The Stuff of Legends

Legend is rare. Legend is few and far between. Legend is unseen, and unseeable.

Legend is the "Called Shot" -- game three of the 1932 World Series at Wrigley Field when, according to legend, Babe Ruth took a 2-2 changeup over the center-field fence after pointing in the direction of pitcher Charlie Root.

Legend has no instant replay. Legend has not telestrator. Legend has no HDTV.

Legend is not Michael Jordan. Legend is not Joe Montana. Legend is not Wayne Gretzky. Legend is not Mark McGwire.

Legend is something different. Legend is when nobody you know saw something, but everyone you know knows what happened. Legend is when you tell your grandkids the story, and they have no way to prove you wrong. Legend is more than greatness, more than super-stardom, more than hall-of-famer.

But some people don't get this. They think just because a guy dropped 40 a game for two weeks, he's a legend. They think just because a guy showed up to work every day of his career, he's a legend. They think just because a guy can drill free-kicks like some kind of free-kick-drilling machine, he's a legend.

Those guys are not the stuff of legends. They've had every second of their lives recorded in both stereo and surround sound. Anybody with KaZaA and no fear of litigation can watch every Magic no-look pass, every Agassi tweener, and every Tiger 60-foot put in slow-mo and bullet-time.

There's not mystique, there's no "Well I heard he did...," there's no legend.

Somebody should explain this to Newsday, which on Feb. 26, attempted a play on words in it's coverage of former Red Wings coach Scotty Bowman's visit to Yankees spring training. "A legend at Legends [Field]," the headline read.

The Phillies are having a legendary spring training as well, with former greats returning to give current players tips. "Mike Schmidt was a true living legend Monday," the Allentown, PA Morning Call said on Feb. 24.

The Mets are also getting into the action. The Feb. 24 New York Times reported from spring training: "'We don't communicate with our words,' said Leon Lee, a Mets minor league manager and a Japanese baseball legend. 'We communicate with our heart.'"

There isn't a better example of false legendism than Barry Bonds. "The legend of Barry Bonds is supposed to be growing with every baseball he deposits into the outfield seats or splashes into McCovey Cove," the Feb. 20 Albany Times Union read.

Describing an upcoming Pete Rose book signing, the Feb. 5 Denver Westword called Charlie Hustle an "exiled baseball legend."

Last Oct. 25, the Florida Times-Union called Bobby Bowden and Joe Paterno legends.

After last season's ALCS, the Oct. 17 Los Angeles Times wrote of 11th-inning hero Aaron Boone: "His name will live in infamy in Boston, in glorious legend in New York. He will be cursed at Fenway Park, toasted at Yankee Stadium."

Before game seven, the Oct. 16 Boston Herald described the rivalry between Pedro Martinez and Roger Clemens as an "overly incestuous relationship between two legends."

Of the acquisition of David Ortiz, the Boston Globe last Sept. 12 wrote, "Soon it will be the stuff of urban legend."

Last Sept. 7th's San Francisco Chronicle described the Reds' Wily Mo Pea, who hit two home runs in consecutive days, as "already the stuff of legends."

In an interview on Jim Rome's radio show a couple of years ago, Bob Costas went on for about half an hour about why Michael Jordan isn't a legend. A future hall-of-famer, an impeccable leader, a fierce competitor, maybe the greatest athlete the sport has ever known.

But not a legend.

And seriously, if there is anyone in professional sports who is most certainly not "the stuff of legends," it's Wily Mo Pea.