rockin500
01-05-2005, 03:23 PM
Sandberg reminds us of what was once good
Most days, finding the good in pro sports is akin to looking for a needle in a stack of needles.
But on a rare day like Tuesday, the good washes over you like a warm bath after a frigid day in the snow.
Ryne Sandberg, who did it all the right way, got what he richly deserved Tuesday, a perfect trip to baseball’s Mecca.
The long journey to Cooperstown, which began in a tiny Montana garage converted into an apartment 27 years ago, will conclude July 31 with the greatest honor baseball can bestow.
Sandberg is officially what we’ve all known for a long time: He is a Hall of Famer.
He got there by defeating complacency, by refusing its temptation and with a silent fire few understood.
Even Tuesday, on one of the greatest days of his life, Sandberg refused to travel off the road of humility that led him to immortality.
“I don’t know what it feels like to be considered among the greatest who ever lived and I don’t know if I ever will,’’ Sandberg said, phoning from his cell phone as he scurried for the airport and a flight to Chicago. “I have too much respect for the game and for the players who played it before me to think anything like that.’’
In stark contrast to those who campaign for it and even assume induction, Sandberg seemed in disbelief Tuesday.
At 11:30 a.m. (Chicago time), Sandberg got the call 90 minutes before the announcement was made, learning that out of 516 ballots cast, he received 393 votes — or a mere 6 more than necessary in his third year of eligibility.
“Total elation was the first thing I felt, after a lot of butterflies,’’ Sandberg said. “You think of so many people at that moment, too many to mention. So many people in your family and on all those teams make this happen. You don’t do this yourself.’’
Sandberg can’t forget the effort that went into being a 10-time all-star and nine-time Gold Glover, so he didn’t need a bust or a plaque to validate his work.
“No, I didn’t need it, but it sure is an honor and I think the greatest honor there is in sports. It’s one of a kind,’’ Sandberg said. “It’s really something that lasts forever. When you think about that, it’s overwhelming.
“It’s one thing to be thought of as an excellent player, but this takes it to another level.’’
Perhaps the reason you feel so good about it today is that Sandberg never let himself believe he was a star.
He started at the very bottom of the minors and worked his way to the majors, never asking anyone for anything but a chance to play.
He had to struggle to get past highly touted draft picks in the Phillies organization, usually without the support of execs who didn’t see his major-league potential.
He had to fight to be noticed, and he did that only on the field. Off the field, he believed what he was taught by the veterans: Be seen and not heard.
He did it with a work ethic that was unmatched in a Philadelphia organization that insisted on nothing less than ferocity.
“Ryne Sandberg worked harder than any player I’ve ever seen,’’ Pete Rose said in 1994. “A lot of guys with his athletic ability get by on that and have a nice career. Sandberg worked his (butt) off because he knew it was wrong not to.’’
That helped him survive his early career struggles, and when he became a superstar in 1984, Sandberg knew exactly how to handle it:
Work harder.
“Basically, I was afraid to let anyone down,’’ Sandberg said. “Dallas Green and Jim Frey and Don Zimmer and my teammates and the fans and my family. Everyone expected a certain level of play and I didn’t want to disappoint anyone.
“I didn’t want to let myself down. The best way I knew how to do that was to work at it.’’
So Sandberg never took much time off in the winter, and in the spring he reported with pitchers and catchers, no matter the success he had the season before.
“That’s what I thought I had to do,’’ Sandberg said. “I went into every spring convincing myself I had to make the team.’’
There was nothing as reassuring as seeing Sandberg on the field 45 minutes before the rest of the team at Fitch Park, taking an extra 45 groundballs.
The best fielder in the history of his position never took a hop for granted, so before some guys were awake, he’d take 15 grounders right at him, 15 to his left, and 15 more to his right, each time completing the throw to first as though it really counted.
“Every day was a struggle,’’ Sandberg said. “Every day was a battle. It didn’t come easy to me and I never treated it like it did.’’
So he did it the right way, never taking anything for granted, never campaigning for awards or all-star teams, and he refused to beg for Hall of Fame votes.
Sandberg truly believed that would take away the exhilaration and satisfaction of winning election if it ever happened.
He did not play to the idiotic suggestions that someone is or isn’t a “first-ballot Hall of Famer.’’ You can’t be a second- or third-ballot Hall of Famer any more than you can be sorta-pregnant. You are or you’re not.
But Sandberg didn’t let the fools who passed him by the first two years compromise his integrity. He would not start pandering now.
During his playing days, he didn’t do back flips. He didn’t mug for the cameras. He didn’t blow kisses to the fans, self-promote or take as much human growth hormone as you can stuff in a cash-filled paper bag.
He just played the game the right way on the field, and off it he could only be himself. And while that wasn’t good enough for many critics, he was true to himself, and that meant more to him than a few more votes or a few endorsement dollars.
One of the most misunderstood athletes in Chicago’s history, most media never spent more than 30 seconds at a time near Sandberg’s locker, but their perception that he had nothing to say was OK with him, because it meant fewer interested parties, less time answering questions and more time for what he considered important: game preparation and time at home.
In the 1980s and ’90s, Sandberg was all that was good about a great game, a throwback to an earlier generation that believed in hard work and the rewards that it brought. That is how he got to this day.
Ryne Sandberg, Hall of Fame, Class of 2005.
“It lasts forever,’’ Sandberg said, his voice cracking. “That’s the part that’s kind of shocking. It’s forever.’’
He’s part of history now, never to be forgotten. Inhale, drink it in and enjoy the feeling. We don’t get many chances to remember what used to be.
Thanks, Ryno, for one last thrill.
http://www.dailyherald.com/sports/col_rozner.asp?intid=38357174
Most days, finding the good in pro sports is akin to looking for a needle in a stack of needles.
But on a rare day like Tuesday, the good washes over you like a warm bath after a frigid day in the snow.
Ryne Sandberg, who did it all the right way, got what he richly deserved Tuesday, a perfect trip to baseball’s Mecca.
The long journey to Cooperstown, which began in a tiny Montana garage converted into an apartment 27 years ago, will conclude July 31 with the greatest honor baseball can bestow.
Sandberg is officially what we’ve all known for a long time: He is a Hall of Famer.
He got there by defeating complacency, by refusing its temptation and with a silent fire few understood.
Even Tuesday, on one of the greatest days of his life, Sandberg refused to travel off the road of humility that led him to immortality.
“I don’t know what it feels like to be considered among the greatest who ever lived and I don’t know if I ever will,’’ Sandberg said, phoning from his cell phone as he scurried for the airport and a flight to Chicago. “I have too much respect for the game and for the players who played it before me to think anything like that.’’
In stark contrast to those who campaign for it and even assume induction, Sandberg seemed in disbelief Tuesday.
At 11:30 a.m. (Chicago time), Sandberg got the call 90 minutes before the announcement was made, learning that out of 516 ballots cast, he received 393 votes — or a mere 6 more than necessary in his third year of eligibility.
“Total elation was the first thing I felt, after a lot of butterflies,’’ Sandberg said. “You think of so many people at that moment, too many to mention. So many people in your family and on all those teams make this happen. You don’t do this yourself.’’
Sandberg can’t forget the effort that went into being a 10-time all-star and nine-time Gold Glover, so he didn’t need a bust or a plaque to validate his work.
“No, I didn’t need it, but it sure is an honor and I think the greatest honor there is in sports. It’s one of a kind,’’ Sandberg said. “It’s really something that lasts forever. When you think about that, it’s overwhelming.
“It’s one thing to be thought of as an excellent player, but this takes it to another level.’’
Perhaps the reason you feel so good about it today is that Sandberg never let himself believe he was a star.
He started at the very bottom of the minors and worked his way to the majors, never asking anyone for anything but a chance to play.
He had to struggle to get past highly touted draft picks in the Phillies organization, usually without the support of execs who didn’t see his major-league potential.
He had to fight to be noticed, and he did that only on the field. Off the field, he believed what he was taught by the veterans: Be seen and not heard.
He did it with a work ethic that was unmatched in a Philadelphia organization that insisted on nothing less than ferocity.
“Ryne Sandberg worked harder than any player I’ve ever seen,’’ Pete Rose said in 1994. “A lot of guys with his athletic ability get by on that and have a nice career. Sandberg worked his (butt) off because he knew it was wrong not to.’’
That helped him survive his early career struggles, and when he became a superstar in 1984, Sandberg knew exactly how to handle it:
Work harder.
“Basically, I was afraid to let anyone down,’’ Sandberg said. “Dallas Green and Jim Frey and Don Zimmer and my teammates and the fans and my family. Everyone expected a certain level of play and I didn’t want to disappoint anyone.
“I didn’t want to let myself down. The best way I knew how to do that was to work at it.’’
So Sandberg never took much time off in the winter, and in the spring he reported with pitchers and catchers, no matter the success he had the season before.
“That’s what I thought I had to do,’’ Sandberg said. “I went into every spring convincing myself I had to make the team.’’
There was nothing as reassuring as seeing Sandberg on the field 45 minutes before the rest of the team at Fitch Park, taking an extra 45 groundballs.
The best fielder in the history of his position never took a hop for granted, so before some guys were awake, he’d take 15 grounders right at him, 15 to his left, and 15 more to his right, each time completing the throw to first as though it really counted.
“Every day was a struggle,’’ Sandberg said. “Every day was a battle. It didn’t come easy to me and I never treated it like it did.’’
So he did it the right way, never taking anything for granted, never campaigning for awards or all-star teams, and he refused to beg for Hall of Fame votes.
Sandberg truly believed that would take away the exhilaration and satisfaction of winning election if it ever happened.
He did not play to the idiotic suggestions that someone is or isn’t a “first-ballot Hall of Famer.’’ You can’t be a second- or third-ballot Hall of Famer any more than you can be sorta-pregnant. You are or you’re not.
But Sandberg didn’t let the fools who passed him by the first two years compromise his integrity. He would not start pandering now.
During his playing days, he didn’t do back flips. He didn’t mug for the cameras. He didn’t blow kisses to the fans, self-promote or take as much human growth hormone as you can stuff in a cash-filled paper bag.
He just played the game the right way on the field, and off it he could only be himself. And while that wasn’t good enough for many critics, he was true to himself, and that meant more to him than a few more votes or a few endorsement dollars.
One of the most misunderstood athletes in Chicago’s history, most media never spent more than 30 seconds at a time near Sandberg’s locker, but their perception that he had nothing to say was OK with him, because it meant fewer interested parties, less time answering questions and more time for what he considered important: game preparation and time at home.
In the 1980s and ’90s, Sandberg was all that was good about a great game, a throwback to an earlier generation that believed in hard work and the rewards that it brought. That is how he got to this day.
Ryne Sandberg, Hall of Fame, Class of 2005.
“It lasts forever,’’ Sandberg said, his voice cracking. “That’s the part that’s kind of shocking. It’s forever.’’
He’s part of history now, never to be forgotten. Inhale, drink it in and enjoy the feeling. We don’t get many chances to remember what used to be.
Thanks, Ryno, for one last thrill.
http://www.dailyherald.com/sports/col_rozner.asp?intid=38357174