After Ted Williams passed away, someone asked me if Willie Mays was the greatest living player now that both Williams and Joe DiMaggio were gone. I was almost insulted by the question, as I have been for years. My answer? Mays has always been the greatest living player -- even when Williams and DiMaggio were alive.

The media voted DiMaggio "The Greatest Living Ballplayer" in 1969. The title caught on with the public, and he reportedly insisted that the title be used to introduce him at certain events or he wouldn't attend. I suppose DiMaggio earned the title over Mays because he played in New York longer. Plus, as they say, "Absence makes the heart grow fonder." DiMaggio had been retired for 18 years, while Mays was still an active player.

Meeting DiMaggio

I've always been a Joe DiMaggio fan since I first met him on a flight to San Francisco during my rookie season in 1965. I introduced myself to him, and we spoke for quite a while. It was the first time I had ever met a Hall of Famer. After that, what surprised me was that he always remembered me. About four years later, I was standing in a hotel in San Francisco, and I heard someone say, "Joe." I turned around, and it was DiMaggio. He remembered my name and my face. Over the years, I would see him in San Francisco periodically, and each time he remembered me. When Bob Costas and I were broadcasting the World Series in 1997, DiMaggio joined us in the booth during Game 2 in Miami. We hadn't invited him; he just wanted to say hello. He came in and talked for a while. It was great. The last time I saw DiMaggio before he died in 1999 was at the Hall of Fame. He was still the Yankee Clipper. He always carried that mystique, and that was a big reason the writers thought of him as the greatest living player at the time. -- Joe Morgan

While I have always admired DiMaggio, the "greatest living player" label belonged to Mays. One reason Mays was more deserving is that DiMaggio played most of his career before African-Americans were allowed into the major leagues. Although it wasn't DiMaggio's fault, no one can accurately say he played against all the best players of his era. By the time Larry Doby debuted in the American League and played his first full season, DiMaggio was three years from retirement.

Mays also had a special quality that separated him from Hank Aaron, Stan Musial, Ted Williams, Frank Robinson and even DiMaggio. Mays had flair. He had a combination of both style and substance no other player could match.

Baseball's Jordan
To describe Mays' flair, he was like Michael Jordan on the baseball field. Everybody knows where Jordan is on the basketball court. And when he scores 30 points, he does it in spectacular fashion. Mays was similar on the baseball field. Like Jordan was born to be the ultimate basketball superstar, so was Mays in baseball.

He did everything with exuberance, whether he was running the bases with almost reckless abandon, chasing a ball in the outfield, making a basket catch, stealing a base or standing and swinging in the batter's box.

Mays always looked like he was enjoying the moment, like there was no place he would rather be than on a baseball field. I have never gotten the same outward feeling from other players. Mays' emotions were on constant display; even if other players played with the same passion, they never left the same impression. Aaron, Musial and Robinson had a passion for the game, but with Mays, it was tangible.

I have the utmost respect for Aaron, who I feel is one of the most underrated stars ever. He wasn't just a home-run hitter; he could do everything -- hit for average, steal bases, throw and play good defense. But he went about his job in a more business-like manner, and the only time he really got your attention was in the batter's box. He didn't have Mays' flair.

Don't forget 'Stan the Man'
Musial is often lost in the shuffle in discussions about the greatest living player. To use another basketball analogy, he was like the Oscar Robertson of baseball. Oscar could score on anyone and averaged a triple-double for a full season before Magic Johnson came along and made it an exciting accomplishment. Yet Oscar lacked the same flair, even though the players he played against knew how great he was.

It was the same with Musial. He earned the nickname "Stan the Man" for a reason. He could do everything Mays could do, but on a smaller scale. He could help the Cardinals win games with his hitting, running and defense. Musial even had some charisma. Yet he wasn't as charismatic as Mays.

People take notice when a true superstar walks onto the field. There could be 10 players standing around, but when Mays walked out, the atmosphere changed. It was as if the wind shifted direction, the clouds opened up and the rain stopped. He stood out and immediately became the focal point.

Junior looked like Mays
Ken Griffey Jr. used to remind me of a young Mays. He would always be smiling and having fun playing the game. He got as much enjoyment from making a catch as he did hitting a home run, as Mays did.

My lasting image of Junior comes from the 1995 AL Division Series against the Yankees. It wasn't the five home runs he hit in the series, but the desire he showed scoring the winning run in Game 5. When Edgar Martinez doubled into the left-field corner, Griffey was determined to score from first base. Nothing else mattered; he was going to score -- and he did to win the series.

Griffey's effort and enthusiasm were typical of Mays. When a ball was hit into the gap, you knew Mays would score from first base. Regardless of the relay, he had his mind made up, even if it meant running over or sliding around the catcher.

The ultimate center fielder
Whether it's Griffey or Andruw Jones, comparisons have been made to Mays as a center fielder. Some people now think Jones is even better than Mays was. However, no one -- I repeat, no one -- has played center field any better than Mays.

Jones may be close, but I have seen him drop a ball every once in a while and his manager, Bobby Cox, take him out of a game for not hustling. Mays always hustled. Plus, Mays did the little things, things no other center fielders does or has done better. For instance, if a baserunner thought about advancing from first to third on a single to center, Mays would charge the ball so hard it stopped the runner. He also got rid of the ball quickly, in one step, and made some of the greatest throws you would ever see.

Today, the only Mays defensive highlight ever shown is him making the over-the-shoulder catch in the 1954 World Series. But he once told me that catch wasn't even among his top four.

Because ESPN and other networks show highlights every night, fans see players make spectacular defensive plays on a regular basis. While it's nice that fans see Jones and Torii Hunter making great catches, I just wish they had the same opportunity to see Mays and other past players at their defensive best.

Military service
As a hitter, Ted Williams may have been the greatest ever. Since his death, people have recalled how Williams lost five years of baseball while serving as a Marines fighter pilot and could have challenged Babe Ruth's career home-run record well before Aaron broke it in 1974.

However, no one mentions the two prime seasons Mays lost when he served in the U.S. Army. Mays played only 34 games in 1952 before being called into active duty. If he had played a full '52 season and all of '53, he would have certainly hit over 700 home runs instead of 660.

Soccer and sportsmanship

We call her "The Kid." My wife, Theresa, and I are very proud of our daughter, "Kid" Kelly, and the rest of the Mustang Mavericks, who lost 2-1 last weekend in the under-12 division semifinals of the 16-team Surf Cup, a soccer tournament in San Diego. Coached by Ed Bronsen and assistant Tom Parker, the Mustangs -- Lani, Alexis, Melanie, Elena, Amanda, Nat-Rat (the goalie), Cori, Jennifer, Kathleen, Niveen, Camellia, Jackie, Mary Kate, Briana and Christy, who helped them win the Northern California state championship -- played with poise and confidence throughout the tournament. Another highlight for me was the great show of sportsmanship demonstrated by the Ho'okalakupua team from Honolulu. They may have been the best team in the tournament, but they lost to my daughter's team in a sudden-death shootout in the quarterfinals. But before the Hawaiian players consoled each other over being eliminated from the tournament, they came over and congratulated my daughter's team and gave them a gift. It was a direct reflection on the Ho'okalakupua coach, Jason Goodson, and their parents. It's the way all kids should be taught about sports. It's not about winning, but about having fun playing the game. They left an unbelievable impression. The Mustangs represented Northern California well and are looking forward to another great season. Go Mustangs! -- Joe Morgan

While I respect the way Williams served his country, Mays, in a less glamorous role, did what was asked of him during the Korean War. And if someone wants to mention Williams' five lost seasons in terms of the home-run record, they must also consider Mays' two-year absence.

What about Bonds?
Mays' godson, Barry Bonds, has been included in discussions about the greatest living player. Bonds is making a claim for the title and could be considered the greatest living player before he is finished. But Bonds plays in a completely different era, making it difficult to draw comparisons. The game has changed.

This year, pitchers have begun to knock Bonds down and throw at him, but pitchers used to throw at Mays all the time. Along with being better, the pitchers were also meaner. Intimidation was a bigger part of the game. And don't think players can't be intimidated. In the '60s, Adolfo Phillips looked like the next superstar. He hit 16 home runs his rookie year with the Cubs in 1966. But pitchers learned they could shake him up if they knocked him down. So that's what they did, and Phillips' career fizzled, ending in 1972.

Baseball is a numbers game now. For instance, Bonds is one of only three players to have a 40-homer, 40-stolen base season. Mays and Mickey Mantle once said they would have done it if they knew 40-40 was such a big deal. But the stolen base is viewed differently today than it was in the past. It used to be a weapon; now it's just a number. Mays, who led the National League in stolen bases three times, would maybe steal a base once a week in a tight game to help his team win.

Compared to Mays, I may never be able to give Bonds the edge because I saw Mays play. I saw the love Mays had for the game, for being on the baseball field. Can I say that about Bonds? Not always.

Mays always marvelous
Because I saw Mays play several times at Seals Stadium when the Giants moved to San Francisco, some may accuse me of having a kid's fascination with him. But I don't view Mays as a kid would. I was already in high school and had a good concept of what baseball was in 1958.

Even when I played against him in the big leagues, my view of Mays never changed. He was always the same player, making the same plays -- the only difference was he was making some against me, too.

When you play against someone, you see the player for what he is. That's why players say they would rather earn the respect of their peers more than the respect of the media or the fans. The players know. And in my mind, no one alive could play like Mays.

Hall of Fame second baseman Joe Morgan works as the analyst on ESPN Sunday Night Baseball and contributes a weekly column to ESPN.com.