THE CHEAP SEATS with STEVE CAMERON: Mays was the best player I've ever seen, no question

Willie Mays was not my favorite ballplayer.

Well, not No. 1.

That probably sounds strange, considering that I grew up in a suburb of San Francisco and was a wild-eyed Giants fan.

Oh, there was no question that Willie was the best player I ever saw — or anyone ever saw.

He played the game with skill and joy, like a child running around in a neighborhood park.

And yet he also mastered baseball like an artist, making you wonder if some of his most breathtaking moments perhaps should be displayed in the Louvre.

So, why wasn’t he my favorite Giant?

Maybe he made the sport I loved (and played) seem too easy.

Nah.

The player that got me hooked from the day he broke in, going 4-for-4 with two triples against Hall of Famer Robin Roberts, was Willie McCovey.

If pushed for a No. 2, I might have said Orlando Cepeda.

McCovey, though, fascinated me with his sheer, terrifying, whiplash power.

A journeyman reliever named Frank Funk once told me that Willie Mac hit a bullet back at him with such force that he never saw the ball.

“It stuck in my glove,” Frank said, “right above my heart.

“I think of Willie and tap my heart every night.”

McCOVEY hit plenty of balls so hard that the result was hard to fathom.

For instance, on a night my dad took me to Candlestick Park, Willie smashed a line drive that hit the glove of Pirates second baseman Bill Mazeroski, then whistled through the night for a nanosecond — eventually crashing into some empty bleachers beyond the right-field fence.

That collision was so violent that the ball ricocheted back almost to the infield.

I remember seeing Maz look at his glove, as though something from another galaxy had nearly broken his arm.

I’m telling you these little stories about McCovey because they lead to the most stunning event of my life as a Giants fan — and this one was SO much about Willie Mays.

McCovey played a hell of a part as well, though.

I don’t want this to be a long column today, so I’ll just recall one strange afternoon and sign off.

Hundreds, thousands of people have offered recollections of Mays by now, in the week of his death at age 93.

There is so little I can add, since I didn’t know Willie personally, and only met him long after his playing career.

But, before I go and wave good-bye to the “Say Hey Kid,” I do want to finish this tale.

In case you didn’t know, the 1962 World Series ended when McCovey hit a screamer into the glove of Yankees second baseman Bobby Richardson.

That play, with two on and two out in the ninth, handed the Yanks a 1-0, seventh-game victory.

Years later, I was sitting in a San Francisco saloon and somehow that Series finish came up.

A GUY sitting next to me, who said he was from Detroit, joined the conversation.

He brought up the last moments of that game, and said: “Even if McCovey’s ball got through, it only would have tied the game.

“The run (Matty Alou) would have scored from third, but Mays couldn’t have scored from second because (Roger) Maris in right field would have gotten to that ball instantly.”

I laughed.

Loudly, outrageously.

The kind of laugh that might wind up a guy to the point that he hits you with a beer pitcher.

Finally, I shouted: “Wait!

“You’re telling me that in the bottom of the ninth inning, in the seventh game of the World Series, Willie Mays wasn’t going to score from second on a single to win it all.

“Hahahahahahaha!!”

The guy from Detroit got all huffy and eventually stormed off (instead of hitting me with the beer pitcher), and I was left shaking my head.

I didn’t care how hard Willie Mac hit that ball, or how quickly Maris could get to it, or how strong a throw he might let loose.

Willie Mays would have scored.

Easily.

I don’t know everything about baseball, but I do know that.

And there you have MY send-off to the best player of all time.

I could have gotten punched out in a pub — by some bozo who just didn’t know Willie Mays.

Not. At. All.

Email: scameron@cdapress.com

Steve Cameron’s “Cheap Seats” columns appear in The Press four times each week, normally Tuesday through Friday unless, you know, stuff happens.

Steve suggests you take his opinions in the spirit of a Jimmy Buffett song: “Breathe In, Breathe Out, Move On.”