He was larger than life on a ball
field and, as it turned out, larger than death when he touched a nation's
heart in the face of his fatal illness.
This was Mickey Mantle, described
by many as the last great player on baseball's last great team, the New
York Yankees of the 1950s and early 1960s. He was cheered, and
imitated, and loved in a way that no player may be again - a country kid
out of Oklahoma, who began his career with good legs and made it to the
Hall of Fame on two gimpy ones.
Had he stayed healthy, there's no
telling what level of baseball greatness he could have achieved. As
it was, he hit 536 home runs, set records, won games with a dramatic
flair, and became a legend. Mantle and the Yankees went to the World
Series in twelve of his first fourteen seasons, a feat that isn't likely
to be repeated.
This is a unique and poignant
look at the fellow who wore Number 7 on his broad back, who was a symbol
of a generation when Yankee pinstripes seemed to be woven with
magical thread.
In a series of vignettes and
anecdotes that are touching and funny and genuine is a portrait of Mickey
Mantle that captures the two sides of him - the hero who was human, the
icon with a touch of Peck's Bad Boy.
Here is Mantle confronting his
drinking problem, a quarter century after his retirement from baseball,
stunned by the realization that his four sons had become his drinking
buddies. And here is Mantle, brave and open, cracking jokes in a
Dallas hospital after the controversy over an eleventh-hour liver
transplant, and learning that the surgery had been in vain. Cancer
had overtaken his body.
Mantle had made public his
battles with alcohol and his decision to seek treatment, the beginning of
a new and hopeful life. Sadly, he would have less than eighteen
months to revel in it. But as his hours played out, his family and
his fans bacame part of a national love story.