When the news broke Monday evening that Hall of Famer Ryne Sandberg had passed away at the age of 65, it hit Cubs fans in a way that’s hard to articulate but easy to feel. It wasn’t just the loss of a baseball legend. It was the loss of a childhood hero, a symbol of hope, and the favorite player of an entire generation of fans. To us, he wasn’t “Ryne Sandberg,” the meticulous second baseman and 10-time All-Star. He was Ryno — a name that didn’t need explanation.
To truly understand what Ryno meant to Cubs fans, you have to go back to 1984. Van Halen’s “Jump” blasted through televisions across the country as the soundtrack to Cubs baseball on WGN, a cable network that, for so many, made the Cubs America’s team — long before the phrase was even coined in baseball.
That summer, Ryno didn't just play — he arrived. In one unforgettable game, broadcast nationally on NBC’s “Game of the Week,” he took legendary closer Bruce Sutter deep twice in a dramatic comeback win over the rival Cardinals. That performance made Sandberg a household name overnight. He would go on to win the National League MVP that season, leading the Cubs to their first postseason appearance since 1945.
He hit second in the lineup behind Bob Dernier, and together they were known as the “Daily Double.” But even then, no one was betting against Ryno. He wasn’t just part of the team. He was the team.
Long before another icon donned No. 23 on the hardwood at Chicago Stadium, Sandberg wore it on the infield at Wrigley. And to Cubs fans, he wore it with pride and quiet brilliance. He didn’t crave the spotlight, but he earned it with steady excellence.
By 1989, when the Cubs returned to the postseason, Sandberg had already entered legend territory. He was the guy — the constant in a franchise that too often couldn’t find its footing.
From 1982 to 1992, he was the very definition of reliability: at least 153 games played in 10 of those 11 seasons. Not only did he flash the leather with an errorless streak that set records, but he also showcased exceptional range and speed. He once stole 54 bases, topped 30 steals five times, hit over .300 in five seasons, and even slugged over .500 — something practically unheard of for second basemen at the time.
And then there was the power: 40 home runs in a single season. At the time, he retired as the all-time leader in home runs by a second baseman. He had a season with 19 triples. He was a unicorn before we knew to call athletes that.
Ryno’s rise wasn’t just about talent. It was about timing. The explosion of cable TV brought Cubs games into homes all over the country. Even if you weren’t from Chicago, you could grow up watching Sandberg every day on WGN. In an era before social media, before MLB.tv, that kind of access was rare — and it made him everyone’s favorite player.
He was fun to watch. He had a smoothness to his game — from his soft hands turning a double play to his effortless home run trot — that drew you in. And for so many of us, we watched him with our parents, learning the game by watching someone who played it the right way.
He never looked rattled. He never acted like the moment was too big. And in that way, he became bigger than the moment.
On Monday night, social media filled with posts from people who hadn’t talked about baseball in years. Friends from school, neighbors, coworkers — all saying the same thing in one form or another: “Ryno was my favorite player.”
That wasn’t some throwaway line. It was a thread that ran through the lives of an entire generation. People who didn’t even follow baseball much still knew Ryno. (Sure, they may have mistakenly called him “Ryan,” but we knew better.)
We remember the flip-down sunglasses on a sun-drenched Wrigley afternoon. The way he’d smooth the dirt with each foot before digging in at the plate. The fluid backhand and throw from deep second that always seemed right on the money. The understated home run jog. The hustle on every play. The quiet leadership.
He was more than just a great second baseman. He was our second baseman. He was the one we all tried to mimic in the backyard. He was the poster on our bedroom walls. The baseball card we refused to trade. The guy we picked first in video games — even if his stats weren’t maxed out.
For over a decade, Ryno was the heart and soul of the Cubs. And for many of us, he was the player who made us fall in love with baseball.
Ryne Sandberg leaves behind more than just numbers and accolades. He leaves behind memories — vivid, sunlit moments etched into our childhoods.
He reminded us that greatness doesn’t always have to be loud. That you can lead by example. That consistency, hustle, and humility still matter.
So to Ryno: Thank you. For the clutch hits. For the diving stops. For the quiet swagger. And for being the hero that so many of us needed — and will never forget.
