Bob Schwartz

It is study hall in a junior high school. A group of guys spend it in the library, seated around a table, newspaper spread out. These are the baseball pages, yesterday’s games, today’s games, player stats.

There is a debate at the table, an argument, as there is many days, about who is the better player, Mays or Mantle. (An argument that still rages, all the years later.) Even if you are a Yankees fan, an unfortunate occurrence, there is nothing to discuss. Willie Mays.

Willie Mays then. Willie Mays now, in the wake of his death at 93 yesterday. Not just better than Mantle. Better than anybody, as you either know because you are a baseball fan, or will see, hear or read today even if you are not.

When I heard the news, appropriately while watching a baseball game, I cried. Not typical for me with celebrity deaths, whether sudden and premature or not surprising. We want to see things we’ve never seen before and are unlikely to see again. For baseball fans, we are not going to see Willie Mays again, though there are plenty of stars we admire. We are happy, blissful, that we had him in the game and in our lives.