Willie Mays was the National League’s Rookie of the Year in 1951. Though Jackie Robinson had received the same honor in 1947, winning the award as black man then still required an especially impressive level of performance. In 1954, Mays returned to the MLB after missing a year due to military service. He hit .345, homered 41 times, led the league in triples, and was voted MVP. That same year, he wowed the country with an over-the-shoulder catch, whirl, and throw, 420 feet from home plate during the World Series.

Mays retired in 1973 with a lifetime batting average of .302. Despite having missed 1953 entirely, he’d amassed 660 home runs, 523 doubles, and 331 stolen bases. I watched a lot of baseball in the decade that followed. And I can’t count the number of times some broadcaster or baseball writer dubbed a rookie “the next Willie Mays.” None of them were. 

How could anyone have been the next Willie Mays? Even if they somehow matched his stats—and not even Ken Griffey Jr. did—they still wouldn’t have been Willie Mays. They wouldn’t employ his distinctive basket-catch in the outfield. They wouldn’t be known for playing stickball with kids in the street after games. They probably wouldn’t have a song written about them either.

Time and time again, I see headlines touting some wine region as “the next Napa Valley.” That makes no more sense than suggesting a ballplayer is the next Willie Mays. The wine world, including those regions, will be better if we stop making such suggestions.

I get it. Napa Valley is famous for great Cabernet Sauvignon. Other regions aspire to that. But, no matter how good their wine and how renowned their AVA becomes, they will never be Napa Valley. Because they are a different place with different soils, topography, and mesoclimates. Even if they hire winemakers from Napa Valley, and some do, the region can’t be Napa Valley.

People use “the next Napa Valley” as shorthand for a place which they think may develop a stellar reputation for Cabernet Sauvignon and will be able to those wines for high prices. Regions may have those goals, and even achieve them, but the comparison is lazy. It is also unhelpful.

Why compare oneself to something one can never be? Not until California wineries stopped selling “Claret” and “Chablis” did they begin to really make a name for themselves. Bands can make a living playing covers, but they never become huge unless they succeed with songs uniquely their own.

Even if a region successfully recreated almost everything about Napa Valley, they’d still come up short when it comes to sales. Christopher Walken is an actor beloved for his unconventional appearance and the entirely unique tone and cadence of his speech. He was once asked how he gets roles, given how unconventional he is,. He answered, “Sometimes, they’re looking for a Christopher Walken-type and I happen to be the very best at that.” If someone wants a Walken-type, they hire Walken. If someone wants a Napa Valley-style wine, 95% of the time they will order wine from Napa Valley.

As good as Napa Valley is, and that’s very, very good, it is not without problems and detractors too. Some people buy into the stereotype that all its wines are over-ripe, over-oaked, and lack distinctiveness. It’s an agricultural monoculture and dominated by a single variety. It’s expensive to live and travel in. I could go on.

Any region which paints itself as the new Napa Valley is claiming not just epic status for Cabernet Sauvignon, but also Napa Valley’s baggage. Thus “the next Napa Valley” is a poor phrase for headline writers to use. It leaves much to personal interpretation and may lose readers before they even read the first paragraph.

There are many reasons we should not use the phrase “the next Napa Valley.” I can’t think of a single, beneficial reason for doing so. So let’s be the next David Copperfield and make it disappear.

And let’s also wish Willie Mays a happy 88th birthday today!

Copyright Fred Swan 2019. Images and videos belong to their respective holders. All rights reserved.