It was not a love for money because money was not there.

It's because they loved the game.

They loved the game and they wanted to show people that just give us an opportunity to play like you've given everybody else,

and we'll show you how to play the game of baseball.

Henry Aaron, Hank, Hammer, the last hero, my hero.

But before all of that, he was pork chops.

This is the story of the Negro League's legacy of the great Henry Aaron.

Swinging, there's a drive into left-center field.

That ball is going to be out of here.

It's gone. It's 7.15. There's a new home run champion at all time. And it's Henry Aaron.

The date was January 22nd of this year, and I had just pulled up in front of the Negro Leagues baseball museum about to report in to my office to begin my normal Friday routine when I get a call from a friend who wanted to inform me that Henry Aaron had passed away and I was absolutely stunned by the news. And so after exchanging a little

bit of dialogue and hanging up the phone with him, I sat there in my car in complete isolation.

And honestly, tears started to flow because for me Henry Aaron and I've

said this on this show on any number of occasions he is my all-time favorite baseball player

he was my childhood idol as a kid growing up in small town, Georgia, Crawfordville, Georgia,

about 80 miles east of Atlanta, 50 miles west of Augusta, all of 500 people.

And every day on the sandlot, I wanted to be Henry Aaron. I wanted to run like

Henry Aaron. I wanted to hold a bat like Henry Aaron. And so when we were on the playground,

I was always Henry Aaron. And I'm sure there were other kids who wanted to be Henry Aaron,

but nope, I was the only one that could be Henry Aaron. And so his passing was more

than just professional to me. This was personal. And this episode that we are dedicating to the late

great Henry Aaron is as much personal for me as it is professional as part of this podcast known as

...