Yesterday When I Was Young

If you're old enough to live in an adult community, then you had the privilege of watching the most popular player of our era.

Mickey Mantle was a symbol of baseball when the game meant something to us that it no longer does.

You recall the tingle and that instant recognition when a Mantle popped up in that pack of Topps. You remember your friends trying to trade you two Mays a Koufax and an Aaron for your Mantle. No chance!

You remember those October afternoons, sneaking the transistor radio into school just to follow Mickey and the Yankees in the World Series.

When Mickey was hot, we felt great. When he was hurt, we hurt.

We copied his gait, we creased our hats in his fashion and we learned to switch hit because of him.

There was no doubt in our minds that injury free, we were looking at the greatest ballplayer of our time.

He was our guy.

Even with his history of injuries, which was to haunt him throughout his career, few players accomplished what Mickey accomplished.

During his career with the Yankees Mickey played more games as a Yankee than any other Yankee (2,401), won three MVP awards (1956, 1957 and 1962), won baseball's triple crown in 1956 with 353 average, 53 homers and 130 RBI (leading the major leagues in all three categories), won four home run titles (1955, 1956, 1958 and 1960), led the league in runs scored six times (1954, 1956, 1957, 1958, 1960 and 1961), led the league in slugging three times (1955, 1956 and 1961) and, in an era of much larger ball parks, hit 536 career home runs, the third highest when he retired and the most ever by a switch hitter.

Mickey appeared in 12 World series during his first 14 years with the Yankees, winning seven world championships. His 18 home runs, 42 runs scored, 40 RBI and 43 base on balls are still World Series records.

All those years that Mickey was alive, you never thought of your own mortality. As long as Mickey was around you were allowed, no matter your age, to keep your youth.

And later in his life – and our lives, as well as his – we realized he was not the perfect human being we once thought. But to admit his failings in public, to tell kids not to be like him – well, he'll always be a hero to us.

Sixteen years ago this week, August 13, 1995, at 1:10 in the morning Mickey Mantle died.

I'm not ashamed to say I cried that Sunday morning. One of the last links to our youth was gone.

Suddenly that Sunday morning softball game that you lived for did not seem so important. Suddenly that pain in your knee that you told your wife was only a twinge, might need a brace after all.

Suddenly it was not as important to go from first to third on a base hit.

I lived by night and shunned the naked light of day,and only now I see how the years ran away.

The time has come for me to pay for yesterday when I was young.