It takes a lot for an entire city to be moved to tears, to feel genuine sorrow and grief. But Anderson's passing has thrust the Queen City into real and heartfelt mourning. Today and for the foreseeable future, Cincinnati will anguish and openly weep for one of her favorite sons.

But how could it be otherwise? Baseball was, is and will always be king in Cincy so when the most successful, beloved and charismatic manager the Reds have ever had passes from the scene, it's like taking a punch to the gut. It doubles you over. It hurts bad.

And you fervently wish it was possible to go back in time to those halcyon days of the 1970s when the Reds were the titans of the major leagues and it was the enthusiastic and energetic Anderson showing them the way.

You cry because Anderson's departure marks, in essence, the end of an era. An era in Cincy that, in all probability, will never be duplicated.

Anderson arrived in Cincinnati in 1970 as a virtually unknown and anonymous third-base coach. The media, the fans, and even some of his soon-to-be-players were laughingly asking, "Sparky who?"

Anderson's major league career had lasted one forgettable year as a nondescript second baseman for the Philadelphia Phillies. Many in Cincy were taking book that his managerial career might not last that long. To them, Anderson had the look of a short-timer.

But general manager Bob Howsam saw something in Anderson that few others did. During his initial spring training, Sparky took charge from the start, laid a winning foundation and then got his ball-club headed in a most positive direction.

Sensing in Anderson a leader who was unpretentious and baseball savvy, the Reds immediately responded to him. That team won a staggering 102 games and garnered Cincy's first pennant in nine years.

But that was just the appetizer. The main course would be forthcoming.

From that electric first season through 1976, the Reds became a holy terror. Often they seemed unstoppable like something that would steamroll anything in their path. Hence, a moniker was given to this dynamic group that perfectly captured its essence, the Big Red Machine.

It was a Machine that seldom broke down. With Sparky at the wheel, the Reds would win four more division crowns, three more pennants and memorable back-to-back World Series titles in 1975 and '76. Anderson helped turn the Midwestern hamlet of Cincinnati, Ohio, into the epicenter of the baseball universe.

The reason Sparky enjoyed such remarkable success was because he worked on so many levels.

As a manger, nearly everything he did seemed to pan out. He was an excellent communicator capable of instilling confidence in his players. He was an artful mediator who knew how to massage and sooth the egos of megastars such as Pete Rose, Johnny Bench, Joe Morgan and Tony Perez.

And no one was more deft at handling and manipulating a pitching staff, especially the bullpen. At the first hint that a starter might be laboring, Anderson was quick to go get him. When it came to replacing pitchers, Sparky rarely hesitated. Hence, he earned a nickname that forever stuck with him, that being Captain Hook. But with relievers like Rawly Eastwick, Pedro Borbon, Will McEnaney and Clay Carroll at his disposal, his rapid yanks proved to be a sound and wildly effective strategy.

To the media, Anderson was an absolute delight. He always made for good copy because he could offer sharp insight wrapped in a homespun style. He could hold court like few others. So what if he might botch his grammar or drop a malaprop or two. Many were the times he regaled the press with his chatter. Often they couldn't get enough of him.

To the fans of Cincinnati, in particular, Anderson held a special place in their hearts. He was accessible and kind, real and authentic. He treated everyone with respect regardless of status or station. The masses adored him because he could laugh at himself. He became a master at self-deprecation. The public related to Sparky because they saw in him a man who felt fortunate and blessed to be the one given the privilege of driving the Big Red Machine. People admire those celebrities who keep their ego in check and Sparky did exactly that. Sometimes, he made you wonder if he even had one.

Speaking of egos, when the petty and full-of-himself general manager Dick Wagner fired Sparky following a 92-win, second-place finish in '78, the city and the players were left stunned. Wagner could have blown up Fountain Square and generated much less of a reaction. Many in Cincy were in open revolt, ready to take to the streets.

Reports began circulating that the insecure Wagner was threatened by Anderson's stature and popularity. As such, he apparently felt the need to throw his weight around and demonstrate to all that he was the man in charge.

Whatever his loony reasons for cutting Sparky loose, by doing so Wagner effectively brought down the curtain on the greatest run in Reds history. In the annuals of Cincy baseball, only the trades of Frank Robinson, Tony Perez and Josh Hamilton along with allowing Pete Rose to depart through free agency, rank as blunders as egregious as letting Anderson go. To many a Reds fans, having to watch Sparky vacate left a wound that never fully healed.

Not surprisingly, Anderson put his diamond acumen to great use elsewhere, leading the Detroit Tigers to a championship in 1984. He therefore became the first manager ever to win titles in both leagues.

But when Anderson was inducted into the Hall of Fame in 2000, there was no doubt about which cap the likeness of his plaque would bare. Sparky would be going in as a Red and rightfully so. You see, Anderson felt deep gratitude and a debt to the Reds and Bob Howsam for presenting him with the opportunity of a lifetime. A chance that radically changed the course of his life. Besides, comparatively speaking, Anderson's achievements in Cincy far outshone those he amassed in Motown.

To many that he managed, Anderson became a father figure and trusted confidant. Someone who was there for them at any time, on or off the field. Sparky always gave unflinchingly of himself to those under his charge and as a result, he received much in return. The Reds of the 70s busted a gut for Anderson. They honored him by hustling their asses off. The affection and respect between the Reds skipper and his players was profound and tangible. It was a relationship that's rarely ever seen.

Anderson died due to complications of dementia. Thankfully, he didn't linger long in that crippled state and that's a blessing. To think of Sparky's agile, street-smart, humorous and compassionate brain being severely compromised by disease was distressing. Not being all there could never fit Anderson. He was too vibrant, too charismatic, too full of life to suffer such a fate. I like to believe that God looked at it that way and decided to call Sparky home.

So, Cincinnati says a fond farewell to someone who battled for her and brought to Riverfront Stadium a treasure trove of glories. His passing leaves the city undeniably diminished by his loss but the legacy he bequeaths is rich and vast.

Just close your eyes and it's easy to conjure up a smiling, silver-haired Anderson donning his signature number 10 in a pristine home white uniform. His eyes are alert and he's animated as hell. And he's pointing a finger for emphasis as he dispenses some pearl of baseball wisdom. Finally, you see in him a paternal pride as he directs one of the best damn ball-clubs ever assembled to another victory.

Can't you just see it? I know I can. And when I do, I get a bit misty because we'll never see his like again. Grand and decent men like Anderson don't happen along very often.

The light of his life may have burned out but there will always remain a vibrant spark of what he was and what he gave to the game's oldest franchise.