Ryne Sandberg is on the so-called road to recovery. I was with him in the Cubs’ dugout, two hours before Monday’s game, and he said, “Look, I couldn’t do this yesterday.”
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He lifted his left arm, his broken hand heavily bandaged, straight out in front of his chest. Then he smiled and insisted, “I already see improvement.”
Moments earlier, trainer John Fierro had finished the fourth day of treatment. Fierro uses an electrical microcurrent machine, tracing the torn tissues with a large metal pencil.
Another set of X-rays will be taken within the next 48 hours. If the broken bones have been properly set, Sandberg is expected to be in uniform Thursday or Friday, running laps in the outfield. There has been no change in the long-range prognosis: out for four to six weeks.
Sandberg reacted with considerable anger last Friday after he was hit by a pitch that sent him to surgery. The accident occurred in the Cubs’ first exhibition game of the spring. But Sandberg has adjusted to his fate.
“It’s all part of the game,” he said Monday, “an unfortunate happening. I would have reacted differently if it was later on. I would have been able to get out of the way.”
Interviewing Sandberg is difficult. After 11 years, I have run out of questions. But it has often occurred to me that what sets him apart is not his physical ability but his extremely high level of concentration. He is among the most disciplined and motivated athletes I have known.
I asked how old he was when he became aware that he was unusally disciplined.
“When I was in junior high school,” he replied. “When I was 12 or 13, I’d get up in the morning on my own. I’d dress myself and make my own breakfast. Lots of times I was on my way to school before anyone knew it.
“I was a B student, without studying. I did all my schoolwork, but my mind, my focus, was always on after-school sports.”
His father, Derwent, a mortician who died in 1987, was a great influence, Sandberg said.
“He told me ‘way back when, `Keep your mouth shut and eyes and ears open. Then you might learn something.’ My dad told me that lots of times.”
The popular belief is that Sandberg is baseball’s silent leader, that he seldom engages in idle conversation.
“I talk,” Sandberg said. He laughed. “That’s one of the benefits of playing second base. You might not notice, but usually when a player gets to second base, we talk.”
He also revealed that during the six-month baseball season he thinks of nothing else.
“The first thing in the morning, when I wake up, I think of what happened yesterday and what I can do to improve. How I can adjust. If I go 0 for 4, go out on three weak ground balls and strike out, I’m thinking of what I have to adjust. Maybe I was trying to pull the outside pitch. If they’re throwing me outside, then I’ve got to go to the opposite field.
“When I go to bed, I’m already thinking about who’s going to pitch tomorrow. I think about what I’ve done against this pitcher, failures and successes. I’m always anxious to get back to the ballpark.”
Much has been written about Sandberg’s supposedly frozen facial expression. I mentioned that when he’s at the plate his expression changes. It seems to me his jaw tightens.
Sandberg agreed.
“Every time I look at my baseball cards I see that. It’s a different photograph every year. But the expression is always the same.”
Does he ever feel he has wasted an at-bat?
“Sometimes I get too happy,” he said. “If I go 2 for 3, or 3 for 4, depending on the score, I might relax and lose my concentration. I fight against it, but it happens.”
Sandberg also revealed that during Cubs home games he almost always hears the fans shouting at him.
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“The fans at Wrigley Field are very knowledgeable,” Sandberg said. “I’ll have an at-bat, when I’m trying to pull the outside pitch, and someone will shout: `Take that pitch to the opposite field. C’mon, hit one to right field.’
“That’s constructive criticism. And if I get a hit to right field in that at-bat, you might not notice, but I always wave my cap to that fan. I want him to know I owe that hit to him.”
It was time for Sandberg to return to the trainer’s room.
“I have to change my ice pack.” he said. “I change it five, six times a day. I don’t mind doing it. It’s what has to be done.”
Good or bad, Sandberg adjusts.