Just saw the HBO documentary on Mantle. It's a must watch for all Mantle-generation baseball fans. Everyone knows the story; there's nothing new, just a tender retelling of Mantle's tale.
I saw Mickey play. My first trip to Tiger Stadium was a Sunday doubleheader versus The Mighty Mighty Yankees. I was with my dad and my cousin Tony. The Tigs swept the Yankees 12-2 in the first game with Frank Lary beating Whitey Ford and 3-2 in the nightcap which featured bench-clearing brawl when Ray Boone took exception to a spikes-up slide into second by Gil McDougal.
My hightlight: We were sitting in the upper deck behind first base. I was using my cousin's binoculars to scope out Mickey, who was kneeling in the Yankee's first-base side on-deck circle. Mick was peering into the stands, no doubt scanning the seats for someone hot, when through the magic of binoculars our eyes met. While our eyes never met, for me they did. I rose from my seat, binoculars glued to my face, stood and waved. Mickey smiled not for me not at me but I didn't know that. I stood transfixed until my dad gently guided me back into my seat. I told him what happened and he smiled and nodded. He knew what happened. I was Tiger fan not a Yankee fan. He was the Mick. He transcended team loyalties.
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