Maybe I have been a bit preoccupied with the start of the baseball season - somehow baseball seems to be a frequent topic for me - but today I find myself thinking about the great Willie Mays.
"Say Hey Willie". Arguably the best ballplayer of all time. A dynamic player both offensively and defensively. A career total of 660 (non-steroid!) home runs...with a .302 lifetime batting average, blazing and fearless speed on the
the basepaths - and the player behind one of the World Series' most memorable and revered outfield catches (against the Indians in the 1954 World Series). A New York Giant - beloved by the New York fans
(legend has it he would still play stickball with the neighborhood kids even as he was succeeding as a major leaguer) Willie left with the Giants when the team abandoned New York for San Francisco in 1958 and returned to the city to finish his career with the Mets in 1972. (He retired after the 1973 season.)
The reason I thought about Willie Mays today is because by the time he was traded to the Mets he was an old player, skills eroded, really just a shadow of his former self. (Not that most Met fans cared - especially the older fans - after all - this was Willie Mays - and Willie was able to hit a home run in his first game as a Met as well as provide leadership when the Mets somehow won the National league pennant in 1973.) But he played erratically, had some difficulties tracking down fly balls, and hit just .211 in part -time duty with six homers. I personally liked the idea of Willie Mays on the Mets. But I remember wishing it was the 1952 Willie instead of the 1972 Willie...and wondering why Willie hadn't just called it a day before he embarrassed himself...
But he hung on...a shell...no longer the force he'd been...
How horrible it must be for a professional athlete to have to face the awful truth. That his/her skills have diminished, that they must now give up something they'd enjoyed for so many years...and enjoyed with much success...something that defines them as a person...well, for the first time I can really empathize. Not to compare myself on any athletic level with a Willie Mays (or even a Willie Mays Aikens, a relatively obscure player who spent a few years with the Kansas City Royals). But for the past few months I have wrestled with an important personal issue: should I stop jogging? There have been the residual effects of an operation I had back in November - plus chronic back pain - plus additional age-related issues that are (paraphrasing Douglas Neidermeyer's famous speech in "Animal House") SO profound and disgusting that "decorum prohibits listing them here". Did I now have to make this inevitable lifestyle change? Turn the page on this part of my physical life? Retire (there's that word again!) from jogging? No longer experience the rush from the five plus miles (almost everyday in the good weather for thirty years?)
This is a big deal...a lifestyle issue. Summertime comes, I am out there (boardwalks, parks, beaches) and feeling good...feeling alive. It's almost a spiritual thing...for me. I can't give in. I can't. I won't.
Case in-point. Often I go to the gym and the topic of conversation between all the old men in the locker room is invariably their physical problems (prostate, bladder, hemorrhoids...you name it). I listen to them and just shake my head. Isn't there anything else they can talk about?) But I have a good friend in another state with whom I speak often. (He no longer comes to visit but at least technology and inexpensive cell long distance rates allow us to speak frequently.) We used to talk about women, friends, partying, old-times. These days he gets treated to an updated laundry list of my physical problems! (Come to think of it, maybe that's why he no longer comes to visit...hmm. ) Sudden realization: what makes me any different than those old men in the locker room? That's not me...
It's not like the problems are incapacitating or - presumably - life-threatening. Still, pain can be limiting. And I have to be worried that I will do additional damage and really do a number on myself. So up until yesterday I had major doubts as to whether I'd be able to continue my favorite summertime activity. But...the weather is warm. The sky is blue. The air (at the moment) is fresh. It's time to get out there and jog...it's what I like to do. My identity. I've got to be me. (Apology to Paul Anka.) I am going to do it!
So I went down to Manhattan's Hudson River Park yesterday afternoon. Hundreds of people out there, running, walking, hanging out, taking in the sun...a simply glorious day! And...not that it was easy...I did it!! Wasn't easy...but I did it! Not only that - I finished my usual route! From Chelsea down through the West Village, Soho, Tribeca and Battery Park City...and back....there I was, taking in the scenery, watching the people, listening to Beatles music on my IPod...moving my legs as fast as I could...and feeling the rush of those wonderful endorphins. I felt GREAT!
Well..much like the older Willie Mays...it's not quite the same. Now it is true I have never exactly been known as a "speed demon". (Even in my younger days when I ran I looked like a truck stuck in mud. When the wind was in my face it was sometimes hard to tell the direction I was moving.) But yesterday I was slower than ever - women pushing baby carriages were leaving me in the dust. Some silver-haired guy...he looked older than Methuselah...was just a blur as he passed me by. The last two miles.. a female jogger came towards me...I saw it in her eyes "why bother?" So these days it's not running, not even jogging...it's wogging (a jogging walk). But it still felt great!
Well...nothing hurts too badly today. So I will out there again. I am going out there for more. I did not give in. I persevered. I won. The couch-potato lifestyle will have to wait a little longer.
Dear Willie Mays...I understand...I'm sorry.
See you all soon, until then,
Stevenn
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