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The real heroes Remembering what we really wanted to be
The boyhood dream that most of us forgot is that we wanted to be firemen before we ever wanted to be the center fielder for the New York Yankees. The big red trucks, the sirens, the bells, the boots and helmets and raincoats, the hoses and ladders and the sure hands in the face of danger all attracted us first. Where did you want to work when you grew up? Engine Company Number 6, around the corner, right next to Jimmy Maturo's shoe repair shop, looked like the absolute place to be. It was only a little later, when we began to pay attention to bubble gum cards and television and money and headlines that Yankee Stadium or Three Rivers Stadium or Legion Field in Birmingham, Ala., became the desired locations. Greatness was accompanied by the sound of a bat hitting a baseball, the oomph of shoulder pads driven into a midsection, the standing ovation at the completion of the slightest move. Heroes were people who told us what soft drink or breakfast cereal should be in our kitchen, what shoes should be on our feet. Be like Mike. Yeah, we all wanted to be like Mike. Or Mick or Willie. Or Wayne (The Great One) Gretzky. There was nothing sinister or wrong about it. Our eyes and minds just followed the circus show, captured by the flamboyance of the sword swallowers and the lion tamers. We just forgot. That's all. We forgot what came first. And now we remember. Leigh Montville appears regularly on CNN/Sports Illustrated. The opinions expressed here are solely those of the writer.
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