Ryne Sandberg’s combination of grace, power and speed as one of baseball’s greatest second basemen of all time was a rarity.
At Sandberg’s induction into the Hall of Fame nearly 20 years ago, he delivered a speech that helped reintroduce him to the Chicago Cubs fans who had marveled at his ability when he played but had little clue as to the personality of the man. Remarking on his persona as a quiet — even bland — figure during his playing days, he joked to the baseball writers who voted him into the hall, “I think a large part of this (selection) is the fact that I was a great interview and gave you so many quotes you could wrap a story around.”
But after the self-deprecating humor, he spoke movingly of his respect for the game and how it should be played and his gratitude for his second wife, Margaret, whom he called his “salvation” at one of the lowest times of his life. His split in late 1993 from his first wife Cindy, his high school sweetheart, was part of his reason for retiring from baseball at a time when he could still have played on at a high level. His remarriage in 1995 led to his rejoining the Cubs in 1996 and playing another two years.
What we saw at that speech and for the remainder of Sandberg’s life was a man so full of personality, humor and vibrancy that some of us wondered if a different guy had played in 1984, when the Cubs tantalized fans with a playoff run following nearly four decades of futility. In true Cubs style, the ’84 team lost in heart-breaking fashion to the San Diego Padres in the National League Championship Series, but we’d argue that season was second only to the 2016 World Series championship in terms of excitement and appointment viewing for Cubs fans. Sandberg, who seemed barely to breathe a word to writers and fans, was the National League MVP that season — remarkable given that he’d started so poorly just two years before, after the Cubs acquired him from the Philadelphia Phillies.
Rick Sutcliffe, Sandberg’s teammate who won the Cy Young award as the National League’s best pitcher in that magical ’84 season, in 2007 recalled being asked to speak for about 20 minutes at a Cubs-sponsored event a few years earlier along with Sandberg. “I laughed out loud,” Sutcliffe told ESPN, “figuring if we were supposed to speak 20 minutes, 19-and-a-half would be me. But then he got up there and just wouldn’t stop. And I sat in awe. He was funny, entertaining. It was perfect.”
Over the last 19 months, Sandberg shared with the public his battle with metastatic prostate cancer. In August of last year he joined 670 The Score during a radiothon to raise money for cancer research and choked back what he called “tears of joy” as he shared the great news at the time that his cancer was in remission.
It was the sort of moment we don’t typically see outside our circle of family and friends — an emotional baring of the awful struggle he’d endured and the immense happiness he felt to have more days of life in front of him. And it happened, of all places, on sports talk radio.
Given that his cancer reemerged in December, it’s deeply sad to look back on that moment now. But we prefer to remember the joy and the humanity that this man who played baseball like few before him — and during his playing days kept up his public guard like few who rise to that level — chose to let us all see.
Ryne Sandberg — the Hall of Famer, one of the greatest Cubs of all time — found his voice when he stopped thrilling us on the diamond.
We are all the better for it. Our deep condolences to the Sandberg family, which could be extended to fill Wrigley Field several times over.
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