Three times before, I've run into Ryne Sandberg. Sandberg, the guy who was on my bedroom wall, hasn't reduced in my mind. As I stood feet away from him at Victory Field in Indianapolis, his grey hair peeking out from under an IronPigs cap, I felt 14 years old again. Sandberg looked like he could have walked out on the field and played, but instead, he's shifted his mindset to wanting to make it back to the major leagues the same way he got there as a player, by earning it. He didn't quite sneer when I asked him about the path Joe Girardi had taken to the manager's job, but Sandberg isn't someone that wants things given to him. While his fans will always picture him with a Cubs hat on, he's a Phillie now. Then again, I'm a writer now because Sandberg made me fall in love with baseball, watching cable in 1984. I was never going to be the player he was, but the passion he had -- and still has -- transferred to me in the same way he's trying to teach players like Domonic Brown. I stood in the dugout and finally got the words out, telling my hero, "You're why I love baseball." Powered by a memory that will last a lifetime, on to the injuries:
More...