Respecting Ryne Sandberg
Ryne Sandberg passed away last week.
He was a big deal. He wasn’t just a Hall of Famer. He was the Chicago Cub. He was a quiet titan of Major League Baseball. And was my favorite ballplayer.
It may seem like an obvious choice. Sandberg was a relentless record-breaker and perennial All-Star. Plus this was the Chicago Cubs in the late 80s-early 90s—they weren’t exactly brimming with generational talent...
But Sandberg’s allure didn’t come from the number of times he was carried off the field; it came from the way he carried himself on the field.
Here he is during his Hall of Fame induction speech:
The reason I am here, they tell me, is that I played the game a certain way, that I played the game the way it was supposed to be played. I don’t know about that, but I do know this: I had too much respect for the game to play it any other way. And if there is a single reason I am here today, it is because of one word: "Respect."
I’m not sure how much of that I got when I was a kid. But here’s what I did get: his hat, his glove, his jersey, and almost none of his talent. But most importantly, I had a pair of his flip-up sunglasses.
To know Sandberg is to know these sunglasses. I’m not even sure what they’re officially called. They weren’t worn so much as they were equipped. They fastened to your face with an elastic strap like goggles.
And the lenses, instead of covering your eyes, flipped up beneath the brim of your hat. When a popup came your way, you would effortlessly flick them back over your eyes, stare up into the sun, and make the putout—in style.
They were impossibly cool. And impossibly hard to use—at least for me. Then again, the only thing I could turn at second base was a potential double play into runners on first and second. Sandberg, who once went 123 consecutive games without an error, had no such trouble.
He said that the glasses were so dark “that even if that ball was in the sun, you’d still catch it.” And the ball was often in the sun at Wrigley Field where night games were not played until 1988.
Clearly, his shades weren’t some flashy accessory. They were just another tool for this five-tool player. On some level they are emblematic of Sandberg himself: utilitarian and cool.
The Cubs eventually honored Sandberg with a statute outside of Wrigley Field. Brushing aside his seven Silver Sluggers, he insisted they memorialize the defensive side of his game. So they did.
“I am so proud that this statue is a baseball player, playing defense,” he said at the dedication ceremony, “on the balls of the feet, ready for every single pitch.”
Throughout his career, he lead by example and let his game do the talking. But he put a finer point on it during his Hall of Fame induction speech:
Make a great play—act like you’ve done it before. Get a big hit—look for the third base coach and get ready to run the bases. Hit a home run—put your head down, drop the bat, run around the bases.
I swear he used to run out no-doubter home runs like he was trying to beat out a grounder.
That style of play seems so alien now. We’ll never know how many extra bases have been lost to batters admiring their own warning track power.
But that’s baseball. The game changes. But the game endures—as will Sandberg’s legacy.
In the coming days, his statue at Wrigley will bear countless tributes, but for generations to come it will bear his cool confidence, his stoic composure, and—of course—his flip-up sunglasses.
Ryne Sandberg opened his remarks at Cooperstown by saying: “I stand here today before you humbled and a grateful baseball player.” And now here we are humbled and grateful for this baseball player.
Go Cubs.
Loose change:
Nico Hoerner wore the flip-up sunglasses at the Sandberg tribute game.
Sandberg paired with Cubs’ shortstop Shawon Dunston to form the greatest double play combination in baseball history when measured by the spelling of first names.
Shawon Dunston gave a really touching interview after Sandberg passed. It’s worth a listen.
Sandberg wore No. 23 in Chicago at the same time Michael Jordan did. If you were power ranking jersey numbers by city and year, could you beat No. 23 in early ‘90s Chicago?
I swear I once read that when he was coaching in the minors, Sandberg would give his players a small cash bonus if they ran out popups and grounders, but I cannot find the story anywhere.
Sandberg won the 1990 Home Run Derby by hitting just 3 homers. It was perhaps the strangest Home Run Derby ever played.
Sandberg once had such a great game that the game is now known as ”The Sandberg Game”. He was so good that the Cardinals’ Willie McGee hit for the cycle in the same game and wasn’t the Player of the Game. You can watch the whole thing or just the highlights.
More writing on sports: