The Whole Thing in One Player

Johnny Callison did not even have his own bat in New York that afternoon. The Phillies failed to get his equipment to Shea Stadium in time, so he borrowed a lighter model from Billy Williams to catch up to Dick Radatz's fastball. Two on, two out, bottom of the ninth. He turned on a high heater and drove it into the right-field seats. The National League won, and a reserve outfielder who wasn't supposed to play walked off as the game's MVP.

The home run is what most people remember. But the arm was the truer signature of Callison's game. He led the National League in outfield assists four straight years. Right fielders around the league learned not to test him, and the ones who did usually ended up thrown out somewhere they should have stopped short of. Put Clay Dalrymple behind the plate, a catcher who erased nearly half the runners who dared to go on him, and a play at the plate at Connie Mack Stadium was rarely a fair fight.

1964 was supposed to be Philadelphia's year. Callison finished second in the MVP race, the Phillies led the league deep into September, and then came the collapse the city still names in a single word. But before the fold there was a summer of belief, and at the center of it was a left-handed hitter with a right fielder's cannon. For the kids watching that season, he was the whole thing in one player. Six decades later, that kind of memory doesn't fade.