a closer look He was a nice man, seemed like a devoted husband, father and friend. If you left out the other part, about how he was a very good baseball player in his day, Bobby Murcer probably wouldn't have minded much.

By omitting the baseball segment of his life, it would suggest that his character was far superior to anything he ever did in the game, which was substantial. He'd appreciate that, because above all, whether you knew him as an All-Star Yankees outfielder or a honey-voiced Yankees broadcaster, Murcer was one of the good guys. He came as advertised. What you saw on the field and heard over the air was exactly what he was all about.

He loved baseball. He loved people even more.

And lots of people loved Murcer back.

Murcer, who died Saturday from brain cancer at 62, was the most popular Yankee in the 1970s before they started winning championships again. The team was in transition from the Mickey Mantle years, yet Murcer, because of who he was and what he stood for, did not suffer for acceptance when he essentially replaced Mantle on the field and in the hearts of Yankees fans.

You think just anyone could've pulled that off?

No, not really. It took a special person to ace that assignment, which Murcer did, because he was a superb player and an even better person.

Murcer married his high school sweetheart, Kay. He devoted two years of his youth to fulfill his military obligation, and he did so without complaining, even though a promising baseball career was placed on hold. He demonstrated great respect for Mantle, who like Murcer was an Oklahoma boy, and the history of the Yankees.

Right away, Murcer carved himself a place in Yankees history. He was a borderline American League MVP for much of the early'70s. He hit for power and average and played a decent enough outfield. He hit .331 one year, led his club in home runs six times and was a five-time All-Star. From a production standpoint, you could count on Murcer to smack 25 or so homers and a bunch of big hits every season. You could say he was the face of a mostly faceless Yankees era.

People loved him. Murcer made $100,000 a year back when $100,000 was a lot of money, and nobody begrudged him that salary or made a huge stink about it. Somehow, though, they continued to relate to Murcer.

The Murcer they knew was the guy who sniffled his way through a eulogy for teammate Thurman Munson and then hit a three-run homer and a walk-off two-run single against the Orioles that night as a tribute.

It was no surprise that Murcer, after retiring, turned to broadcasting. It allowed him to be welcomed into everyone's living room. He was simply Bobby, a regular guy who knew a thing or two about the game and made you smarter just by listening to him.

As we prepare for the All-Star Game and an onslaught of egos invading a city full of them, this is the right time to step back and appreciate a person who perfectly fit the definition of an All-Star.

Oh, and as a player, he wasn't too shabby, either.