CHICAGO (WGN) — For Chicago sports fans who grew up in the 1980s, no explanation is needed when they hear the name Ryne Sandberg.
But for those of us who weren’t yet around to witness him help catapult the Cubs to contention, Steve Stone provided a more modern comparison for the eyes that never got to realize Sandberg’s impact in person.
“I think he was his generation’s Ichiro,” Stone said before Tuesday’s White Sox game. “Because when you watched Ichiro in the outfield, you realized that everything he did was to perfection. He set up perfectly for catching fly balls. If he was going to throw, he was in a perfect position to throw. When he ran the bases, he did it perfectly.
“And Ryno had a lot of that in him. He didn’t make a lot of mistakes.”
I was born in 1996 at the end of Sandberg’s second-to-last season with the Cubs. My first memories of watching baseball were in 2003. I never got to experience the love his game instilled in North Side baseball fans.
“This was a guy that you looked at and said, I’m going to raise my son, and I want him to be like that guy,” Stone said. “Ryno was that guy.”
But I did bear witness to Ichiro. From what I’ve gleaned, he and Sandberg have plenty in common.
As a young baseball fan in the 2000s, there was a certain gravitational pull to the Mariners’ standout Japanese outfielder. Kids nowadays would call it “aura.”
He was the first-ever Japanese-born player to be posted by Nippon Professional Baseball (Japan’s top pro baseball league) and play in an MLB game in 2001—something that wasn’t lost on me when I started watching MLB games two years later.
Ichiro helped take a 91-win Mariners team in 2000, to a 116-win team in 2001 that topped the American League in attendance with more than 3.5 million total fans.
Sandberg was an unassuming Spokane, Washington, native who arrived in Chicago in 1982 as a quiet inclusion in a trade with the Philadelphia Phillies.
By the end of 1984, the Cubs had drawn more than 2 million fans for the first time in franchise history. They’ve drawn 2 million-plus every year since, minus two strike-shortened seasons and the two seasons impacted by the COVID-19 pandemic, per The Athletic’s Jon Greenberg.
Ichiro, also like Sandberg, had to overcome negative connotations about their physical size and athletic traits.
He was petite when compared to the physical statures of his peers, leading some to think Ichiro was too small and frail for the Major Leagues. Frank Thomas and David Ortiz come to mind as players who dwarfed him when standing side-by-side.
During Sandberg’s time, some scouts thought he had a weak arm and didn’t profile well as a shortstop.
But both overcame their critics through the same means—insatiable work ethic, partnered with high character that endeared them to their teammates as much as it did their respective fans.
“One of the things that I’ve always really respected about players is it doesn’t matter how good they are on the field, but what I like to see is how good they’re going to be off the field,” Stone said of Sandberg. “And he was a real gentleman. He represented the game exceptionally well.
“When you’re talking about, not necessarily a Hall of Fame player, just a major league player, how you want them to act off the field, he was the guy you would be looking at.”
When Ichiro initially came over from Japan, he said he had no preference for what number he wore. When the Seattle Mariners gave him No. 51—Randy Johnson’s old number—Ichiro reached out to Johnson, promising not to bring shame to the number.
He went on to win the American League batting title, rookie of the year honors, MVP, and lead the league in hits and stolen bases.
The effect of one man’s play
I remember watching Ichiro play. As he rolled his shoulders and extended his bat out in front of him in the batter’s box, I would sit up and lean in toward the TV screen in front of me.
He seemed calculated and precise, as if he had already carefully planned out each pitch of the at-bat, or each stride of the stolen base that inevitably followed once he was on. Then, as these actions unfolded, they played out like a ballad of grace and agility unmatched by anyone else in the game.
I imagine Cubs fans who tuned into the Sandberg Game on June 23, 1984, sat up and leaned in when Sandberg stepped into the batter’s box against Bruce Sutter.
I also imagine Cubs fans who saw Sandberg go 123 games without an error at the Friendly Confines noticed the same precise calculations easing into his crouch at second base, before watching the grace and agility of each diving stop and impressive throw that followed.
Day by day, new wizardry unfolded, whether it be in the field or at the plate. And day by day, both deflected praise and went about their business on the way to near identical accolades and eventual spots in Cooperstown.
When Ichiro hung up his cleats in 2019, he retired as a ten-time All-Star with ten Gold Gloves, three Silver Sluggers, two batting titles, and the 2001 AL Rookie of the Year and MVP awards. When Sandberg called it a career for good after the 1997 season, he retired a ten-time All-Star with nine Gold Gloves, seven Silver Sluggers and the 1984 National League MVP award.
Two men from two different generations, with one helping their fans understand the other, thanks to a point from Steve Stone.