Only One Real Hero

I grew up in an era when baseball seemed larger than life. The Yankees fascinated me because the names and attainments were legendary. Of course as a Washington Senators fan, I enjoyed the similarities between the teams. While the Yankees put great players at every position, the Senators had players at every position.
I am thankful for the opportunity I had to see the great players of visiting teams when opportunity arose to see a game. My favorite baseball memories were twi-night double headers. Two games, one glorious evening.
Like most boys born after WWII with an interest in sports, Mickey Mantle's feats stood out. He was an incredible player who hit with incredible natural power. Consider just two (of many examples - this is from Wiki but Mantle himself describes these shots in various places): On May 22, 1963, against Kansas City's Bill Fischer, Mantle hit a ball that fellow players and fans claimed was still rising when it hit the 110-foot (34 m) high facade, then caromed back onto the playing field. It was later estimated by some that the ball could have traveled 620 feet (190 m) had it not been blocked by the ornate and distinctive facade. While physicists might question those estimates, on August 12, 1964, he hit one whose distance was undoubted: a center field drive that cleared the 22-foot (6.7 m) batter's eye screen, beyond the 461-foot (141 m) marker at the Stadium.

I saw him play once or twice, along with those famous Yankees - Roger Maris, Elston Howard, Bobby Richardson, Whitey Ford, etc. I also saw them through images in my mind formed from daydreams fed by Topps baseball cards and the AM radio broadcasts and the World Series games. They were hero images. Great players. Great guys. Guys who liked kids and were nice.

They were false images. Bobby Richarsdson, the World Series MVP second baseman for those teams, was perhaps the only stable force in that world of men who lived on the edge and with little restraint. He firmly held his Christian beliefs in a clubhouse where he earned the nickname "the milk drinker." I understand he considered preaching as an alternative to ballplaying if it had not worked out.
Mantle's story is widely known. Richardson sowed gospel seed even in the face of the unresponsiveness of his friend. Mantle's lifestyle and maybe his family history, took their toll and he wore down as he aged. He began to rethink his ways and his influence on kids. He saw Pat Summerall, a NY Giants football player, turn his life around.

Shortly before his death in the summer of 1995, Mickey Mantle telephoned Richardson at 5 o’clock one morning and asked him to visit him at his hospital room in Dallas.

Richardson boarded the first plane for Dallas that he could find and when he arrived at Mantle’s hospital room, a smiling Mantle said, "Bobby, I want to tell you I’ve trusted Jesus as my Savior."

Richardson had tried for years to get Mantle to listen to the Gospel message. He was delighted to hear the good news, but was not willing to throw caution to the wind. "Let be sure, Mickey," he said, as he pulled out his Bible and went over the Plan of Salvation.

"In the end, Mickey quoted John 3:16," Richardson remembered. "He had a real peace, and said he was ready to go."