They Called Him 'Mister Cub'

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"There's sunshine, fresh air and the team's behind us. Let's play two!"

Ernie Banks
Hall of Fame induction speech, 1977

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In the hearts of baseball fans, Ernie Banks will always be a Chicago Cub. "Mister Cub," they called him.

You don't often see a professional athlete who spends his entire career with a single team, especially someone whose big–league career lasted as long as Banks' did, but he spent all 19 years of his major–league career with the Cubs. I have heard him called the greatest baseball player who never played in the postseason. (He is almost 1,000 games ahead of his nearest competition on the list of players with most games played without a postseason appearance.)

You see, the Cubs haven't been to a World Series since 1945, and they haven't won one since 1908.

The Cubs came close to getting into the playoffs in 1969 (Banks retired in 1971), but they were overtaken by the "Amazin' Mets." It would have been nice to see him play in the postseason, but it would have to have been as a Cub; after all the seasons of futility he endured with the Cubs, it is impossible to imagine Banks in any other major–league uniform.

It isn't necessary to do so, of course, just as it isn't necessary to imagine Brett Favre playing in any uniform other than his Green Bay uniform. He started his career in Atlanta and finished it in New York and Minnesota.

Banks died in Chicago yesterday. He was born right here in Dallas, Texas, on January 31, 1931, grew up here, graduated from high school here.

So we could lay equal claim to him, I suppose. But once baseball took him away, as nearly as I can tell, he never returned. Oh, he probably came back for visits, but I don't think he ever lived here again. Once he got to Chicago, he stayed there.

It's hard for a Southern boy like me to understand how someone could be attracted to a place like Chicago with its frigid winters and a wicked wind that comes howling in from Lake Michigan year 'round. But it was Banks' adopted home, and he became the city's biggest booster.

Banks "enjoyed a love affair with Wrigley Field and its fans unlike any other in baseball," wrote Chris De Luca of the Chicago Sun–Times. While such a thing would be hard to prove, I am nevertheless inclined to agree with that.

I used to be more of a baseball fan than I am today, and I was never a Cubs fan. But I was in my baseball–card–collecting phase in the last years of Banks' career, and there were certain players whose cards I always wanted to get — and became my most cherished possessions once I did get them.

Banks' card was one of them, along with guys like Willie Mays and Hank Aaron and Brooks Robinson, who was always something of an icon in central Arkansas, having been born in Little Rock. When I was a kid, central Arkansas was (and, I am sure, still is) St. Louis Cardinals territory so Lou Brock and Bob Gibson were always popular with the baseball card crowd — and Chicago Cubs were the Cardinals' rivals so few Cubs cards were regarded as valuable by the guys with whom I hung out.

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Nevertheless, Banks' card transcended such team loyalty boundaries.

Ernie Banks was one of baseball's gentlemen, an eternally optimistic soul who probably started every major–league season believing it would end with him playing in the World Series.

As I say, that never happened. I suppose that kind of bad luck could leave a player feeling bitter, but as nearly as I can tell, he was always the unflagging optimist.

Rest in peace.

Baseball Cards on Easter

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Today is Easter Sunday. Like most holidays, it stirs up memories for me.

My memories are unique to the holidays themselves, of course, and where I spent them. Obviously, they aren't the same memories others have. They probably aren't even the same memories my brother has — and we spent every holiday together when we were growing up.

For example, Christmas brings back memories of cold nights spent in the enveloping warmth of my grandmother's beds. I guess others have similar memories — I hope they do, because Valentine's Day reminds me of heart–shaped cards no bigger than a child's fist and no more significant (when I was growing up, we had to give such cards to every person in the class), but, even absent much in the way of sincerity, it still kind of made me feel special to get them.

I always associate Labor Day with the start of the school year and the start of the football season. Oh, and the Jerry Lewis telethon, too. Summer weather never began to ease off in Arkansas until October so I have no mental link between Labor Day and cooler temperatures the way some people who grew up farther to the North probably do — but we knew cooler weather was coming. Labor Day was always a promissory note that milder temperatures were on the way.

Although I grew up in Arkansas, my grandparents lived in Texas, and we often spent Christmas with them. Easter was a different matter. My memory is that we didn't spend many Easters with my grandparents — but we did spend a few, and what I remember more than anything is that it always seemed to rain in Dallas on Easter.

(There is a 30% chance of rain in Dallas today, but it's been a sunny day so far.)

Wherever we spent Easter, my mother made a production out of it — as she did with everything, really. She planned elaborate treasure hunts for my brother and me on Easter — with cleverly written clues inside and out. We lived on a lake in Arkansas, and treasure hunts there were astonishing. My brother and I raced in and out of the house in search of the next treasure.

Things were more confined in my grandmother's city house with its postage stamp–sized back yard, but the hunts were just as elaborate.

Easter candy could always be found on the treasure hunts (which sometimes had to be moved indoors at virtually the last minute because of the unpredictable spring weather), but I have been reminded today of one Easter when I must have been 10 or 11 years old. I say that because I was in the grip of my baseball and football card addiction.

Mom was an enabler that Easter. Many of Mom's treasure hunt clues led us to packages of baseball cards, and my memory is that I added some stars to my collection who would have been great as a fantasy baseball lineup if such a thing had existed at the time.

(It's a good thing for me that fantasy sports didn't exist in those days.)

That particular Easter was warm and sunny, a beautiful day for a treasure hunt — and finding a bounty of baseball cards. I've been remembering that day with considerable fondness on this Easter.

Other Easters in Dallas weren't quite so pleasant. There were times, as I say, when Mom's treasure hunts had to be moved indoors. My grandmother's house had a screened–in front porch, and I have a vivid memory of sitting on that porch with my brother and my grandmother while it rained on Easter. One or two of the treasures were hidden on that porch. It's as close to being outdoors as we were allowed to get.

It's a good thing Mom never opened the packages of baseball cards when she left them as treasures. That front porch got wet even with the screen, and baseball cards didn't mix well with water.