There is no hypothetical contemporary parallel for Mays returning to New York in 1972. If the Angels announced they were leaving Southern California in 2020; if hundreds of thousands if not millions of Angels fans were left with an inescapable void; if Trout built on his legend for the let's say San Antonio Angels for at least another decade and was universally considered one of the handful of best not to mention most beloved players ever; and then, in the early 2030s, if an American League team in Southern California that eventually replaced the Angels came along and arranged to have legendary Mike Trout come back to fill the void that had remained for so long...then maybe you'd have something sort of close. But not that close. Willie Mays was a cultural icon beyond Trout or any player who plays today. His significance was established in the 1950s, in New York, when New York had three ballclubs, a lost era by 1972, when all you had were yellowing newspaper and magazine clippings and some black and white footage that couldn't be called up on a whim. The symbolism of New York recouping him -- Mrs. Payson making it her mission since 1962 to have him back -- was irresistible to anybody who remembered pre-1958 New York or anybody who was raised on those stories. Baseball was a far bigger deal in 1957 than it was in 1972 and this was a welcome reminder of what it all meant. Baseball was a far bigger deal in 1972 than it is now. Parochialism held more sway, because to not have your favorite player locally meant barely seeing him at all. There was no MLB TV, et al. Willie maintained a high profile because he was Willie, but other than All-Star Games, occasional Game of the Week appearances and, between 1962 and 1971, series against the Mets, you simply weren't seeing him outside of commercials and magazine covers. To have him again, in New York, on the National League team that wore the same NY on its cap was mindblowing, especially in the pre-free agent age. The way he returned -- with the home run to beat the Giants in New York -- made the whole thing transcendent. And Willie remained a lot of people's favorite player. There are people who stayed Giants fans because of Willie, at least until May of 1972 and they became Mets fans to stay. This was also in the era when the absolute greats were applauded when they showed up as visitors. You wanted the Mets to beat the Giants when Willie was a Giant, but Willie drew applause even if he did something that might have wound up helping the Giants beat the Mets. Maybe especially if he did something great because the appreciation for what Willie did never fully faded. It was a different time, for sure, with a backstory all its own. In the great sweep of franchise history, perhaps it can only be viewed as sui generis, though I don't believe you had to be there. You just have to be willing to understand that there was a world before you were a part of it and follow its trail toward the world you know. The magazine cover with the old man scratching his head captures that one-of-a-kind moment. What it lacks in artistry it makes up for in evocation, just as Casey Stengel on the cover of Sports Illustrated evokes the beginning of a wild ride we are still on today, not just some washed-up manager who is about to steer a wretched collection of castoffs to the worst record of modern times. One didn't have to be around in March of 1962 to appreciate today what that club, that manager and that cover communicate still. As for the 1986 cover, a better picture would probably make this segment of the competition moot.