Hall of Famer Willie Mays is seen on the field before the San Francisco Giants take on the Kansas City Royals during Game Three of the 2014 World Series at AT&T Park in San Francisco. Getty Images/TNS To pitch a ‘My Turn’ guest column, email [email protected] .
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Sign up for our daily newsletter here Mike Carroll When I think of Willie Mays, the “Say Hey Kid,” who died recently, I think of his sheer joy. Arguably the best all-around baseball player of all time — he could do it all: hit, field, throw, run — Mays was always smiling, whether making his famous basket catch in center field or his hat flying off as he circled the bases for a triple. He was joy personified, exuberant, playing a sport he loved, like he’d play for free — even pay the Giants just for the privilege.
I got to see Willie and his Giants play against the Cardinals when I was 10 or so. There he was in the old Sportsman’s Park on Grand Avenue, pregame, grinning wide, showing off to the fans, flipping a ball all over and around, up and down, in and out of his glove, like some magician in a carnival side-show act. As a young sprout, I saw sports as simply fun.
A motley crew of us dead-enders played with each other, unorganized, no adults around, playing pickup games of round-robin baseball from morning until evening at Ervin Park and .
