The recent Chicago Cubs shake-up had baseball great Ryne Sandberg's name sprinkled in the headlines. Sandberg was my childhood hero. This got me thinking, how do we pick our heroes and, if I were a kid today, who would be my Sports Hero?
I know where my obsession with Sandberg was originally influenced. My dad grew up in Chicago, followed the Cubs, witnessed the '69 season, and loved Ernie Banks. He loved that man. And he loved his passion for the game. I can't tell you how many times I heard my pop emphatically say with a wide smile, "Let's play two!" That made its appearance during many a Little League game he coached.
Reflecting on those three little words, they perfectly embodied my dad's outlook on life. "If one is good, two's even better!" Whatever the idea was, he wanted to kick it up a notch. The first image that comes to mind is when he planned our family trip to Europe, a trip 20-years in the making. He planned a three-week trek that touched four separate countries...by car. People's eyes got big when he told them we drove in Paris, let alone Rome. We bounced around Germany, Austria, and circled Italy. All navigated by his scrawny, goofy 18-year old co-pilot.
That was my dad. The can-do mindset and impassioned attitude of "Let's play two" was his physical embodiment.
One of my earliest memories is going to visit my grandfather, my dad's dad, and watching Cubs games with him. He punished himself by being a Cubs fan, too. He was retired by the 1980s and I remember watching many an afternoon game at his side, each in our own recliner. Just like grandpa, an ice-cold can of Pepsi in one hand and in the other a Hostess Ding Dong cake from the freezer, because they're better that way. And that's where the obsession with Sandberg was born for a young Chris.
Sandberg, he always struck me as the strong, silent type. He was the John Wayne of second base.
He put up many a season of fantastic numbers. He was a leader of men. He got his uniform dirty in what seemed like every game. But he didn't run his mouth. He wasn't flashy. He was damn good at what he did and throngs of fans adored him, but none of it ever seemed to go to his head. Of course SportsCenter and corporate endorsements weren't then what they are now, but I think character remains the same regardless.
It was that sort of character that I did not one, but two separate biographical reports on in grade school. Long before the wiki-anything days rolled around, I tried to glean as much information as I could from a combination of Beckett Magazine, Sports Illustrated, and the backs of baseball cards. Thinking about it, I'm not sure how I squeaked out enough information for the required minimum of pages. Twice.
And speaking of ball cards, between my dad and I, one of our regular male-bonding occurrences became baseball card shows. Lots of them. And my hero Sandberg became the focus. Upper Deck, Fleer Ultra, Topps Desert Shield Edition, Denny's Grand Slam Holographic Limited Editions...as the options exploded, so did the collection of Sandberg cards. Remember how my old man liked to take it to 11? The collection grew from several pages to over 2,000 cards. My dad was responsible for the vast majority of that total. At one point, his job had him covering sales from Atlanta to Chattanooga and he knew where every ball card shop was between the two, many of which he arranged to have on the look-out for #23's cards specifically for him to pick up.
That massive collection paid off in a way I never could have imagined. Flash forward several years to 1996. I'm in my mid-teens. My dad and I are attending a Braves home game against the Cubs. We're set to sit in the cheap seats, but prior to first pitch, dad says, "how about we go down by the Cubs dugout?" Alright, why not. This is the good ol' days, when staff wasn't stationed at every aisle, ready to keep everyone separated by ticket caste.
So we're walking down the steps toward the dugout, passing all the business types and season ticket holders that are ordering things that are far too fancy for a baseball game from personal waiters. We get right up to the edge of the dugout and my old man is able to lock eyes with Manager Jim Riggleman, standing at the top of the steps.
"Hey, Jim, my son is a huge fan of Sandberg. He's go over 2,000 of his ball cards. Would he sign his glove?"
Wha?!? I'm looking at my old man, wondering what the hell is going on here. Where did this come from?
Then I see Riggleman look down into the dugout and say, "Hey, Sandberg. Some kid up here says he's got 2,000 of your cards!"
Next thing I know, Riggleman is motioning for me to toss him my ball glove. I think I forgot I was holding it.
I manage to toss it through the air and see it land in his hands on the other side. It then disappears into the dugout.
At this point, the usher for the section has seen the glove go into the air and is getting wise to our trespassing. He comes over and my dad starts explaining that his kid just wants a simple autograph. And he can't leave without his glove.
I'm watching this transpire...and it's then that it happens. Ryno himself appears at the top of the dugout, my glove in his hand, and tosses it back to me. Slack-jawed, somehow I caught it and stammered out a "thank you" at the same time.
We're clearing out of the fancy-pants section and there it was, on my well-worn Little League glove, the one that saw many years at second base: Sandberg's signature. That glove officially retired on that day.
When I think about Sandberg and describe him here, I can see how I've emulated him over the years: dedication to work, honesty, shying from the spotlight. Sure, we pick heroes usually because we want to walk in their footsteps, but is it possible that we also pick them because we're drawn to individuals with shared traits or personalities? Are we and our heroes kindred spirits?
That in mind, if I were 8-years old today, who would be my Sandberg?
Someone who comes to mind is another second baseman. The Red Sox's Dustin Pedroia embodies that franchise's hard-working roots. That guy is filthy before he can get out of the 1st. He takes care of both sides of the ball and shows he has a true love and respect for the game. I could see amassing a folder of ball cards on this guy.
Another athlete I love to see play is Kevin Durant. Sure, we share the same Alma mater, but even if we didn't, I'd still see the passion he plays with for the game. And, yes, he has huge endorsements, but it comes across in a very different way from someone like Kobe. Man, Kobe is great, but he just looks and acts like the type of guy that'd take great joy in getting to punch you right in the sack.
On the court, Durant looks like a big kid who appreciates how lucky he is to play a kid's game for a very good living. He seems like a guy who just gets it, as recently witnessed when he played a
pick-up game of flag football with a bunch of college kids. Was it a pub-stunt? Maybe, but it was a fun one. Which fan wouldn't want to play in that game?
Growing up, a lot of kids I knew loved the flash of stars like Mark McGwire and Jose Canseco. Those guys remind me of current-day players like Alex Rodriguez and Ryan Howard, or even the recent Manny Ramirez. I'm just not drawn to those guys. Not that each of them aren't talents, but I don't find myself rooting for them, and maybe it's because I don't believe I share personal traits with them. And I'm apparently not a fan of the long-ball hitter.
Within the realm of personal hero talk, I often hear people take a negative slant and say you'll only end up disappointed by them, because they're not who you think they truly are. I'd say that as long as we all take a look at the whole picture of the heroes we pick, which includes how they relate to us and our own values, what they say, and what they really do, then we're far less likely to end up feeling we'll ultimately be betrayed. And we'll all have heroes to help guide us and provide positive influence.
