Ron Santo (1940-2010)

Today we mourn Ron Santo and boy is it harder than I thought it would be. I've been fortunate enough to never see the death of a close family member during my 25 years on this planet, but losing Santo feels like the first. There's an inner cynic in me that wants to tell myself to stop overreacting. I never met Santo (though I was lucky enough to listen to him speak at the Cubs Convention a few years ago), so why should I be so affected by his passing? But I am, much more than I ever thought I would be.

Because let's face it, Ronnie has been fighting diabetes-related health issues his entire life. Lesser men wouldn't have survived the daily struggles of living with the disease or the two amputations that took his legs. Santo not only survived, but he lived with a vigor and grace that I can only dream of when I enter my later years. In this day and age, 70 is too young to die. But for a guy like Santo, it's an amazing accomplishment and a testament to his strength, both inside and out.

But the thought that he could leave us at any time was on the back of the minds of Cubs fans for the last few years now. Even this past season, the fact that Ron began to stay home on long road trips was somewhat ominous. It's a natural reaction to steel yourself to expect the worst in order to come out unscathed on the other side. I thought I was prepared for Santo's death. I was wrong.

Today I cried. I'm still crying now as I write this. A lot of them are happy tears, though, as I listen to friends and family and fans share their favorite stories about the man. I just heard Ronnie's amazing radio partner Pat Hughes recall a story on Comcast Sports Net in which Ron was attempting to work a yogurt machine and wasn't able to turn it off. As Pat put it, Ron responded like any mature seven-year-old would. He ran away. And what makes that story so great is that you can totally picture that whole slapstick scene in your head. In another life, Santo would have made a great silent film comedian, on par with Chaplin or Lloyd.

But, alas, most of these tears are sad ones. It is going to be a heart-wrenching moment to hear that first WGN radio broadcast without him. I don't know who is going to replace Ron yet -- it might be Dave Otto, it might be Keith Moreland, it might be someone completely new -- but they will have massive shoes to fill. Sure, Santo wasn't the best color man in terms of baseball analysis or even objective criticism, but he brought something unique to the booth. He was like all of us. He was a fan first. He was ecstatic when the Cubs did great and he was angry and depressed when the Cubs did bad (and unfortunately there was a lot more anger and depression than happiness over his years), but he was real. His broadcasting style was an extension of every Cubs fan. There's something to be said about a baseball announcer who cares more about baseball than announcing. More often than not, even with other former players like him who took on color commentating gigs after their playing careers had ended, it is the other way around.

Ron Santo was never elected to the Hall of Fame. He never got to play in or witness a Cubs World Series. He relentlessly battled diabetes to the point of leaving the game in his prime and losing both his legs to amputation. And yet, I'd be hard-pressed to find a Cubs fan out there who wouldn't trade lives with him in a second. If I have even half the dignity Ronnie had throughout his whole life, I'll have done alright.

I'm going to miss you, Ronnie. Say hi to Harry for us.


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