But thousands of men have played Major League Baseball and have left little impression on the world, have left no more distinguishing mark than the fact they once came to bat in Dodger Stadium or caught a fly ball hit by Barry Bonds or sat in the same dugout with Sparky Anderson.
Curtis Pride, a lifetime .208 hitter in the majors, has already accomplished more than that.
He was born deaf, to a world where the contact between ball and bat made no sound, to a world where applause is not heard but felt in the vibration of the ground, to a world where no one is expected to play baseball, let alone Major League Baseball.
In the history of this game five deaf men have played in the majors and until Pride was called up by the Montreal Expos in 1993 -- after eight seasons in the minors -- no player with a hearing loss had been in the big leagues since Dick Sipek played for Cincinnati in 1945, when most of the able-bodied players were away for World War II.
This spring, Pride is trying to win a job in the outfield of the Detroit Tigers, a franchise frantically trying to forget the immediate past and put the best face possible on tomorrow.
At age 27, Pride believes he might have found his destiny.
In small pieces of two seasons with the Montreal Expos, he hit only .208, but he protests he never had a real chance to prove himself.
Part of that might have had to do with his deafness, part had to do with the fact he attended William & Mary University, played point guard and earned his degree while laboring in the low minors as he went from teenage prospect to 20-something and unproven.
"I wouldn't have done it any differently," he says. "There are no guarantees of being a major-league ballplayer. I needed the education, and I have no regrets for doing it that way."
For awhile it seemed his career might be stuck in neutral at Kingsport of the Appalachian League; The first three years of his pro career he played nowhere else. But eventually he began to make his way though the minors, and in 1993, the Expos called him up for a few games.
In his second at-bat, he drove a double to the outfield, scoring two runners and igniting a rally that led to an 8-7 Montreal victory. As he pulled into second base and felt the ground shake with appreciative cheers, he cried.
"It still brings tears to my eyes when I watch it on a tape that I have," he says. "I came a long way, and it was my first major-league hit, and it helped my team win. It was a very special moment. I worked hard all my life to get there and it was a big relief to me."
As a child, he was told he could not play the game.
A T-ball league said: Nope. There's no place for you. And when his father threatened legal action the league claimed it was not excluding him because of his hearing loss.
"They made all kinds of excuses," Pride says. "But eventually they gave in and let me play."
Now he devotes much of his free time to sharing time with parents of deaf children and speaking to groups involved in the education of the hearing impaired.
He says: "I tell them that they are capable of accomplishing things and not to let people place limits on them."
That work earned him recognition by the United States Junior Chamber of Commerce in 1994 as one of the 10 Outstanding Young Americans for the year, which he calls, "Probably the biggest honor of my entire life.
"I've overcome a lot of obstacles to prove my deafness does not affect my ability to play the game. But I couldn't have done it without a lot of people who helped, most of all my parents, but my teachers and coaches, too, the people who gave me a lot of support."
Pride reads lips, but does not use sign language, and says the only problem his deafness has presented is a compromise to normal etiquette in the outfield.
"If I call for a fly ball, I have to be the one to take it, because I can't hear someone else call me off," he says good-naturedly. "If another outfielder wants a ball, he has to wave me away because there can't be any 'I got it, you get it,' when I'm out there."
He was never a hot prospect, never a phenom, never one of those guys that had major-league scouts falling all over themselves. When he was 17-years-old, the New York Mets drafted him in the 10th round. It was not a grand endorsement, but it was an opportunity.
Eleven years later, Pride is still trying to make the most of it.
"I'm 27," he says. "Old. But I hope the Tigers take a good look at me. I know that all I need is a chance. ... I've still got something to prove. I want to play the game well enough that people say: 'There's Curtis Pride, the ballplayer' and not, 'There's Curtis Pride, the deaf ballplayer.'
"But it's always going to be there."
He still wants to prove he is a major-league ballplayer.
Already he has proven he is a major-league human being.
Charlie Vincent, veteran columnist of the Detroit Free-Press, is a regular contibutor to ESPNET SportsZone.