Willie Mays Aikens was a rookie first baseman with the Angels in 1977, the one season I was the beat guy for the team.

He was a big guy, somebody who could become a serious power-hitter, but I always worried about him. Not in a parental sort of way. More in a semi-concerned bystander sort of way.

He seemed like one of those Guys Who Don’t Quite Get It right from the start. Pro sports has a lot of those guys, who always have been coddled and adored and don’t appreciate the enormity of a chance to play at the highest level.

Then there was his name, which I thought was a huge mistake. You don’t call yourself “Willie Mays” Aikens unless you are a lock to do some great things. And pretty much none of us are, in any field.

Imagine an NBA rookie calling himself Kobe Bryant Jones. A football player who decides he will be known as Brett Favre Smith.

A sports writer whose byline is Ring Lardner Hernandez. A politician who goes by Abraham Lincoln Williams.

People look at you differently, when you come in with some grandiose name. And it’s nearly impossible to live up to the expectations your name brings with you.

Anyway, I always wondered if Willie Mays Aikens might have had more of a career had he been just Willie Aikens. I bet he would have. I mean, just think of how many times people said, “He can play a little but he certainly is no Willie Mays.”

Turns out, he flamed out fairly quickly. (His career stats can be found here.)

By 1994, he was on the wrong side of the law. He was arrested for selling crack cocaine, and having some other issues, and was in a federal prison until, like, today.

Here is the story of his release, which got me thinking about him.

Curious sidelight to his career, utterly random thought … but the Angels traded him, before the 1980 season, with Rance Mulliniks for Al Cowan and Todd Cruz … and I always remember Todd Cruz as the guy who was arrested in Edmonton for breaking into a department story in the middle of the night.

Not sure what that means, but it seems to link the “wrong” Willie Mays with Mr. Cruz, who later turned up in the Inland Empire as a coach and generic baseball personality.