family to support, so no dreams of a career in baseball for him. But he was the best center fielder in the league.

Willie began to play on his father’s team when he was only 15. He played left field. A line drive was hit into the gap between left and center. It was the center fielder’s call, and he got there in time, but the exceptionally speedy Willie cut in front of him and caught the ball. His father left the field and never played again.

Cat was not an old man. Lots of Major League players go beyond their mid-thirties. But he was a “Sr.” who had been replaced by a “Jr.” He was no longer needed on that team.

I have no follow-up. I know nothing about the relationship of father and son after that event. I do know, though, that sooner or later, each of us is replaced, regardless of how swift or powerful we might have been before. A lot of how well life goes for us depends on whether we can love the one who takes our place.

John Robert McFarland