from YESNetwork.com

When Joe Torre talks about Bernie Williams, he often uses the word dignity to describe the manner in which the Yankee centerfielder conducts himself in life and work. Save for Mrs. Williams, there may be no one in the universe more in touch with the soul out in center than Torre himself.

"When you see him as much as I have over the last seven years or so, you understand and appreciate him more each day," Torre said. "There’s a certain nobility about him. He brings dignity to our ball club."

Fitting are the words that Torre applies to the man in the middle of his outfield, for it is Williams, both dignified in manner and diligent in its execution, who occupies a place in the sporting landscape that is as dignified as Greek architecture, a judge’s robe, and the East Lawn of the White House.

Centerfield for the New York Yankees is nothing if not dignified. It’s like quarterback for the Dallas Cowboys, center for the Los Angeles Lakers, and right wing for the Montreal Canadians. All current and future occupants of those stately spaces are beholden to history and tradition.

For 13 years, Williams has held up his end of the bargain, and he’s done so as inconspicuously as a grain of sand. By upholding his personal virtues of humility, Williams can approach the greatness of his two most famous predecessors and still move through the game with his privacy and anonymity mostly intact. It is as though a grand plan is coming together.

"Bernie doesn’t need a lot of fanfare. If he sees it coming, he’ll run in the other direction," Torre said. "For a player who’s accomplished the things he has, he’s incredibly humble. I don’t think he would have it any other way."

Williams has done nothing to discredit the Yankees’ centerfield throne, an honor that has been symbolically passed to him from Mickey Mantle, as it was to Mantle from Joe DiMaggio.

"I don’t think of myself as being in the same league as those players," he said when asked to compare his career to those of DiMaggio and Mantle, who cast the shadow of a sundial over centerfield in the Bronx. "The comparisons are flattering, don’t get me wrong. You just could never be what those guys were."

Future players will probably say the same thing about Williams.

He’s working on his ninth straight .300 season, which would easily be the longest active streak among centerfielders. Williams is also tied for third among all active players with eight straight seasons of a .390-plus on-base percentage (Barry Bonds and Jeff Bagwell have done it nine years in a row). He has a .308 lifetime average with over 1,000 RBI and 1,000 runs scored and should collect his 2,000th career hit later this season.

But 2003 may turn out to be the coup de grace in his career. Williams is among the league’s Top 10 in batting average (.386), hits (22), runs (12), walks (12) and on-base percentage (.486).

"I’m happy with the way this season is going so far," Williams said. "I feel better about where I am at this point than I have in years past."

Williams’ fast start suggests this could be his best season to date. With a .277 career average in April, Williams doesn’t usually get on track until late May, and he has said that his off-season preparation this past winter may have a lot to do with his April results.

The injury to Derek Jeter, who has been away from the club since the first week of the season rehabilitating his dislocated left shoulder, has created a leadership void that has gone unnoticed because of players like Robin Ventura, Jorge Posada and, most importantly, Williams.

A hardworking and prideful player, Williams’ leadership skills are greater than that which he’s credited with. There’s a difference between demanding respect and commanding respect. Williams never stomps his feet.

"Bernie has a way about him," Torre added. "Like Paul (O’Neill) did for all those years. Bernie doesn’t have to say a word to have an effect in the clubhouse."

Williams is an intensely reserved man who guards his privacy like he does the strike zone. He also respects the privacy of his teammates, so even if he had something to say, word of it would never leak outside the clubhouse doors.

The only thing we’re allowed to hear are the silent triumphs of a man carving out his own legend, despite the shadow of the men who came before him.

Maybe some day he’ll do his talking at a podium.