Reading List: Baseball mourns the death of Yogi Berra

“I just want to go through life walking next to Yogi Berra."

Those words, famously uttered by Lou Piniella, encapsulate the special place reserved in the hearts of baseball fans for the New York Yankees legend - known as much for his 13 World Series championships as his enduring turns of phrase - who died Tuesday night at the age of 90.

Berra's passing prompted an outpouring of affectionate nostalgia from fellow ballplayers, fans, and sportswriters alike.

Here are some of the more poignant tributes to Lawrence Berra, the St. Louis-born son of Italian immigrants who grew up to become one of baseball's most beloved characters:

Mike Lupica, longtime columnist for the New York Daily News, whose father, like Berra, served in World War II, celebrated the catcher's famous wit, but more so lauded the kindly nature of the man whose baseball accomplishments and big personality transformed him into a legend:

The people who always knew Yogi as some comic character really didn’t know him at all. I was with him after Steinbrenner fired him in 1985, fired him just 16 games into the season, no season having ever ended that badly or that quickly, and there was no meanness in him, because there never was, even though he would stand his ground and stay away from the Yankees for a long time because of that firing.

With baseball fans so enamored of Berra's personality, however, his on-field exploits may have, at times, gone underappreciated, opined Bruce Weber of the New York Times:

The character Yogi Berra may even have overshadowed the Hall of Fame ballplayer Yogi Berra, obscuring what a remarkable athlete he was. A notorious “bad ball” hitter - he swung at a lot of pitches that were not strikes but mashed them anyway - he was fearsome in the clutch and the most durable and consistently productive Yankee during the period of the team’s most relentless success ...

Berra’s career batting average of .285 was not as high as that of his Yankee predecessor (Bill) Dickey (.313), but Berra hit more home runs (358) and drove in more runs (1,430). Widely praised by pitchers for his astute pitch-calling, Berra led the American League in assists five times, and from 1957 through 1959 went 148 consecutive games behind the plate without making an error, a major league record at the time ...

Despite Berra's abilities both at the plate and behind it, MLB.com's Richard Justice surmised that his best talent was that of making people feel loved:

Berra was so beloved as both a player and a man that he remained almost as popular at the end of his life as he did at the height of his career.

But to others, those who knew him best, those who played with him and for him and just got to know him, his legacy will be far beyond that.

Yogi will be remembered for his honesty and decency, for being one of those people who made every stranger feel that three minutes spent with him were the best three minutes of his day.

Berra had risen from working-class St. Louis to the highest level of prominence in this country. But he always carried with him the humility of his upbringing and the appreciation that he'd been remarkably blessed.

Mike Vaccaro of the New York Post, meanwhile, recalled how Bob Feller, one of the few people not enamored with Berra, only disliked the catcher because of misinformation:

For years, Berra could never understand why fellow baseball immortal Bob Feller never seemed to like him. It placed Feller in a distinct minority, of course. You might have been a Red Sox or a Dodgers fan, and never cared for how Berra used to batter your pitchers one bad ball at a time. Maybe you were a Mets fan, and never much appreciated Yogi’s unorthodox ways as the manager of your club.

But who didn’t LIKE Yogi Berra?

Feller, it turns out. And Yogi, who liked being liked, finally asked him one day, point blank: “Bob, why don’t you like me?”

Feller, maybe one of the bluntest men ever born, said: “You never served your country. I can’t respect a man like that.”

And all Yogi could do was laugh, before telling Feller he was wrong.