Yogi Berra somehow became elevated to a folk hero. He caught both ends of a double-header and lost 20 pounds. Became the face and voice of YooHoo, a cool chocolaty soft drink rip-off of the egg cream that was the Kahlua of street kids in the Bronx. He inherited the malapropisms of the "Old Perfessor" Casey Stengel, and kept you guessing whether he was constantly getting it screwed up or way ahead of you for not knowing he was the smartest guy in the room. Most of all, he was the embodiment of the "nice guy," which has become preciously rare in this age of egocentrism. Every time I go to a crowded restaurant ("Nobody goes there anymore, it's too crowded") or have that spooky feeling that this has happened before ("deja vu all over again"), I'll remember Yogi fondly.