Eye On Illinois: Legends live forever in the stories we tell about them

I cried at the end of the 1988 baseball season when the Cubs traded catcher Jody Davis to his hometown team in Atlanta, but Ryne Sandberg was my first real baseball hero.

That puts me in the same company as millions of kids who grew up in the 1980s with access to WGN-TV and parents who didn’t have “screen time” limits, at least not when it came to three important communities: “Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood,” “Sesame Street” and Wrigleyville.

Of those millions, most probably tried to play second base like our role model. Many were more successful than I, given I peaked in my 1987 T-ball season (yet kept playing another decade anyway). But far fewer were lucky enough to be inside the Friendly Confines for the 1990 Major League Baseball All-Star Game.

From my standing-room-only spot – fortuitously sheltered from the night’s persistent, heavy showers – I had never felt more a part of anything than when we all cheered Sandberg’s introduction. It felt like the roars went on for a minute or more. In retrospect, it was probably 15 or 20 seconds, but enough for a few extra organ riffs and 40,000 people letting the entire baseball world know how much we loved our living legend.

Broadcast video is a few clicks away, not to mention the VHS cassette in my basement, but why bother? I can always close my eyes and picture myself at 10 years old in the happiest place on Earth, a more vivid memory than graduating from college or what I had for lunch.

Over the years, I had some fortunate, brief encounters with Cubs icons like Fergie Jenkins or Billy Williams, which I‘ve come to understand are fairly common as the team deploys its greats as ambassadors (or perhaps a more commercial term). But I never really met Ryno.

I certainly had my chance. In 2021, my kid’s travel baseball team hosted Lake Bluff. My son, a million times the ballplayer I ever was, played second base, patrolling the same patch of dirt where I once stood emulating my hero. (That is, when they let me come in from right or left field.) Like usual, I saw most of the game through my camera lens.

At the year-end pool party, I learned Sandberg’s wife had a grandson on that team, and Ryne attended the game. A few of our kids collected autographs. I was oblivious, but looking back at the pictures, there was my hero, watching my kid play his position.

It wasn’t a missed opportunity. I’ll never regret focusing on my son. But the experience reminded me baseball is timeless, and legends, like anyone we love, can live forever in the stories we tell our children.

• Scott T. Holland writes about state government issues for Shaw Local News Network. He can be reached at sholland@shawmedia.com.