SCOTTSDALE, Ariz. — Some day, in the future, it will probably be Buster Posey or Madison Bumgarner sitting at a table during spring training, eyesight nearly gone, an assistant bringing food, talking about the old days. And a far-off generation of sports writers will shyly pay their respects to the players they worshipped as children.
(Yes. I firmly believe that baseball, spring training and sports writers will still exist, many decades into the future.)
But for now, for me, it’s Willie Mays sitting in the Giants clubhouse in Scottsdale. Cracking jokes. Scolding youngsters. The greatest living ballplayer.