COOPERSTOWN, N.Y. -- Some men walk up to that podium in Cooperstown, N.Y., and you think of the home runs they sent soaring into the night.

Some men walk up to that podium, and you think of exploding fastballs roaring out of their hands, trailing smoke and obliterating bats.

	Ozzie Smith makes one of his patented diving plays at shortstop.

But Sunday afternoon, in the enchanted village of Cooperstown, N.Y., we will watch the great Earl Osborne Smith walk to that podium to receive his Hall of Fame plaque. And we will think of the soft piece of leather he wore on his left hand and the magic tricks that came out of that leather -- and him -- for 19 spectacular seasons as a Padre and a Cardinal.

On the video screen in our minds, we will always see Ozzie Smith diving to catch ground balls no one else could catch, then bouncing to his feet so fast, he seemed to be made of rubber.

We will see him turning his back to run 100 feet into left-center field, then looking up to find that once again, another sure bloop single had come down where only he could reach it.

And we will see him sprinting out of his own dugout, a smile as wide as the St. Louis Arch, then launching into the midair backflip that became as much a part of his legend as all the hits that disappeared into his glove.

Who says a guy 5-foot-11, 165 pounds can't be a Hall of Famer? Who says a guy who hit one more home run in 19 years (28) than Alex Rodriguez had at the All-Star break can't be a Hall of Famer?

Ozzie Smith is living proof that baseball is more than biceps and home run trots. As long as he lives, he'll be walking proof that nobody gets to spray champagne unless somebody catches the final out -- and a whole bunch of outs before it.

"I think now," said the Wizard, "a lot more attention will be brought to the defensive part of the game."

Yeah, well. Probably not. But there will be for one weekend, anyhow. Because this time, fittingly, the Glove Man won't have to share the spotlight with any 500-home run guys, with any 3,000-hit machines, with any other players at all.

This is Ozzie's show. And that's only right -- because from the first day of his career to the last, that's what he was: A show.

As a player, he said, he never spent much time savoring all his acrobatics or even watching them on the tube when he went home at night. He was always thinking about that next play, that next ground ball, that next double play he was going to have to turn.

Now, though -- since his retirement in 1996 and, especially, since his election last January -- the highlights follow him around. He gets to watch people watching him. He gets to hear the oohs and aahs. He understands how unique he was, how creative he was, how acrobatic he was.

"But all I was doing," the Wizard said Saturday, "was just doing what came natural."

"The greatest skill somebody can have," he went on, "is the ability to improvise. And I had that ability. That's why I think I enjoyed turning the double play so much, because I didn't know exactly how I was going to turn it. The improvisational part was always the fun part."

He turned 1,590 of those double plays. No shortstop in history ever turned more. No shortstop in history ever turned them faster. No shortstop in history ever turned them with more panache.

Veteran relief pitcher Dan Plesac says he only hit into one double play in his 17 seasons. Guess who turned it?

	“	I had the ability to be creative out there. It's like an artist putting the brush to the canvas. There were no restrictions. ”
		— Ozzie Smith

It happened in 1994. Plesac recalls bunting a ball back to the mound and thinking he would at least be able to beat the relay back to first. Then he remembered who was playing short.

"I swear Ozzie didn't even catch the damn thing," Plesac said. "The exchange from his glove to his hand was so quick that he threw me out by half -- a football field."

Ask players about the way the Wizard turned the double play, and the one thing you hear over and over is that you couldn't take him out -- because you couldn't find him.

Phillies outfielder Doug Glanville remembers a day in his rookie season, 1996, when he figured he would make a name for himself by knocking the great Ozzie Smith all the way into left field on a double-play ball.

"So I slid where most mortal shortstops would have positioned themselves," Glanville said. "And he moved the complete opposite way to turn it. I must have missed him by 10 feet."

Join the club, man. Smith chuckles every time he thinks of all the baserunners who arrived at second base over the years and complained about how they'd slid to take him out -- and then he "disappeared."

"I told them it was like an elevator door opening," Smith said. "If the elevator door opens and I see you there, I just go to another floor."

He could evade them to the left. He could evade them to the right. He could ride that elevator to the second floor. The runners couldn't find him. The baseball always did.

You could show an Ozzie Smith highlight reel at a baseball banquet, a gymnastics meet or the Bolshoi Ballet -- and everyone in attendance would have the same reaction: "Wow. How'd he do that?"

"I had the ability to be creative out there," Smith said. "It's like an artist putting the brush to the canvas. There were no restrictions."

But that was only because he put himself in position to put that brush to canvas. He practiced taking short hops and AstroTurf choppers and pop-ups over his head. He practiced diving into the hole and bouncing back to his feet. He even practiced making throws with his eyes closed.

He wanted to try everything, he said, "because just when you think you've seen every play, another one came up. And I never wanted any surprises."

No, the only surprise would come 24 years after he fielded his first ground ball -- when he became just the second pure shortstop elected to the Hall of Fame on the first ballot. The other was Honus Wagner.

The only infielders in history who got a higher percentage of the vote than the 91.7 percent the Wizard got were George Brett (98.2), Mike Schmidt (96.7), Wagner (95.1) and Brooks Robinson (92.0).

Top that some day, A-Rod.

The shortstops of this era may hit more baseballs that turn into souvenirs. The shortstops of this era may have perfected their trots and their bat flips. But all of them combined have had fewer 500-assist seasons (six) than the Wizard had by himself (eight).

And when Ozzie came hopping out of the tunnel on Opening Day and made like Dominique Moceaneau, somersaulting through the St. Louis sky, he was saying there was something joyous about just having the privilege to play baseball games for a living.

"I still have little old ladies come up to me and say, 'You're the guy who does the flip,' " Smith said Saturday. "And I say, 'Yeah, but I played a little baseball, too.' "

Yeah, he played a little baseball. And Sunday, he'll go flipping all the way into the Baseball Hall of Fame.

Jayson Stark is a senior writer for ESPN.com.