When I was 9, I fell in love with sports. Specifically, baseball and the Pirates. (Neither had been ruined yet.)
I wrote my first fan letter to my favorite Pirate. (Kids did things like that then.)
He sent me a signed postcard. I still have it. It made a big impression. It was a connection. Much better than social media provides now.
Bill Mazeroski passed away last week. He was 89.
Mazeroski was a good hero to have.
He hit the biggest home run in MLB history.
It sealed the biggest upset in MLB history.
It’s also the biggest moment in Pittsburgh sports history.
Mazeroski triple-dipped with one swing.
(If you argue with any of the above, you’re wrong. It’s beyond debate.)
The details are embedded, just like the Forbes Field wall Mazeroski hit the ball over still stands in Oakland: 10-9 win over the New York Yankees, who were unbeatable till Mazeroski beat ‘em.
The only Game 7 walk-off home run in World Series history.
Baseball was king in 1960, in Pittsburgh and everywhere. The footprint was massive.
But Mazeroski was more than just one hit. Even that hit.
He was the best-fielding second baseman ever.
He made turning a double play into a magic trick. An optical illusion. The ball appeared to bounce off his chest and ricochet to first base. He was referred to as “No Hands.”
He executed 1,706 double plays in his career, including 161 in 1966. Both figures stand as MLB records for a second baseman.
Mazeroski won eight Golden Gloves.
But the glove he used was minuscule. It could just about fit in his pocket. It had a small, shallow pocket. On double plays, he stopped the ball more than he caught it. That was his secret.
He had playing his position down to a science.
That’s how he was able to coach Neil Walker into being a second baseman, a totally new position for Walker. Walker did fine.
But he was no Mazeroski.
Nobody was.
Nobody ever had a bad word to say about Mazeroski.
He was the picture of humility, as he showed in his short, emotional Baseball Hall of Fame induction speech in 2001. His opening line said it all: “I think defense belongs in the Hall of Fame.”
It does. So does that home run. Mazeroski does, and did, a long time before he made it.
The word “legend” is overused. But it applies to Mazeroski.
Not just for his glove.
Not just for that home run.
Not just as a clutch hitter whose bat produced beyond metrics.
Not just for helping to win two world championships, in 1960 and 1971.
But also as a thoroughly good man who never disappointed. Not least 9-year-old me in 1970.
I met Mazeroski. I interviewed him. Great experiences. But nothing topped that postcard arriving in the mail.
Thanks, Maz.
