In February of 1968, as a turbulent decade drew to a close, Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel withdrew to Columbia Record's New York studio and recorded one of their most enduring songs. "Mrs. Robinson" became an anthem of an American generation who mourned the loss of their innocence and the passing of their heroes. The song's most memorable lyric longs for the days when baseball legend Joe DiMaggio, "The Yankee Clipper," was dependably anchored in centerfield: Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio?
A nation turns its lonely eyes to you.
What's that you say, Mrs. Robinson,
"Joltin' Joe has left and gone away." The familiar, mournful refrain touches a place deep within my spirit. I concede that I have less attachment to the modern iteration of Major League Baseball; my passion is for the game itself and its storied history. Gone are the heroes, the Dimaggios, their mythical exploits preserved in the flickering, grainy images of newsreels; replaced by celebrities, their feats and flaws the grist of round-the-clock media coverage. Rare is the ethic of character; replaced by the cult of personality. And yet, from time to time--in baseball as in life--the spirit of the Yankee Clipper emerges from the shadows and we witness qualities of the heroic: self-sacrifice and endurance; grace and pluck. How would you describe the difference between heroes and celebrities? Who are the "Joe Dimaggios" in your life, then and now? Recall a time in your life when you responded heroically. Who would you need to be, what would you need to do, to routinely call forth the heroic in yourself--rather than depend on the call of circumstance? | 
