Evanson: Willie Mays was a true great, in a world of faux champions

Say hey, have you heard of Willie Mays?

If you’re a fan of baseball you have. If you’re not, you still might. And if you haven’t and are a fan of sport, you should, for the former New York and San Francisco Giant was to his game what anyone has likely ever been to theirs. Which is why in the wake of his death this past week, discussions comparing him to players like Barry Bonds seem like a disservice to the man that did things the way they were meant to be done.

If that sounds like a knock on Bonds — it is. While his talent could never be denied, neither could how he went about his business during an era when the gray area between right and wrong became as dark as charcoal.

While the de facto home run king’s numbers can not be disputed, the means by which he tallied them can’t either.

True, he never failed an official drug test, but if you believe the adage that “where there’s smoke, there’s fire,” Bonds is as guilty as OJ Simpson who too managed to stay at arm’s length from the law that knew better.

But while I could do the “Bonds thing” until the cows come home, I’d instead like to speak to his godfather — Mays.

That’s right, Willie Mays was Barry Bond’s godfather, which came to be as the result of his relationship with Bond’s father and Mays' teammate, Bobby Bonds. But while notable to today’s fan, to fans of yesteryear it’d be nothing more than a blip on the radar compared to what the now deceased great accomplished on the field.

Despite spending much of his career coping with the embarrassing behavior tied to the times, specifically blatant racism and institutional segregation, along with having his career briefly interrupted by a roughly year-long stint in the Army after being drafted following his rookie season in 1951, Mays batted .301 for his career, tallied 660 home runs which still ranks him sixth all-time, won two National League MVPs, and was a 24-time MLB All Star.

He also was the NL Rookie of the Year in 1951, was a 12-time Gold Glove winner, and won a World Series with the Giants in 1954.

Sound good? Well, it isn’t, it’s great. And that’s what Mays was then, and should be remembered as going forward by people like myself who didn’t get to see him play.

We live in a time defined by the immediate. Never before have we wanted things faster, and as a result, we’re quick to anoint.

A great game, a great play, a great comeback, and especially great players are frequently bandied about as the greatest of all-time as quickly as someone can get to Twitter, Instagram, Facebook or any other form of social media to hurl their hot take. But while faux greats can exist, endorsed and be argued for or against in the Twittersphere, real ones like Mays and the resume he built on the diamond are inarguable in the world beyond likes, memes and key strokes.

Since his passing, a debate has begun regarding who is now the greatest living baseball player. Some still say Bonds, I’d argue Ken Griffey Jr., maybe Albert Pujols, or even former Dodger great Sandy Koufax. But while you can spend countless hours, days or weeks arguing who is, prior to last week there was no argument as to who was. And while Mays is now gone, it’s our job to make sure he’s not forgotten in a world that so easily forgets.

So, if you’re familiar with Mays and his accomplishments on the field, toast the man and player.

If you’re not, do some research.

And if you’re discussing the greats of all-time, be sure to mention Willie Howard Mays Jr. because he was a truly great baseball player — indisputably.