His voice was powerful and direct, kind of like the voice of God. In some ways, he was a god. A hitting god named Ted Williams calling my cellphone, as stunning and as welcome a call as I’ve ever received.
Flash back to spring training in late March 1999, where I was methodically getting ready for another day with the Yankees. Each spring, I would sweat and stew and take hundreds of swings as I searched for a swing that I could confidently carry into the season. But, on this day in Tampa, I was ornery and sluggish because I was about 4 for my last 34. I wasn’t balanced. I wasn’t driving the ball. I was fighting the flu and I was miserable. And then my phone rang.
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