SPORT MLB Opening Night Collector's Edition

OPENING NIGHT MARCH 2026

Jamieson

Ralph Terry, hero of the 1962 World Series, celebrated on field by his Yankee teammates, and, a few weeks later, receiving the SPORT MVP award–and a new ChevroletNewCorvette–in York.

Eternal Rivalry

Storytelling and innovation have long been at the heart of baseball and SPORT magazine. Beginning on Opening Night, Netflix embraces that legacy with an iconic matchup.

ONCE UPON A TIME, WHEN THE HOME FIELD CLUBHOUSES OF THE GIANTS and Yankees were separated by 1,350 feet instead of 3,065 miles, they made house calls on each other only when it truly, madly, deeply counted.

Six times in three decades, between 1921 and 1951, they teed off in World Series that captured a nation’s complete and uncluttered sporting imagination. The Giants won the first two, lost the next four and decamped for the left coast, where they bided their time for the penultimate rematch. It came on a balmy San Francisco October afternoon in 1962 when Willie Mays doubled into the right field corner in the ninth inning, Matty Alou – fearful of Roger Maris’ arm – held up at third base and 6’4” Willie McCovey strode, with his usual quiet, elegant menace, to the plate.

McCovey had tripled two innings earlier, only to be stranded at third base. This time, he wasn’t thinking of a landing spot in the body of water that one, much later day would bear his name, just to somehow get hold of a Ralph Terry fastball and drop it into right field. He rode the first pitch far, but foul, down the line. The second came inside but McCovey adjusted mid-swing, extending his arms and smashing a bullet toward second base. Yankee second baseman Bobby Richardson took one swift step to his left, stabbed out his glove, and that was it.

It would be almost 40 years until the Giants and Yankees met again in earnest (well, relatively), on June 7, 2002. By then, SPORT magazine – the revered, national bible of sports storytelling since 1946 – had taken a hiatus.

Today, we at SPORT are back, celebrating baseball’s Opening Night 2026 and the 68th meeting between two of the five most storied teams in the game’s brilliant, implausible history, with both the Yankees and Giants fervently hoping this will be a sneak preview of their eighth World Series meeting this fall, and first since 1962.

The Yankees have won 23 of the 43 Series games the teams have played (one, in 1922, ended in a 10-inning tie, on dubious account of darkness), and 16 of 24 in inter-league competition, none larger than October 16, 1962 when Terry bested the strapping lad from Mobile and the Yanks claimed Game 7, 1-0.

A few weeks later at a luncheon in

Greenwich Village, SPORT editor Al Silverman would hand Terry the keys to a brand new white 1963 Chevrolet Corvette, making him the eighth recipient of the SPORT MVP Award, inaugurated by SPORT magazine in 1955 as the first-ever celebration of the top playoff performer in any of the big four leagues. Terry was the fifth Yankee – and fourth Yankee pitcher – to win the award, and yet only one of those (Whitey Ford) made it to the Baseball Hall of Fame; Don Larsen (1956), Bob Turley (1958) and Terry were truly men of the moment, winning an average of 96 career games but each excelling come one particular October.

For Terry, any different ending against McCovey would have landed him in permanent infamy. After all, it was his fastball down the middle two years earlier that Bill Mazeroski smacked over the ivy-covered left field fence at Pittsburgh’s Forbes Field to lift the Pirates past the Yankees 10-9 in the ninth inning of Game 7, often cited as both the most dramatic moment in Series history and the greatest home run ever.

Two years and three days later, none other than Joe DiMaggio strode into the winner’s clubhouse he’d once owned and yelled at a champagne-downing Terry, within earshot of SPORT writer Arnold Hano, “You can forget that Pittsburgh thing now, Ralph!”

“Thank God,” Terry sighed a bit later. “It’s rarely in a man’s life that he gets a second chance.”

Some wisdom from a 26-year-old kid from Big Cabin, Oklahoma, right?

Mazeroski passed away in February, McCovey in 2018, Terry in 2022; the headline on the latter’s obituary in The New York Times read, “Ralph Terry, Yankee Hurler Redeemed by One Pitch, Dies at 86.”

The grand old game has evolved significantly over the past six-plus decades, with the pace of innovation quickening in just the past five. During SPORT’s original publication run from 1946 to 2000, baseball’s only two major rule changes were the lowering of the mound from 15” to 10” (in 1969) and the advent of the designated hitter in the American League (in 1973). Since 2022, when SPORT returned to begin publishing special editions, baseball has introduced a dizzying array of changes, from the National League adopting the DH, to the pitch clock, larger bases, infield shift restrictions, ghost runner and this season, the Automated BallStrike (ABS) Challenge System.

Another major element of the game’s freshened face is an enhanced focus on storytelling, with Netflix’s streaming of Opening Night, the Home Run Derby and the Field of Dreams game this season a major element. Picking up where their immersive docuseries The Clubhouse: A Year with the Red Sox (featuring dugout cameras following the team through all 162 games) left off, Netflix will bring the 2026 baseball season to real-time, vibrant, pulsating life, witnessed by a global audience on a single platform for the first time.

At SPORT, where we are celebrating our 80th anniversary in 2026 and a pioneering mindset and perpetual focus on deep, rich storytelling have always been our calling cards, we are proud to connect with today’s premier media innovator to celebrate the game we know and love with this Collector’s Edition.

Wayne Parrish | SPORT Chairman

MAGAZINE

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SPORT Scope

Splash Hits

Named after 1969 National League MVP and Hall of Famer

Willie McCovey, the body of water east of Oracle Park, where Mission Creek empties into San Francisco Bay, has become an iconic spot where some of baseball’s hardest balls meet a water landing. Our SPORT data analyst breaks down the famed McCovey Cove by the numbers.

BY COLBY OLSON

THE PHYSICS OF A SPLASH HIT

What does it actually take to put a baseball into the San Francisco Bay?

Only one ballpark in America lets a home run leave dry land. The right field wall at Oracle Park sits 309 feet from home plate, with McCovey Cove just beyond. Since 2000, 108 Giants home runs have cleared that wall with a splash landing. Thanks to Statcast, we now know exactly what it takes.

SPLASH HITS BY THE NUMBERS (Statcast Era, 2015–2025)

THE ONE RIGHT-HANDER

September 15, 2024. The first 104 splash hits had been hit by a left-handed batter. Heliot Ramos, a righty, went opposite field off a 100.2 mph Robert Suarez fastball, the hardest pitch ever for a splash hit. A generational anomaly.

WHICH PITCHES GET SPLASHED?

THE BONDS ERA

Thirty-five splash hits. A third of every splash hit in history, from one man. His seventh was career home run No. 500. Nine of 11 in 2001 were his, during the 73-homer chase. The only Giants postseason splash hit was his: a three-run, game-tying bomb in the 2002 NLCS off Chuck Finley. The bat flip is burned into San Francisco’s memory.

The gap between Barry Bonds (35) and the next Giant, Mike Yastrzemski (7), is the width of an entire career. If only we had statcast tracking back then.

Hitters sit on velocity and pull it.

THE EXCEPTION: Jack Suwinski’s 59.4 mph eephus splash, the slowest pitch to ever reach the water.

THE VISITORS WHO MADE A SPLASH

Opposing hitters have been putting balls into McCovey Cove since the park opened, and the names read like a Hall of Fame ballot. The Dodgers own the visitors’ list with seven Cove home runs: Shohei Ohtani (106 mph, 410 ft off Logan Webb in 2025), Max Muncy (three times), Cody Bellinger, Chase Utley, and Joc Pederson. Seven balls into enemy waters.

The Farthest Ball To Ever Reach The Cove:

Bryce Harper is the owner of the longest home run into McCovey Cove. 456 FT, 113.7 MPH

Other legends who’ve reached the water:

Joey Votto, Freddie Freeman, David Ortiz, Prince Fielder, Lance Berkman, Carlos Delgado, Larry Walker, Adam Dunn and Luis Gonzalez.

Postseason visitors:

Two opponents have splashed it in October: Rick Ankiel off Ramon Ramirez (2010 NLDS) and Bryce Harper off Hunter Strickland (2014 NLDS). Those didn’t stop the Giants from bringing home the hardware in both years though.

Bonds was the oldest to hit a Splash Hit at 43 years old. The youngest was Pablo Sandoval at 22 in 2009.

BARRY BONDS

OPENING DAY EDITION

BY JAMES SIDDALL

GRADE YOURSELF

8-10 MVP

5-7 ALL-STAR

0-4 BENCHWARMER

1. Name the three players tied for the most Opening Day home runs (with 8):

a. Adam Dunn, Ken Griffey Jr., Frank Robinson

b. Aaron Judge, Jose Bautista, Jim Thome

c. Hank Aaron, Willie Mays, Mickey Mantle

2. Which team has the best all-time Opening Day record?

a. Mets

b. Yankees

c. Dodgers

3. Which starting pitcher holds the record for most Opening Day starts (with 16)?

a. Felix Hernandez

b. Tom Seaver

c. Nolan Ryan

4. Who holds the record for the most consecutive Opening Day starts (with 14)?

a. CC Sabathia

b. Steve Carlton

c. Jack Morris

5. Which team has the most all-time Opening Day wins?

a. Cardinals

b. Giants

c. Cubs

6. Which pitcher threw the only Opening Day no-hitter in MLB history?

a. Bob Feller

b. Nolan Ryan

c. Sandy Koufax

7. What year was the most recent Opening Day doubleheader?

a. 1991

b. 1985

c. 1971

8. Which city has hosted the most international Opening Day games?

a. Tokyo

b. Mexico City

c. Sydney

9. Which contemporary team holds the record for the most consecutive Opening Day wins (with 10)?

a. Atlanta Braves

b. Houston Astros

c. St. Louis Cardinals

10. Which two teams took part in the longest-ever Opening Day game, in 2012?

a. Tigers and Phillies

b. Blue Jays and Cleveland

c. Yankees and Red Sox

Q&A

ONE ON ONE WITH… The Broadcasters

Meet the all-star team in the booth, on the field, and in the studio for the inaugural Major League Baseball broadcast on Netflix.

BY COLBY OLSON

SPORT: You made 11 Opening Day starts, which is tied for 11th most all time. Were there any Opening Day rituals or traditions that you can remember?

CC: Opening day was always super special. It was always stressful to pitch Opening Day, I never really enjoyed it. I always wanted to be part of the celebration, to go out there and get my name called. The most memorable one was 2009, I pitched Opening Day in Baltimore, then came home and opened up the new Yankee Stadium against my old Cleveland teammates. I just couldn’t wait to get through it. It was always an honor, but there was so much stress, family

coming from California, doing so many different things, and then trying to concentrate on pitching the game. I was always honored to pitch Opening Day, but glad when it was over so I could get into my routine.

What feelings come up knowing your number is going to be retired and you’ll be inducted into Monument Park?

CC: It’s a super exciting honor. I remember being excited to open up the new stadium, being honored that it would be me. I remember thinking: this is gonna be forever. Now to be part of that history, that lineage, as an outsider, someone who

didn’t grow up in the Yankee organization, I feel super proud. I have my cap in Cooperstown as a Yankee cap, and now having my number retired. It’s incredible.

You’re going to be part of this broadcast team on Netflix for Opening Night,

Yankees vs. Giants. Putting yourself in the shoes of a player and an analyst with Netflix, how important do you think it is for fans and players to have more marquee events like the Field of Dreams game on the calendar? And do players go into a game like this

being televised to a national audience on Netflix with a different energy?

CC: Yeah, there was always a different energy for big games. As a Yankee, playing Sunday Night Baseball or that Fox Saturday game, you always knew when those games were the only game on. So that being the Netflix game on Wednesday night, being the only game on the planet that’ll be playing, there’s definitely a heightened sense of wanting to play well, wanting to get off to a good start. Everybody’s watching. It’s the beginning of a new year. You try to keep going what you had last year, or erase what happened. On the broadcast side, for the longest time as a player you had that angst of not knowing how the season’s gonna go. Now I can just call the game. Once I’m done with it, it’s over. It’s gonna be a lot of fun.

What has the offseason been like preparing to join a broadcast team?

CC: I watch a lot of baseball, it’s kind of my life. I thought when I was done with baseball I’d be completely out of the game, but that’s not the case. I’m either watching a game, at a game, doing something around baseball every single day. The prep is just my life. I always said I would never get in a booth, but these opportunities are special, partnering with Netflix, doing the Field of Dreams, Opening Night, the Home Run Derby. Who knows, maybe it’s something I’ll continue to do in the future.

You’re consuming so much baseball and calling it for a career. What makes you tick off the diamond from a media perspective? What are you consuming beyond baseball?

MV: If my viewing of an old movie that took 11 years to make a sequel for is any indication, I like old stuff, my algorithms are all clips from The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson, I’m a classic rock dinosaur. My tastes lean a lot older than I am. But I have kids, so I’m force-fed all the new current stuff. An 11-year-old son who’s a voracious consumer of all things sports, baseball in particular. Maybe that’s why I look for the old stuff in my viewing habits.

You having kids of all ages sets this up nicely with Netflix potentially ushering in a new audience of baseball fans. As the host and voice of this game, you have this duty of ushering in a new wave. What does that mean to you, and how do you handle appealing to die-hard fans and also fans approaching baseball for the first time?

MV: Therein lies the biggest challenge with doing a big broad presentation like this. You don’t want to dumb it down to such a novice level that your core fans are saying, ‘Man, this guy’s just a dope.’ But you do have to be mindful that there are gonna be some first-time

ears out there. Baseball more than any other sport has that challenge. There’s a large segment of the fan base so conversant in the game, the culture, the nomenclature, the jargon, the minutiae. You don’t want those folks to think you’re not servicing them, but it can’t be so inside that you alienate the newer viewer. It’s a very difficult balance. My philosophy is the more math you have to do to explain an analytics equation, the worse off it’s getting for everybody. People can handle batting average, OPS, combinations of statistics, but when you start talking about weighted runs created plus, you’re gonna lose people.

You’ve been broadcasting for over 3 decades. Is there any specific sensory trigger for you on Opening Day, the smell of the grass, the sound of the crowd, something that just says ‘it’s Opening Day’?

MV: The bunting. The bunting screams opening day. It’s the only time you see it. You’ll see versions of it graphically on postseason broadcasts, the All-Star Game, those kinds of Christmas and Easter events. But the bunting comes out at every ballpark on opening day. For the unindoctrinated: it’s the red, white, and blue banners that hang around the railings and around the outfield fences. I see bunting, and I know it’s spring and time to go for baseball.

What got you into going to the studio and network side? Was this something you always wanted to do during your playing career, or did it happen spur of the moment?

AR: Coming up in the game, you build so much respect for the national media members and the beat writers. The beat writers travel with you all the time, they’re grinding with you. You obviously don’t like everything that’s written about you, but you learn as a professional how to respect the media. I’ve always had a really good relationship with them. I saw guys like Ryan Dempster go from player to

I hope this is never work to me, I hope I just get to talk [about] the game I love and be able to relate to people.

With the game being in San Francisco, do you have any memories from Oracle Park? Any specific things that come to mind?

AR: I did have the 2016 NLDS, coming back in Game 4 and clinching there is the highlight. That’s

really probably my only highlight there. My numbers in that park are the worst in my career, so I’m really looking forward to going there and getting to enjoy the ballpark for its beauty without the stress of not getting any hits. It’ll be a different lens this time.

You’re known for being a hit-by-pitch master, 222 hit by pitches in your career. You were pretty

close to chasing an all-time record. Was that ever on your mind? And what inspired you to become a hit-by-pitch artist?

AR: It was never on my mind. A couple years ago I passed Chase Utley and our strength coach told me I was number one left-handed all time, I’ll take that. Early in my career I struggled against lefties, and it was really getting on the plate against them that helped me establish my presence versus lefties. Sometimes versus righties I would crowd the plate a little too. Probably 150 of those, I just didn’t see the pitch, that’s how good the pitchers are.

We are coming off a World Series with great ratings and the World Baseball Classic is happening now. What’s your macro view of baseball in 2026?

AR: I think it’s amazing. The Dodgers are the villain, everyone’s going after them. The Yankees have high expectations. The Cubs are gonna be good this year, the Red Sox believe they can be really good, and those are four monster market teams that are gonna be right in it. All the smaller markets too are so competitive. You have both Cy Young Award winners on small market teams. You can turn on a TV at any given time and you’re seeing a superstar, and that’s a really good spot to be in for Major League Baseball.

This is Netflix’s debut for baseball. Are there any different ways you’re preparing as a sideline reporter? Are you able to take more risks or do different things you haven’t been able to do in the past?

LS: I go at a baseball game from a purist perspective. We love the game as is, in its current form. But we also want to be entertained, and Netflix entertains the masses, right? So that’s the perfect partnership from my perspective. In terms of preparation, I prepare like it’s one of the biggest baseball games of the season, because it’s opening day. I look at guys’ swings, I’ll go the day before and break them down in the cage. I love to talk to the players. Baseball players, more than a lot of sports, care that you cover them in the right way. So I look at the cage, maybe they had a leg kick and now it’s a toe tap, and when they hit a bullet in the gap, I can say, that’s what they were

just set up for a celebration and they’re taking it down.’ That’s a huge storyline you couldn’t possibly know unless you’re there. Also, if a player’s mom is in the stands from the Dominican and she’s never seen him play, I’ll get her seat number, call her to confirm, and say to my producer, ‘His mom is there, it’s her first game ever watching him in pro ball, she’s in seat 25F.’

That’s my job, to help them with their job, and vice versa.

trying to do. That preparation comes full circle.

Beyond just preparing before the game, what don’t we see as the viewer during the game? What are you paying attention to? I want to go into your brain during the nine innings.

LS: There’s so much that goes on in the broadcast, and so much that doesn’t. I feel like I have a responsibility to our producer and to the guys in the booth. I’m the eyes and the ears on the field. I was covering the Houston Astros years ago, and they were about to win a playoff game. I was in the dugout and saw them usher in all the champagne for a celebration, change the clubhouse, put sheets over the walls, and then they lost at the last second, and I saw them take it all down quickly. No one else could have reported that unless you were there. I told the producer, ‘They

This game is going to be streamed to hundreds of countries around the world. Baseball has become very global with the WBC, Shohei bringing massive viewership globally. How do you handle appealing to die-hard fans and fans around the world watching baseball for the first time?

LS: I just had that question answered in the postseason. I was working a Brewers-Dodgers game, Game 4 of the NLCS. Shohei went off, struck out 10, hit 3 home runs. They clinched the series and I got to do the trophy presentation. I had the envelope and it said ‘Shohei Ohtani, NLCS Most Valuable Player.’ I thought to myself: baseball is global. My questions have to be tailored not just to Dodger fans. I asked him about the kids in Japan who grew up thinking maybe I can be you one day. He said, ‘This game is for all, I hope everyone enjoys a nice glass of sake.’

You’re going to be on a desk with Albert Pujols, who is potentially a top-five hitter of all time, and Anthony Rizzo, an incredible hitter in his own right. As the point guard on that desk, how do you help facilitate and push them to open up and give us the best analysis they’re capable of?

ED: That’s always the challenge for the host, and that’s really our goal. Albert has done TV before. This is Rizzo’s first foray into television since leaving baseball, and we’re all going to have to find chemistry really quickly. We’re going to have three major opportunities in front of the world to show off that chemistry. My goal is, and I know this pun is awful, but it works. I just want to make sure they’re getting the pitch where they want it. I am their pitching coach. How can I, in a thoughtful but concise way, take all of these years of knowledge and

are you most excited for, and what’s the importance of those events to Netflix and to baseball as a whole? ED: It makes so much sense that Netflix got those three main events. Of course they did, because those are such preeminent events. The Home Run Derby is going to be particularly cool being in Philadelphia, the 250th anniversary of America, all of the feelings.

You’re entering your fourth season in the broadcast booth with the Giants. How are you feeling behind the mic?

help make it palatable and digestible for the audience, and do it really quickly?

The challenge I really look forward to is building chemistry with folks I’m going to meet a few days before we go live. How do we take all of these years of knowledge, make it digestible, and still put on a great television show? I think one of my superpowers, at least what people I’ve worked with have told me, is that I’m good at disarming people.

That’s what I aim to do, make them feel incredibly comfortable and make sure we’re getting the absolute best out of them, because all the information is there. It’s just about how we present it.

Along with Opening Day, you’ll be doing the Field of Dreams game and the Home Run Derby, two of baseball’s biggest marquee events. What

I imagine Bryce Harper is going to have some kind of moment again like we saw in Washington. The Derby in general is just so much fun. I love the playfulness from guys who are very serious and competitive but in those environments are just rooting for each other. I love the storylines that will reveal themselves as we get closer, whatever young rookie is taking everyone by storm. Are we going to have another Cal Raleigh this year? A guy who seemingly comes out of nowhere and is just raking? When it comes to the Field of Dreams game, this is literally a bucket list thing for me. I’ve had coworkers at ESPN that have gone, and I’ve always been so jealous. I’m 42 years old, I grew up on Field of Dreams. I remember thinking as a kid watching that movie how cool it would be to be at the cornfield in Iowa. It feels very full circle for a lifelong baseball girlie to go and in real life experience what it was like watching it as a movie. It’s still one of my favorite movies of all time. Truly a bucket list thing.

HP: I’ve really gotten my rhythm, I guess, but there’s still so much to learn. When I first started, it was an exciting opportunity and I knew I got really lucky to get the chance to call the game that I love. I wanted to just be close to it and you don’t really know which direction you’re going to go or even if you have the skill to do it, but I absolutely just love the game of baseball and broadcasting as I’ve gotten to work with some amazing people has continued to just be something that, I get that buzz, that, that chill and that nervousness and excitement, so I just absolutely love it.

How would you characterize your style of analysis in the booth?

HP: The last 10 years of my career I was really big on the research, studying the pitcher, how he was getting people out. Doing that for 10 years transitions you into the booth really well because a lot of it is anticipating what’s going to happen, knowing the pitcher’s arsenal, what the hitter has, how he can battle. Baseball is fun, you don’t wanna get in the way of that, but you share the expertise. Fourteen years in the big leagues, I was always very curious and

still am. There are still things you see on the Major League Baseball field that maybe have never been seen before and will really tickle your brain. Every day is a chance for history. Staying curious and being playful with it. Baseball is fun, and allows it to dictate the beautiful symphony that is a game of baseball.

You always came up big in high leverage moments. In low leverage, 94 OPS+. Medium leverage, 98 OPS+, but a 115 OPS+ in high leverage moments for your career. What do you think made you rise in those high-pressure moments?

HP: Well, first and foremost, thanks for

researching that and finding a cool stat that I didn’t even know existed.

Off the top of my head, the goal for me every single day was to do everything I can to win today. When you’re in a high leverage situation, your whole life’s work is put into becoming the best baseball player you can. I would be a little upset at myself for lack of focus in some of the lower leverage situations, but in high leverage, when the game is on the line, that was everything I worked for. Every fiber of your being is locked into that moment. And so for me, I love those moments and fortunately I was able to, you know, produce the numbers that

you just saw. The goal at the end of the day was always just to win the World Series. That desire to win the game is what locked me in.

You’re going to be broadcasting Opening Day, momentous day for Netflix and for baseball hitting a whole new worldwide viewership. Going back to 2013 Opening Day, your first on the Giants, coming off a World Series championship, home opener on ring day. Walk me through what that day was like.

HP: You get to wear the special jersey for Opening Day. The ring ceremony is

pretty special, you just get chills. I don’t remember who we were playing. If we’re talking about other Opening Day fireworks, the next year we played the Dodgers, and I hit a grand slam to ice the game. Opening Day against the Dodgers, there’s so much excitement. These are big emotional games. Emotions do play a factor, despite what people say. When you’re playing your rival, it’s pretty magical. It lifts you up. I sat on a particular pitch, I was looking for a slider, and got the pitch I was looking for. Yeah, it’s a really cool feeling to win opening day and give that energy and momentum to the fan base.

THE STORYLINES THAT WILL DEFINE THE SEASON

T WO-WAY TO A T HREE-PEAT

DAVE ROBERTS, THE DODGERS’ MANAGER,

SAID IT WAS “fair” to assume Shohei Ohtani will be a regular starting pitcher in 2026.

Fourteen other National League clubs wonder what’s fair about it.

Ohtani has been the league MVP and a World Series champ in both his Dodger seasons, with 99 home runs and 232 RBI. He didn’t pitch in 2024 and had 14 starts in 2025, gradually stretching himself, but was 2-1 in four postseason starts last year, with a gleaming 1.131 OPS and 28 strikeouts in 20 and one-third innings.

Ohtani is 31 and has four MVPs all told. Barry Bonds, with seven, is the only other player with more than three. With the Angels in 2021, Ohtani was fourth in Cy Young voting. It would be preposterous but not surprising if he finishes at least that high again. He has a 3.00 career ERA and a 1.078 WHIP. That would make him third and fourth among active MLB pitchers if he had a qualifying number of innings.

He joins Yoshinobu Yamamoto, Tyler Glasnow, Roki Sasasi and Emmet Sheehan in the current rotation, with Blake Snell fighting shoulder fatigue. Edwin Diaz, the ex-Met, ascends the rocky throne in the bullpen. Kyle Tucker, the prime free agent prize in the outfield, joins the projected batting order that totals 64 years of major league service. At some point before the All-Star break, Tommy Edman will return from ankle surgery to play second base or centerfield. And Miguel Rojas, whose Game 7 home run was possibly a harder shot to Canada’s heart than Jack Hughes’ goal, is still lurking on the roster.

Again, the Dodgers’ biggest problem is engagement, as they embark on a regular season that resembles a long summer drive through Nebraska. When do we get to October, Daddy?

The Dodgers were stuck in neutral through much of 2025. They won only 93 games. They didn’t have the home advantage in their last three postseason series. It is the toughest part of their season, dodging injury, bearing expectation, maintaining interest. Arizona and San Diego could indeed win the West. But the Dodgers don’t fly pennants for that. Last year they won on blind faith, happenstance (Andy Pages/Enrique Hernandez Christmas ornaments were all the rage in L.A.) and enormous self-belief. And, no, a $346 million payroll didn’t hurt. Neither does the prospect of Ohtani working double-time.

– MARK WHICKER

HOME RUN DERBY

SOMETIMES TO LOOK

forward you have to look back. Today we know the Home Run Derby as a wellestablished highlight of MLB’s All-Star Week–it may even be a bigger draw than the ASG itself. This summer’s smash sesh looks to be no exception; Philadelphia’s Citizen Bank Park is known as one of the friendliest confines to hitters and there happens to be two very experienced sluggers on the Phillies roster – Kyle Schwarber and Bryce Harper –that are certainly capable of reaffirming that fact.

The Derby didn’t always have its lofty status on the baseball calendar, though. Once upon a time, circa 1960, it was a fledgling TV show with no live audience, nor any official MLB connection, that aired for only a single season. Simply titled Home Run Derby, the short-lived program served as the direct inspiration for the official All-Star event we know and love today.

There were 18 sluggers that appeared on Derby, ten of which went on to become

Hall of Famers: Eddie Matthews, Al Kaline, Willie Mays, Duke Snider, Mickey Mantle, Gil Hodges, Frank Robinson, Ernie Banks, Hank Aaron, and Harmon Killebrew. Every one of these sluggers appeared on the cover of SPORT Magazine at least once in some form.

Hank Aaron made the most appearances on Derby, with seven, each of which consisting of a single head-tohead matchup, winning six times. Mickey Mantle racked up the most home runs overall, smacking 44 into the bleachers over five episodes. In total, 26 thirtyminute episodes were produced until, sadly, host Mark Scott passed away shortly after this first season finished airing. Rather than carry on with a new lead, the show came to an end just as it was beginning.

The first “official” MLB Home Run Derby was held in 1985, a full quarter-century after the TV program it took inspiration from. Dave Parker won that inaugural competition in Minnesota’s Metrodome with only six homers, a far cry from the kind

of numbers we’re accustomed to today. Last year’s winner, Cal Raleigh, hit 19 bombs in the semifinal round alone.

The growth of the Derby speaks to baseball’s modernization as a whole. We’re in a new era, one that demands fast-paced excitement — bigger, louder, and with more swagger. MLB’s 2026 Home Run Derby, streaming for the first time on Netflix, is sure to be just that.

– JAMES SIDDALL

O JAYS! O CANADA!

AFTER A NAIL-BITING

American League East division race, the Toronto Blue Jays declared “Want It All” as their mantra, and the rallying cry swept across the Great White North as the team came within inches of winning the 2025 World Series.

Labelled as overachievers even while carrying the fifth highest payroll in the major leagues, the Blue Jays dramatically united Canada, which for months had been wincing at U.S. President Donald Trump’s tariffs and talk of annexation.

title, on a tiebreaker over the Yankees, for the first time since 2015.

The playoffs arrived and it became fun to talk about Vladimir Guerrero Jr. (the only player born in Canada) and Bo Bichette instead of politics. While ousting the Yankees and then the Mariners, unexpected, previously unknown characters like Addison Barger and Nathan Lukes stepped to the plate day after day, while the heroics of George Springer never seemed to wane. The dichotomy of veteran hurler “Mad” Max Scherzer, all attitude and bravado, taking the mound after the awe-shucks-ness of rookie Trey Yesavage, who’d made it up from A ball in time for the playoffs, was

magically compelling.

But baseball can be a cruel game too, dreams dashed by the Dodgers in extra innings of Game 7.

Armed with deep pockets, a passionate fanbase of 40 million or so, a renovated more baseball-friendly stadium, and a slightly retooled lineup that includes star Japanese import Kazuma Okamoto at third base (his young daughter told Dad she liked the Jays logo best) and Dylan Cease, the first pitcher signed out of free agency during the offseason, the Blue Jays are ready for their 50th season. This year, Canada does Want It All.

– GREG OLIVER

THE OL’ COLLEGE TRY

MANAGERS GET A LOT OF

attention in Major League Baseball, but the spotlight on Giants bench boss Tony Vitello is unique. He is the first ever manager to jump directly from the college ranks, something that is common in football and basketball. Guiding the

Tennessee Volunteers to the 2024 College World Series, on top of two other CWS appearances (2021, 2023), Vitello drew praise as a recruiter and for his ability to connect with players.

At the press conference introducing Vitello, Giants president of baseball operations Buster Posey said there are “going to be uncertainties and risk in any hire” but that he’s “betting on the person.”

How Vitello’s skill set translates onto the field in a much longer season is based a lot on the roster put together by Posey and GM Zack Minasian.

The Giants have a certified stud in Logan Webb, who was the Game 1 starter for the USA in the World Baseball Classic, but the rotation after him, projected to be Robbie Ray, Tyler Mahle, Adrian Houser, and Landen Roupp, is in tough. Whether someone will step up and star out of the bullpen is a question mark.

Eyes are on No. 1 prospect Bryce Eldridge, and whether the first baseman will crack the Opening Day roster, pushing aside the incumbent Rafael Devers. They will need more from shortstop Willy Adames, who had a team-high 30 homers last season—the highest Giants mark since Barry Bonds in 2004. For all the question marks on the field, the one certainty seems to be in the standings, where the Giants are in the NL West with the powerhouse Dodgers and contending Padres, and the improving Diamondbacks ... and the Rockies, who had a 2025 to forget. Making the playoffs will require more than the ol’ college try.

— GREG OLIVER

THOUGH THE NEW YORK Yankees lost in the American League Division Series to the Blue Jays three games to one, there was not a reactionary major overhaul by GM Brian Cashman. The roster, which tied the Jays atop the AL East, remains basically intact, but with a flurry of deals at the trade deadline, it isn’t the same lineup that started off 2025 either. Those additions include closer David Bednar, reliever Camilo Doval,

SOTO CALLS HIS SHOT

THE BABE RUTH CALLED

Shot from the 1932 World Series is part of baseball lore, but what to make of Juan Soto’s called MVP? Maybe that’s exaggerating, but at the Mets spring training home of Port Lucie, Florida, in February, Soto put the reigning National League MVP, Shohei Ohtani, on notice. Both superstars are under contract on massive deals through 2033.

“I’m going to be there every year, too,” Soto warned during a media scrum. “So he better keep doing what he’s doing, because I’m coming.”

The dual-threat Ohtani is a four-time MVP, twice in the American League with the Angels, and the last two seasons in the NL with the Dodgers.

In 2021, Soto, then with the Nationals, finished second to Bryce Harper of the Phillies, in MVP voting, which is his highest spot to date. Soto has also finished third twice in New York: in 2024 with the Yankees, and 2025 with the Mets.

The sweet-swinging, disciplined outfielder from the Dominican Republic has posted numbers that belong in the MVP conversation, including a batting title in 2020, four All-Star nods, six Silver Slugger Awards and the Babe Ruth Award as postseason MVP in 2019.

The next step, though, is the biggest. Ohtani is in his sights. “I’ve just got to beat him. Definitely, it’s not going to be easy, but I’ve got to find a way to beat him.”

— GREG OLIVER

Ryan McMahon at third, and utility players Amed Rosario and Jose Caballero.

There are other names worth waiting for too, with returning pitchers Gerrit Cole (Tommy John surgery, early June), Carlos Rodon (elbow surgery, early May), Clarke Schmidt (Tommy John surgery, August) and shortstop Anthony Volpe (shoulder surgery, mid-May).

It all means that the Yankees will churn through a lot of different lineups

and rotations, and have depth at every position, and boast a stellar leading cast beginning with captain Aaron Judge — baseball’s best non-dual threat player — as well as the usual names like Cody Bellinger, Giancarlo Stanton, Jazz Chisholm Jr., Trent Grisham, and Austin Wells.

Under the guidance of manager Aaron Boone, in his ninth season, the Yankees will be top contenders. “I’m personally

excited about having the players that we do going back at it because I think there’s a hunger there after we didn’t finish the job, and I think we’re really good,” Boone told WFAN radio in early March.

If the Yankees don’t win the World Series for the first time since 2009, it may be time for far bigger changes, in the front office, in the dugout, and on the field.

– GREG OLIVER

SKUBAL AND THE TIGERS

DETROIT ENTERS 2026 WALKING A narrow line between contention and urgency.

Last season showed both promise and fragility. The Tigers looked like the class of the AL Central early, winning 37 games across April and May, before a brutal September collapse cost them the division on the final weekend. They recovered in October, eliminating Cleveland in the Wild Card round and pushing Seattle to a 15-inning Game 5 in the ALDS, but the season ultimately reinforced how thin the margin is.

Everything still revolves around Tarik Skubal, who captured his second consecutive AL Cy Young Award and struck out 36 batters against just four walks in three postseason starts. He also happens to be in the last year of his contract.

Detroit spent the winter trying to maximize that window, adding Framber Valdez to form a formidable one-two punch

ARMS RACE

THIS COULD ACTUALLY BE the Pirates’ year.

It starts with Paul Skenes — already one of the most dominant pitchers in baseball. But the other four spots in Pittsburgh’s

rotation look strong as well, headlined by Mitch Keller and top prospect Bubba Chandler, and nearly the entire group is still on the right side of 30. The depth could improve even further as the season

progresses. If Jared Jones returns from elbow surgery at full strength or Hunter Barco proves ready for a larger role, the Pirates have the kind of pitching infrastructure that can carry a team through a long season.

atop the rotation and bringing in Kenley Jansen to stabilize the ninth inning. The late signing of franchise legend Justin Verlander added depth. Intent and sentiment. You don’t sign a 43-year-old unless you think it gets you over the hump.

The offense remains solid but not overwhelming, led by Riley Greene, Spencer Torkelson, Kerry Carpenter and Gleyber Torres. Detroit’s real upside may come from its elite prospect pipeline, with Kevin McGonigle, Max Clark and Josue Briceño pushing toward the majors.

If the young talent accelerates, and Torres and Verlander support Skubal, the Tigers could run the division and the pennant. If it doesn’t, they may find themselves wondering if the best move is to trade Skubal and hit eject on this era.

– CHRIS MANNING

For the first time in what feels like forever, Pittsburgh also addressed its lineup in a meaningful way. By adding Ryan O’Hearn, Brandon Lowe and Marcell Ozuna this offseason, the Pirates have injected experience and power into a lineup that too often relied solely on internal development.

And then there’s Konnor Griffin. If the top prospect forces his way onto the Opening Day roster — potentially skipping Triple-A entirely — he could provide the same kind of jolt Skenes provided when he arrived.

On paper, the offense doesn’t look like a unit that allowed Skenes to finish with a 10-10 record despite having a sub-2.00 ERA and over 200 strikeouts. In a National League Central without a clear runaway favorite, that combination creates a very real path for Pittsburgh to make a run.

– CHRIS MANNING

FIELD OF DREAMS

THE CONNECTION BETWEEN ART AND SPORT HAS ALWAYS been evident in the pages of SPORT magazine – whether through stunning color photography taken by legends like Ozzie Sweet and Lawrence Schiller, or via longform investigative journalism from the pen of wordsmiths like Grantland Rice. At its launch in 1946, SPORT magazine was North America’s first significant sporting publication to go beyond the box score and study the inherent human drama behind it through an uber creative lens.

It comes as no surprise, then, that we at SPORT are very excited to see MLB’s return to the Field of Dreams this season, where life will imitate art once more. After four long years, baseball fans can wade out of the towers of maize into a cinematic baseball experience like no other.

The MLB at Field of Dreams, held in 2021 and 2022, has already felt like a living painting; baseball skies hit differently above a fully pastoral landscape, one akin to that on which the pastime was founded well over a century ago. Now in 2026, those of us watching at home will be treated to even deeper artistic scope – as part of their groundbreaking partnership with MLB, Netflix will present a handful of significant dates on the baseball calendar this season, including an Opening Night match-up between the New York Yankees and San Francisco Giants, and, yes, the Field of Dreams game. Who could deliver a Hollywood-inspired gameday experience better than Netflix? Cinematic camerawork and editing seems the right treatment for a site straight out of the movies, and their compelling teaser trailer for Opening Night already backs this theory.

Aside from the delivery, there’s more newness to the 2026 Field of Dreams game: a fully redone, permanent and “professional” stadium on site in Dyersville, Iowa, and two new competitors to bring it to life, the Philadelphia Phillies and Minnesota Twins. Don’t know about you, but we are more than ready to witness some Schwarbombs scorched through the Iowa skies and into the corn. It’s sure to be a sight, one seen through new eyes. Lights, camera… play ball!

– JAMES SIDDALL

Legends of the Game

May be the Best Ever

Ten years have passed since Willie broke into the big leagues, and he has proved, the writer says, that no player ever has been able to do so many things so well.

BY MILTON GROSS

WILLIE MAYS had played 116 games in the minor leagues and 155 in the major leagues when the Army interrupted his baseball career. Over that short haul, however, he had flashed skills that stamped him as a budding superstar and it was inevitable that people should begin comparing him to baseball’s all-time greats. One of the more direct comparisons took place in Dallas, Texas, shortly after Willie returned from military service in 1954.

The New York Giants were in town to play an exhibition game that spring day and Tris Speaker, the Hall of Fame outfielder, had come to the park to visit with them. A young reporter, aware of Speaker’s stature, approached him.

“Does Mays remind you of yourself?” the writer asked.

“Son,” Speaker said, “this is the first time I’ve ever seen Mays. I’d prefer not to

answer that question for a while.”

Speaker is gone now. Willie is still very much with us. He is 29 now, about to become a ten-year man. Theoretically the ten-year mark is the dividing line between baseball’s boys and its grown men. There are many grown men. There are few supermen. Tris Speaker was a superman. How does Willie Mays compare with Tris and others of such supreme rating? It is a reasonable question now, one which commands attention and argument.

There can be no question that Willie Mays is, hands down, the greatest all-round player in the game today. There has been a reluctance by some San Franciscans to accept him as the best, but the rest of baseball has no reservations. Neither has Giant president Horace Stoneham. Last season Horace paid Mays a flat $85,000, baseball’s biggest player salary, more than matching any salary ever paid a player in one lump. Willie

FROM THE PAGES OF

December 1961

didn’t ask for it. Stoneham gave it to him—out of unqualified appreciation for what Willie has become.

“I sat with the man (Stoneham) maybe five minutes,” Willie said, “and he quoted me the figure. I said to him, ‘You think I ought to have that much?’”

And Stoneham answered: “Yeah. I’m giving it to you because you’re the best.”

And Willie, happy but humble, answered: “If you’re giving it to me because I’m the best, then I’ll take it.”

“You deserve it,” Stoneham said.

When you discuss Willie’s ability with fellows around the league, their analyses are as basically simple as Stoneham’s reasoning.

“He’s great,” said Del Crandall, the Braves’ catcher. “I’d pay my own way into the ballpark to see Willie play. He does things nobody else does, and he does them regularly. He beats you every way imaginable. If there’s anything like a complete ballplayer, Willie is it.”

“There’s no doubt about it,” said Cleveland’s Harvey Kuenn. “Mays is the best player in the big leagues today.”

“He may be more than that,” said Johnny Temple, the demanding second-baseman of the Indians who has

played in both leagues. “He may be the best who has ever played baseball.”

These extravagant statements were offered in the immediate aftermath of the 1960 All-Star games. In the games, Willie walloped a home run, triple, double and three singles in eight times at bat. His All-Star game lifetime batting average zoomed to .438. He was the All-Star of the All-Stars. His superb showing documented further his status as the best player in baseball.

If there’s anything like a complete ballplayer, Willie is it.”

DEL CRANDALL BRAVES’ CATCHER

For reasons of their own, the Los Angeles Dodgers’ scouting staff evaluated every player in the big leagues a while ago. Working under chief scout Alex Campanis, they set a point value on hitting, hitting for power, speed on the bases (stealing and going for the extra base), strength and accuracy of the arm and fielding. The results of the analysis were filed away until the Dodgers disclosed that they had been offered an unprecedented $1,800,000 for Frank Howard (billed as the next Babe Ruth) and six other young players. It appeared to be a fantastic sum, even for youngsters of such unlimited potential.

In a subsequent conversation with Campanis, a newspaperman suggested that perhaps price-setting on ballplayers was getting out of hand.

“I don’t think so,” Campanis said. “Not for players with such talent.”

“I figure,” said the newspaperman, “that of the $1,800,000 that you have mentioned, a million of it had to be offered for Howard. Would you say that there is really any ballplayer in the game today who is worth that much?”

“Only one,” the chief Dodger scout said. “Willie Mays.”

“How can you possibly figure that?”

“We did figure it,” Alex said. Then he disclosed the Dodgers’ secret appraisal, which, of course, was based on the old Rickey system of judging a ballplayer.

“Of all the players we rated,” Campanis said, “Mays is the only one judged to have a perfect score on every count. I know this. The Dodgers would be willing to pay $1,000,000 for Mays right now.”

Even in these inflated days, Al’s assessment of Willie is worth pause. It certainly serves as a springboard, not only for an evaluation of Mays in terms of dollars, but in comparison to such all-time greats as Ty Cobb and Hans Wagner.

Old-timers may be horrified over the audacity of the suggestion, but there now seems to be a basis for such comparison. For one thing, Mays is without a weakness. For another, he is likely to be around for another six years and should in that time build upon the skills that have made him worth at least $1,000,000. He is the most superbly equipped player of our age, with the possible exception of Joe DiMaggio, to lend both the talent and the longevity to a baseball career.

A statistical survey of Mays’s accomplishments, as impressive as it is, scarcely tells the full story of his value. The full flavor of the wonders Willie works on the ball field cannot be expressed with cold numbers.

A simple catch, for instance, counts the same in the box score as the impossible ones Willie makes. A simple throw which catches a runner taking an extra base is no different when recorded arithmetically than some of the superspecials Willie pulls off.

You can show in figures that Willie led the league in stealing bases from 1956 through 1958, but no mathematician has yet devised a system to show how many extra bases he’s taken by stretching a single’ into a double or a double into a triple or by scoring from second base on

an infield out.

There is no measurement for his daring when he defies concrete walls as he leaps for a catch. Unfortunately a doctor cannot apply an instrument to the arm of such as pitcher Wilmer Mizell to determine how much his blood pressure rises and efficiency lowers when Willie is on base. Mizell, remember, is a lefthander, who normally should be able to control a base-runner leading off first. Willie, however, is no ordinary baserunner.

All of these are not so-called intangibles. They can be seen, even if they cannot be recorded.

During the Giants’ 1959 pennant rush, which unfortunately faltered in the closing days of the season when Sam Jones alone couldn’t carry the pitching staff, a significant incident took place in the dressing room, which reveals much about Willie.

The Giants had just completed a vital head-to-head meeting with the Braves, and with only eight games left in the pennant race, San Francisco held a two-game lead. It was one of Willie’s most satisfying days in a trying season. He had batted in five runs, gone four-for-four and finally moved his average above .300. In the locker room afterward, a San Francisco writer said:

“You’re playing ball now the way Willie Mays plays.”

“I don’t think that’s a fair remark,” Willie said. “I only know one way to play. It’s easy to say I’m playing like Willie Mays when I get four hits.”

“What I mean,” the writer said, “is that you’re running into walls, making great catches and all that.”

“Listen,” Willie said, “I’ve been doing that every day for eight years. It didn’t just start.”

Only ten days before the game with the Braves in 1959, it had been disclosed that Mays had been playing for one month with the little finger of his right hand broken—another indication of his determination. He had kept it secret from his teammates. Manager Bill Rigney and trainer Doc Bowman of the Giants were the only ones who knew of the injury. I found out about it on September 10.

I had come into the dressing room to congratulate Mays after he led the Giants

The game’s more than hitting. They don’t pay me what I’m getting only because I’m a hitter.”

WILLIE MAYS

to a 7-2 victory over the Pirates. Willie deserved congratulations. He had hit his 27th home run of the season and had scored another run by going from second to home on an infield grounder. Mays’s running had been typical for him, but his flinch at my handshake was not.

I turned his hand over and looked at his finger. It was grotesquely bent and badly swollen. “It’s broken or fractured,” Willie said simply. “Don’t say anything about it. I can’t swing right. I’ve been throwing myself at the ball, but I don’t want anybody knowing about it. I don’t want anybody to think I’m setting up an alibi.”

“What did the doctor say?” I asked.

“I haven’t seen a doctor,” Willie said. “They asked me to, but I didn’t want to. I want to stay in and play. I can help the club in the field, even if I haven’t been helping them much at bat. They need me. I know the old man (president Stoneham) would want me to play if he knew, and that man’s been as good to me as any man I’ve ever known. There ain’t much more to the season and this is no time to be out. I don’t care if I hit .200, so long as I do something about helping us win. If they put the finger in a cast, I wouldn’t be able to play.”

“Who knows the finger’s broken?” I asked.

“Doc and Rig, I guess,” Willie said, “but I only told Doc. I didn’t tell anybody else.”

It developed that the finger had been jammed into the ground a month earlier as Mays slid back into first, beating a Cincinnati pickoff play.

“The day after he was hurt,” Bowman said, “we had a technician standing by all day for an X-ray, but

Willie just refused to go. We haven’t said a word about it because Willie wanted it that way. He isn’t the kind to alibi. He just wants to play.”

“Willie doesn’t think I know about it,” Bill Rigney said. “Willie didn’t want anybody to know because he didn’t want anybody thinking he was looking for an excuse.” Willie never has sought an excuse. Nor has he ever sought praise. His nature is such that he does not believe any ball has ever been hit that he cannot catch. He doesn’t believe that broken bones should slow him or that walls should stop him. He has not been as gay or carefree since. the Giants left New York for San Francisco, yet basically, he is the same Willie. In small Seals Stadium, where the Giants first played after their transcontinental shift, Mays had little roaming room in center field. He adjusted. In Candlestick Park, where the Giants moved in 1960, the wind blows from left field to right, making it almost impossible for a righthanded batter such as Mays to pull pitches for home runs. Willie adjusted again. He changed his swing, punching balls into center, right center and right, and all year he was up with the league’s leading hitters.

“Wouldn’t this break your heart?” he said, the first day he realized the futility of trying to pit his power against the push of the Candlestick Park gales.

It sounded like Willie was discouraged, but he really wasn’t.

“The way I feel,” he said, “is that there are a lot of ways to win games. If I can go along and hit .300 and play defense, then I’m having a better year than if I hit .340. The club knows that. That’s why they

gave me the raise. The game’s more than hitting. They don’t pay me what I’m getting only because I’m a hitter.”

The last sentence of that quote is really the only way to gauge Mays in the fullest, to see him in his proper perspective against Aaron, Mathews, Mantle, Banks, Musial, Williams and DiMaggio of this era and the immortals of yesteryear. Willie can do everything that can be asked of the perfect ballplayer. Twenty years from now, when time will have lent enchantment to today’s heroes, basic facts will not be altered. They will have to say in the cold, brutal light of truth that Mathews was only ordinary in the field and Mantle too inconsistent. Banks did not steal bases, and Musial could not throw. Williams could not run, and his fielding was only adequate.

Only DiMaggio, when all the records are in, will honestly rate a mention in the same breath with Willie. And even Joe, although he had the speed, never was a base-stealer.

What applied in 1951 still applies a decade later. Mays can now be measured against the greatest. Superlatives, splurged recklessly on the sports pages, belong when they are used to describe Willie. He plays with superlative skills.

Leo Durocher once said of him:

“Willie is everything that everybody’s ever been, all rolled into one.”

Rogers Hornsby, one of baseball’s most demanding judges, disagreed.

“Can’t say anything yet,” Hornsby said. “Wait until the guy’s been around ten years and then we’ll see.”

Ten years have passed and people have seen. Willie, the experts agree, belongs with the greatest of all time. Before he is through, he may very well be the best.

EPILOGUE

Willie Mays would play another 10-plus seasons with the Giants before being traded to the New York Mets. He retired following the 1973 World Series, completing a career that 47 years later, respected baseball writer Joe Posnanski would honor by naming Mays No. 1 in his The Baseball 100 ranking of the greatest players of all time. Mays passed away in 2024, at age 93.

Legends of the Game

Farewell to

Embarrassed to see his career batting average drop below .300 in his toughest season, Mickey Mantle has come to grips with his own mortality. How long will the Ghost of Greatness linger?

BY DICK YOUNG

Itisn’t generally known that the Yankees exposed Mickey Mantle to the first two rounds of the expansion draft last October, then nervously pulled him back. It was a Gentlemen’s Agreement, but before the gentlemen could agree on anything, they wove a tangled web of intrigue, telegrams, long distance phone calls, pleas and pressures and promises.

Why the Yankees should have been nervous about losing Mickey Mantle, when they had a Gentleman’s Agreement, can best be explained by the fact that there is, in many circumstances, a time limit to gentlemanly conduct, and if the patience of a gentleman expires, there is no telling what he might do.

For instance, imagine you are Marvin Milkes, operations director of the new Seattle franchise, or you are Cedric Tallis, visavis for the new Kansas City franchise. You have just paid, or your angels have, $10 million for the right to select 30

ballplayers from the big league rosters. That’s six players from each club—three by Mr. Tallis, three by Mr. Milkes.

On the first go around, Jim Rooker, a little known pitcher, is picked from the Yankee list by Kansas City. (The Yankees, like all others, have been given the right to protect 15 names.) You could have picked Mickey Mantle, except that you have been made to understand that Mickey Mantle won’t play for you if you pick him, so why squander a top choice? You have been made to understand it pretty clearly. In fact, Mickey Mantle woke up in the middle of the night once, bolted upright from the nightmare of playing in a uniform without pinstripes, and immediately dispatched to the Yankees a wire saying that he hasn’t decided if he’ll play in 1969, but he certainly wouldn’t play for another club. Somehow or other the contents of Mickey Mantle’s wire happened to reach the ears of the Messrs. Tallis and Milkes.

FROM THE PAGES OF

1969

On the second go around, Effie Rodriguez, a reserve catcher, is picked from the Yankee list, and again Mr. Tallis and Mr. Milkes have stared at the list, and have seen the name of Mickey Mantle staring back at them, and for the second time they remembered their Gentleman’s Agreement, and the wire that Mickey Mantle had sent. On the third go around, the name of Mickey Mantle is no longer on the list. (According to the rules of the game, each club was permitted to withdraw three names between rounds.)

There never was any doubt in the operational mind of the Seattle ballclub that Mickey Mantle would not be chosen. Marvin Milkes had gone on record that he believed Mickey Mantle should live and die a Yankee.

“I want Mickey Mantle to come into Seattle twice with the Yankees next year,” he said, “and fill my ballpark.” Marvin Milkes could feel fairly sure of that, if he were to tap Mantle in the draft, he could feel sure of nothing. The Yankees were not nervous about Seattle during the draft.

Kansas City was another matter. Kansas City’s mood could make a man nervous. Cedric Tallis was irritated about a change in statutory dates that had made men in service, about to be discharged, ineligible for selection by the new clubs. The Yankees, in addition to protecting a 16th

player under The Mantle Agreement, were able to protect outstanding prospects like Jerry Kenney and Bobby Murcer, who were winding up their service hitches and would be out before the season started.

This annoyed Cedric Tallis. It annoyed him so much that the Yankees wondered how long he could look at the name of Mickey Mantle on the expansion list and turn away. They withdrew him before the third round.

Let your imagination run free for a time. Suppose Cedric Tallis had stood up in that room in Boston and had said: The

Kansas City ballclub selects the contract of Mickey Mantle from New York. Suppose Cedric Tallis had decided to offer Mantle a half million dollars? Would not Mantle have felt obliged to listen if Kansas City had said: Here is $100,000 to play ball in 1969, and here is $50,000 a year for the next eight years, and all you need do for those eight years is scout players for us at your home in Dallas. Any player who walks through your front door, you take down his name and call us. Would Mickey Mantle have played one year for Kansas City for a half million

dollars? It would have been worth every buck to Cedric Tallis. It would have guaranteed the instant success of the new franchise. And what is $500,000 more when you have just paid $10 million for the club? You just figure you’ve paid $10.5 for it.

Maybe Mickey Mantle would have gone for it. Or maybe Mickey Mantle would have said what he said to me over the phone one day last November: “I kinda don’t think I’ll play anymore. I just can’t hit anymore.”

Who can say? Mickey Mantle is a man

of moods. I have found most superstars to be that way. They daydream a lot. They are highly unpredictable. They are embarrassed by excessive attention, and they seek to escape it,

To the American sports public, Mickey Mantle was divided into two parts, a pre1961 Mantle, and a post1961 Mantle. Both parts are recognized as super performers. It is the personality that changes. Before 1961, Mantle was booed almost as often as he was cheered. Since then, Mantle has been cheered like few men in history, not just sports history,

but history. They cheered him in Boston, in Anaheim, in National League cities like Houston and St. Louis. They cheered him if he hit the ball or if he struck out. They cheered the very announcement of his name.

“Wherever he goes,” a baseball man said, “the Yankees are the home team. If our pitcher walks him, our pitcher is booed by our fans.”

The Mantle mystique can be explained only in bits and pieces. There is no one thing; there never is.

One large piece is Mickey Mantle’s guts,

his enormous courage. Another piece is the American thirst for a superstar in a time of creeping mediocrity, particularly in baseball. Then, there is Roger Maris, and that is the strangest thing of all.

In 1961, Roger Maris was in a homerun race with Mickey Mantle and Babe Ruth. Roger Maris won. He hit 61 to Mickey Mantle’s 54, and Babe Ruth’s 60. Babe Ruth had hit his sixty 34 years earlier, but to the people of Yankee Stadium he was in there swinging against Maris just as sure as Mickey Mantle was in there.

I’d have to say that the people were

rooting in this order: (1) Babe Ruth, (2) Mickey Mantle, (3) Roger Maris. When Roger Maris won, they never forgave him. They booed him. To some people, that was not enough. They booed Roger Maris and cheered Mickey Mantle. Remember when you were a kid and you wanted to hurt another kid, and you told him that you liked Joe more than you liked him? Same thing. It is not enough to have someone to boo. You must have someone to cheer. Never was the package so conveniently wrapped for the American sports fan. There, in the same ballpark, in the same lineup, invariably batting back to back, was the chance to boo and the chance to cheer.

Mickey Mantle recognized this. He recognized it as a rather negative way of being appreciated, and he wasn’t entirely happy about it, but he was willing to accept the cheers. They are nicer to hear than boos, no matter what the motivation.

Roger Maris also recognized this, and was willing to accept it. He wasn’t happy about it, either, but he would say, “If

that’s the way it is, okay. At least they finally appreciate what a great thing they have in Mickey.”

And so, since 1961, Mickey Mantle has been appreciated to the fullest. These have been the years of his decline, and of his acclaim, and that is the irony, the personal embarrassment.

“I don’t want them to cheer me out of sympathy,” said Mickey Mantle. He would take it as an anti-Maris syndrome but not out of sympathy. That is the one thing a proud man despises.

Mickey Mantle has the pride of the superstar. I rubbed that pride the wrong way once and almost got popped in the nose for it. Things like this happen. You’re exposed to guys day after day, write about them edition after edition, and sooner or later you say something that gets on somebody’s nerves. It can be a friend. It can be your wife. It happens.

It happened between Mickey and me a lot of years ago. I don’t remember the play, precisely, but it was something the Yankees had messed up; perhaps Mantle had

messed it up. Anyway, it required that I go to the Yankee clubhouse before writing. There is something about walking into a losing clubhouse, something you can smell. It is rancid. It is hushed, and angry, and you tiptoe in lest you make someone angrier. You, that newspaperman, are an intruder, poking your nose into their sadness. You have come to ask questions, gloating questions, impertinent questions, and to hell with you. Why don’t you get the freak out of here!

I opened the clubhouse door and headed toward Mantle. His Yankee Stadium locker was next to last, on the right side as you enter. Mickey, by then, was stripped to his underdrawers, which are the heavyweight, thighcovering type. He sat, hunched and unwinding, on a threelegged stool, and a punctured can of beer sat on another stool alongside.

Mantle saw me coming at him. He picked up the can of beer, picked up himself and walked around the far corner to the right. I followed in time to see him disappear into the trainer’s room.

The trainer’s room is where players lie down on long rubbing tables to have their aching muscles rubbed, or where they go to get an aspirin for any one of several reasons, or where they might have a vitamin compound induced into their blood stream the quick way, the hard way, the rear end way. The trainer’s room also is where ballplayers go to hide, for with many clubs it is off limits to newspapermen.

The Yankees have, or spasmodically have had, such a rule. I’m never quite sure when it is in effect. I went to follow Mick into the room and was told by the trainer that I couldn’t come in. That is his duty, and usually I ignore it because I feel a newspaperman also has a duty, and it is to ask a question when he has one to ask. Ordinarily, I would nod when told I couldn’t come in, and then would go on in and ask my question, and get the hell out. Theoretically, the no-newsmen-in-here rule is to prevent loitering in limited quarters, and, also theoretically, to hide the existence of injuries the club wishes to hide.

In reality, many players use the room to hide their entirety, when they wish to hide. That is what Mantle was doing this day. I did not go into the room. I don’t know why I did not. I think I can imagine why. In the back of my mind, I preferred it that way. It would give me a chance to

blast the baseball version of Hernando’s Hideaway. I was being nasty.

That day had been the last day of a Yankee home stand. When the column appeared, the Yankees were on the road, and I was not making the trip with them. It doesn’t matter, really. A man knows, when he writes for a paper like The New York News, that somebody is going to send Mickey Mantle a clipping. Ten clippings.

As I recall the piece, it deplored the tendency of some Yankees to pout when things go wrong, and to pick up their ball and run away to the trainer’s room, like little boys. It was suggested that they might go up and face the realities of a sometimes unpleasant world. It mentioned Mickey Mantle by name.

The Yankees came home some ten days later, and I went to the Stadium to see them play. It was early, and I went directly to the dugout. In the intervening ten days, I probably had been nasty about six other players and four other things. Mickey Mantle was not momentarily on my mind. Therefore, I was taken by surprise when I heard a voice nearby say:

“Do you think I’m a crybaby?”

I looked around. I didn’t have to. I knew who it was. I knew the voice, and when I looked around I knew the glinting blue eyes and the goodlooking face set grimly beneath the black Yankee cap.

“Well! Do you?”

Mantle’s left hand had me by the shirt, just below the tieknot. It was a loose grip, not the tight, buttonyanking type. I remember that, and I remember that it helped me feel relieved. His grip meant that his fuse, right now, was long.

“If you hit me, you are,” I said.

“I oughta punch you in the nose,” he said.

“I’ll concede you can beat me up,” I said, modestly.

“I oughta punch you in the nose,” he said again. If he thought he could bait me into saying, go ahead, try it, he was crazy.

“Look,” I said. “If you have something on your mind, let’s sit down and talk about it.”

“I got nothing to talk about with you,” he said. His left hand, the one holding me under the throat, gave a light shove, and let go. Mantle turned and walked away down the dugout. I turned and walked the other way. It seemed like the thing to do.

It wasn’t long afterward that I stopped

criticizing ballplayers. It wasn’t intimidation as much as the fact that New York newspapers went on strike. During this period of great frustration and mild hunger, somebody bought me dinner at Toots Shor’s.

Across the room, at the table of honor, sat Mickey Mantle with Frank Scott, the agent of athletes. I nodded and went back to eating. The next thing I knew, Frank Scott was settling into a chair at our table. “How’s things going?” said Frank Scott. “Okay,” I said bravely. “Guild benefits and all.”

“Does it look like the strike will end soon?”

“I don’t know. You hear rumors.”

“Look,” said Frank Scott. “Mickey just told me to let you know that if you can sell a magazine piece, he’d be glad to do it with you.”

Sometimes things gush through you, things that people say. You can feel it start in your stomach and rush right up to your adam’s apple, and maybe to your sinuses, and your eyes tear up.

“That’s nice of him,” I said. “Awful nice.”

Mickey Mantle is a very decent person. He has heart, to a fault. He is, almost paradoxically, very trusting and very shy. People take advantage of his trust. They drive him to seclusion. It is rarely that Mickey Mantle dines in public on a Yankee road trip. He can’t stand having people make a fuss over him. He’ll order room service more often than he’ll go out to a restaurant with the other players.

Mickey Mantle gives things away. He gave away his first World Series check. It was 1951, Yankees against Giants. It also was the year that Mickey Mantle stepped in a hole in rightcenter field, and for the first time that knee went pop.

Mickey Mantle was at home in Oklahoma, recuperating, when a big black limousine drove up and out stepped a man who obviously was very wealthy. He came in and said he was very proud of Mickey Mantle; that all of Oklahoma was very proud of Mickey Mantle, and just to show it he was going to give Mickey Mantle a chance to become as wealthy as he was. He was going to let Mickey Mantle in on the ground floor of the newly formed Will Rogers Insurance Company.

By a strange coincidence, the Mantles had recently received the full share for the

1951 World Series in the mail. The check was made out for $6,446.09. It was the second smallest winning share in the past 18 years, but to Mickey Mantle it was all the money in the world, and he had kept the check around the house just to look at, rather than deposit it in the bank.

Good thing, too, because now he could just endorse it over to the nice man, and save time.

“I don’t know,” said Merlyn Mantle, apprehensively.

“Don’t worry, honey,” said Mickey Mantle. “I know what I’m doing.”

He turned over the check and signed it, and the nice man handed him a beautifully engraved stock certificate, and the nice man got into the big black limousine and drove off into the wideness of Oklahoma, and that was the last time Mickey Mantle ever saw him or the $6,446.09.

Other times, Mickey Mantle gives it away and realizes it. A while back, cancer killed Fritz Brickell, a smallish shortstop who had never quite made it with the Yankees. Medical bills come high before a man dies of cancer, and there wasn’t much there at the end for the widowed mother of Fritz Brickell. Some friends decided that an exhibition ballgame at Joplin, Missouri, might help. There was Jerry Lumpe, and Whitey Herzog, and Bob Weisler and Norm Siebern, all former Yankees. That didn’t figure to create a stampede for tickets, even in Joplin, Missouri.

Maybe we can try to get Mickey, they said. They tried, and they did, and they raised several thousand dollars, and it all went to Fritz Brickell’s mother.

Being a star ballplayer doesn’t guarantee a man’s adulation by his teammates. They see him as he is. They see him stripped of his uniform and of his glamour, and no man can hide from those eyes. Yet it is there that Mickey Mantle has been the greatest. Some stars are envied, some tolerated, some despised. Mickey Mantle has been worshipped. By his mere presence he leads them, and that is where the biggest void will be for the Yankees. Long after the legs and the reflexes are gone, the inspirational leadership remains.

“Mickey never really changed from the day he joined the Yankees,” says Jerry Coleman. “It showed mostly in the locker room. It is hard to be untouched by great fame, but Mickey never did come on strong.”

Jerry Coleman played with Mickey Mantle in the Fifties. One season, they were roomies. “He was the most courteous roommate I ever had,” says Jerry Coleman, “and I roomed with a lot of stars. They’d come into the room while you’re asleep, turn all the lights on, flush the john, slam the closet door. Mickey, he’d tiptoe around. If you were the late one in, and the bags had arrived in the hotel lobby earlier, he’d see that your bag got to the room. On getaway day, if you happened to be detained somewhere and it was time to get the bags down, he’d pack yours for you, and see that it got to the station.”

That, says Jerry Coleman, is one of the reasons the players feel close to him. “Even the rookies,” says Coleman. “They come into the clubhouse awed, and quickly they’re his friends. He puts them at ease.”

The intention is not to beatify Mickey Mantle. A man is a man, with all the foibles. Some are just better than others.

This is how a man evaluates a man, with full awareness of his faults.

“He could be a pain in the butt, too,” says Jerry Coleman. “He has fantastic moods. But you have to concede those to him.”

Amateur psychiatrists, of which the newspaper business is overloaded, attribute Mantle’s negative moods to a selfdestruction complex. That, in turn, they attribute to Mickey Mantle’s awareness that his father died at age 41, and an uncle died in his 30s, and Mickey Mantle developed the strange notion that he might be doomed, and that he had better hurry or he might miss something in life.

Now that he is 37, and reasonably healthy, it has occurred to Mickey Mantle that he might have a full and rewarding life ahead. He is reacting as most maturing men react, especially those whose business had forced long and repeated absences from the family. He speaks more and more of his children, and of how they are growing up, and pretty soon their childhood will be gone and he will have missed it. This, as much as the declining batting average, has made Mickey Mantle reluctant to prolong his playing career for even one year; has made him resistant to the cajolery of Yankee executives who want him to come back for that inevitable one more year.

“Mickey would see his kids’ faces in a crowd of others,” says Whitey Ford, who

knows him best of all. “We’d be leaving the ballpark to get on the team bus, and there’d be a whole crowd waiting for his autograph. People don’t understand that he couldn’t stop and sign hundreds, or we’d all blow the plane, and if he signs one or two that wouldn’t be right. So he’d brush by, and when we’re on the bus he’d say to me, ‘Hey, did you see that kid out there who looked just like David? I wish I could have signed it for him.’ ”

Few people draw crowds like Mickey Mantle draws crowds. He is the dwindling breed, the Superstar. That is why the Yankees pressured Mickey Mantle into contradicting his winter time statement, an honest statement, that he did not believe he would play anymore.

I do not know, as this is written, which way Mickey Mantle will go. I do know what he has said; he has said he can’t hit any more, and that is so. He has said his reflexes are shot. It would be shameful for the Yankees to talk such a man, such a great man, into making a pitiable fool of himself. It would be Joe Louis shoved back into the ring to take one last beating, just so someone could make a payday. I do not believe Mickey Mantle is the one who needs the payday, not that badly.

Nor do I believe the Yankees really need Mickey Mantle that badly, not on the field. They did when they were finishing tenth. Then, they had nothing else to sell but Mickey Mantle. But they boomed to fifth place last season, with a fleeting, exhilarating late look at third. They showed they have something to build on, and the sooner the building takes place, the better for all concerned. Including Mickey Mantle, the Ghost of Greatness.

EPILOGUE

Mickey Mantle officially hung up his cleats on March 1, 1969. He struggled in retirement, eventually, like Willie Mays before him, accepting a promotional gig with a casino. Both players were banned from baseball as a result by commissioner Bowie Kuhn, but were later reinstated by Kuhn’s successor, Peter Ueberroth, who declared, “I am bringing back two players who are more a part of baseball than perhaps anyone else.” Mantle passed away of liver cancer in 1995, at age 63.

ILLUSTRATION

BY J. GEORGE JANES