Willie Howard Mays’ died at the age of 93. There’s a story about Willie.

The Say Hey Kid’s first season in the bigs was shaping up to be an awful one. He’d gotten no hits. He was a rookie with the worst record in the league. Period. After 26 plate appearances he’d hit the ball only once.

Once.

Mays’ batting average was hovering above zero.

One day, after a crushing defeat, young Willie marched off to the showers and cried. He was ready to quit the game. That’s what he told his manager. Too much pressure. Too many expectations. You could almost hear the proverbial fat lady warming up.

His manager found him crying, face in hands. Willie begged the manager to send him back down.

“It’s too hard,” Willie cried. “I don’t belong in the majors, send me back to the minors.”

But the manager refused. The skipper used all the clichéd inspirational coaching phrases. “There ain’t no I in team.” “Can’t never could.” “Life’s a sewer, you get out what you put in.”

But the pep-talk wasn’t working. So the manager gave Willie some practical advice. The words just came out of the old man’s mouth.

“You’ll get two hits tomorrow, Willie. If you’ll just pull up your pants.”