THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Monday, August 14, 1995 TAG: 9508140263
SECTION: SPORTS PAGE: C1 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Column
SOURCE: Bob Molinaro
LENGTH: Medium: 84 lines
Mickey Mantle died too young at 63. Even so, he outlived Babe Ruth, also a cancer victim, by 10 years.
Lou Gehrig, the Iron Horse, was dead at 38 from a disease that carries his name.
Yankee greatness seems to come at a steep price.
Joe DiMaggio, still going strong at 80, is the notable exception.
But even Billy Martin, not a great Yankee, but a celebrated one, died before his time.
Perhaps living as a famous Yankee carries with it the curse of a poignant death.
The memory some will have of Mantle is of a man who spent his dying days apologizing for the way he lived.
The drinking short-circuited his baseball career, but it wasn't until it began to threaten his life that Mantle seemed to see the light.
He apologized to fans who bore the brunt of his meanness. That was the booze talking, he said.
He lamented the home runs lost in the bottom of the bottle, and admitted that there were whole chapters of his baseball career that he didn't remember.
His public confessions would have been unbearably pathetic if it weren't for Mantle's good humor.
At a press conference a month after his liver transplant, he saw Barry Halper, the great collector of sports memorabilia, a man who owns Ty Cobb's dentures.
``Barry,'' Mantle asked, ``did you buy my liver?''
Mantle's final few public moments made him seem almost heroic. People questioned whether a man who lived the drinking life deserved to be put at the top of the liver transplant list.
But the criticism softened when it was revealed that the publicity from Mantle's case had created tremendous national interest in the donor program.
It was the equivalent of another tape-measure home run.
The mammoth blows mixed in with the many strikeouts are what characterized Mantle's swing-from-the-heels playing style.
It is probably impossible for someone who was not around when Mantle ruled baseball to appreciate the impact The Mick had on the '50s and '60s.
Whereas some look at Mantle's legacy and see a sad drunk, there are middle-aged men today who grow weak in the knees recalling his youthful exploits.
Stories are told of wives hiring Mantle to make a guest appearance at their husbands' 40th or 50th birthday parties. When Mantle would enter, men were known to cry.
DiMaggio commands almost reverential treatment from people who value his elegance and dignity.
But the Mickey Mantle who arrived in New York in the early '50s touched something in fans even DiMaggio could not.
The Mantle myth was built around his plowboy arms and his combination of brute power and scarred, fragile knees.
His awesome talent constantly did battle with his flaws. Throw in a father who died at 39, and you have the story of a star-crossed hero.
Maybe it had something to do with Mantle's being the TV generation's first superstar at a time when the Yankees ruled the sports world. Whatever it was about Mantle, his career and life turned out to mean so much to so many. Of anyone who ever played the game, perhaps only Ruth has burrowed deeper into America's psyche.
What he was. What he could have been. This is the way we will remember Mickey Mantle. MEMO: Write Bob Molinaro at 150 W. Brambleton Ave., Norfolk 23510; phone him
at 446-2373 or fax him at 533-9004.
ILLUSTRATION: MICKEY CHARLES MANTLE
Oct. 20, 1931 - Aug. 13, 1995
Photos
BASEBALL HALL OF FAME
ASSOCIATED PRESS FILE
ASSOCIATED PRESS
by CNB