THE faces at the podium rarely match the memories. It is not often that the athlete being enshrined in the Hall of Fame is recognizable in the person standing there, thanking everybody as he joins the other baseball legends.

But Sunday was one of those few exceptions, and 25,000 baseball fans had the foresight to recognize it and pack the lawn in front of the library at the Baseball Hall of Fame.

In a place like Cooperstown, N.Y., which redefines the term "hamlet," 25,000 people is a deluge of humanity. And most of them came from New England to see the most human of baseball players, Carl Michael Yastrzemski, officially become a baseball legend.

Yaz, Al Barlick, Johnny Bench and Red Schoendienst. Four new names in an institution full of names, faces and memories of America's self-proclaimed pastime.

MOST baseball greats are remembered more for their moments than for their statistics. Moments such as Hank Aaron's 715th home run to break Babe Ruth's mark, Willie Mays' over-the-shoulder catch in the 1954 World Series and Reggie Jackson's three home runs in a single World Series game.

Yaz's moments came early in his career--replacing Hall-of-Famer Ted Williams in left field in 1961, leading the American League in batting in 1963 and capturing the Triple Crown in 1967 (he is still the last player to accomplish that feat), when he almost single-handedly led the Red Sox to the "Impossible Dream" pennant.

Those moments are special, but his true value to baseball and Boston, the work ethic he brought to the game, can only be borne out in his career statistics. Games--3308. Runs--1816. Hits--3419. Doubles--646. Home Runs--452. RBIs--1844. Walks--1845.

Bosox fans don't just remember Yaz for replacing Williams, winning the batting title in his third season in the majors or capturing the Triple Crown. They remember him for being there, game in, game out, for 23 seasons with the Red Sox.

He's remembered for collecting those incredible statistics in front of the same fans, always under the shadow of the Green Monster, that left fielder's nightmare whose caroms he mastered as no one else has. Yaz was the end of an era, when baseball players were known for the uniform they wore and the fans they played in front of as much as for their talents.

In the dawning of the age of free agency, Yaz stayed put and kept on playing for the Red Sox and for those same fans--more than 3300 games for the same team. The pressures of the modern game--attorneys, drug testing, gambling, salary disputes and owner collusion--couldn't touch him.

"Pressure? What pressure," Yaz asked Sunday when asked about the "rigors" of being a major league baseball player. "Pressure is what faces millions and millions of fathers and mothers trying to earn a living every day to support a family to give it comfort, devotion and love. That's what pressure really is."

IRONICALLY, I will always remember Yaz for one of those "moments." It was The Game--the 1978 American League East one-game playoff between the Red Sox and the New York Yankees, and I watched it amid cartons in the empty living room of the house my family had moved into. The first thing I unpacked was the television so that I could watch the game.

The Yanks had done the impossible, gaining more than 10 games on the Sox since the middle of August to force the playoff at Fenway Park. Bucky Dent had done the impossible, depositing a home run over Yaz's head into the net behind the Green Monster, putting the Yanks ahead. And the Red Sox, hoping to do the impossible, were down to their last out against Goose Gossage.

It was Yaz's final swing in a playoff game. A lazy pop foul to third baseman Craig Nettles. And the Yankees and Yankee fans (at the time, myself included) rejoiced their own "impossible dream."

I remember it well, and I realize that Yaz was there, both when the Red Sox captured the "Impossible Dream" in 1967 and fell victim to one 11 years later. He was there, always, for the Red Sox and his fans. No letdowns, no drug scandals, no holdouts--just baseball and dignity was all we saw, win or lose.

I also realize that few recognize, honor or appreciate people like Yaz, someone who is always there. This, then, is my opportunity to honor and thank Yaz for simply "being there."