I GREW UP ROOTING FOR WILLIE MAYS.
At one point in my childhood, I thought we might become neighbors. The Brinings, the elderly couple next door to us in the New Jersey suburb where I lived, put their house on the market. I’d read that Willie Mays and his wife were looking for a new home. The Brinings’ place was a perfectly nice brick house with a screened front porch and a wooden two-car garage. The garage was overgrown with vines and part of it was rotten, but I was sure that if Willie Mays bought the place, he and I could fix that.