MISSING BASEBALL #7

 I cheated a little. My last "Missing Baseball" entry was the seventh. But I titled it simply "Missing (Minor League) Baseball."

Why? Because there is only one #7.

In high school, my younger daughter had a class with a teacher/coach. The emphasis was on the latter.

It was test day and he was winging it with an oral exam.

"Question number six," he called out. "Number six, ...like Mickey Mantle," he added in passing.

The hand of a tall blonde girl shot into the air.

"Yes, Abigail?"

"Coach _____, Mickey Mantle was number seven."

"Uh, um, that's right. But how did you know?

"My daddy raised me right."

I don't care what she scored on the exam. Parental pride was at a peak.

Mantle played in the first and defining chapter of my baseball fan life. I never saw him play in person.

His grainy image appeared on TV — thanks to the popularity of the Yankees on NBC Game of the Week (the only televised game during each week). I strained at the flickering black and white images to get a better view of his strength and grace.

I read about him in newspapers and magazines — and on the backs of baseball cards — more than I saw him on TV. I stood with my brothers and rare patience in a long line to meet him and get an autograph when he opened the short-lived Mickey Mantle Men's Store in Chattanooga.

And, as a teen, I stared in wonder when he made a pregame appearance near the pitcher's mound in old Atlanta Stadium with Mays and Aaron on each side.

It's an image I later found signed and framed. And placed it on the wall of my baseball-laden home study.

Eulogizing Mantle in 1995, Bob Costas noted the Oklahoma Kid had come to grips with the distinction between a role model and hero. "The first he often was not," said Costas. "The second he always will be."

It was Mantle's boyish quality that added to his appeal. Biographer Jane Leavy picked up on that by titling her 2010 book: The Last Boy: Mickey Mantle and the End of America's Childhood.

Although the baseball spotlight was inescapable for Mantle, he understood and appreciated that baseball is a team sport.

"Mantle didn't want to stick out, but he did; he didn't want to be treated as special, but he was," Leavy writes. "He didn't want to be the center of attention, but he was the center fielder for the most visible sports franchise in the world."

I miss Mick. And I sure miss baseball in 2020.