I awoke Friday to the news that Ron Santo, Cubs broadcaster and former player, had passed away at the age of 70, due to complications associated with bladder cancer.

I became a real baseball fan in 1969. Some of you, especially if you're a Mets fan, might recall that it was the summer of the Miracle Mets. They overtook the Cubs with a late season surge and a concurrent Cubs slide. Then they went to the World Series and beat the Orioles. I don't recall the series score, but I think they won handily.

The reason I bring it up is because for me, it was the summer of the Cubs, not the Mets. I was back in school by the time the Cubs did their September swoon, and what I remember from that summer was the Cubs winning. A LOT!

And front and center on that very good team (one with three players already in the Hall of Fame) was their third baseman, a fellow named Ron Santo. Santo was their clean-up hitter, a guy who could be counted on to hit with power. He was also rather flamboyant, wearing his emotions on his sleeve, as they say. I remember him running to the clubhouse down the left field line after victories, then he would jump in the air and click his heels. He got to do that a lot that summer, and I got to see it a lot. Maybe opposing players didn't like it; maybe they saw it as being shown up in some way. But as a 9 year old boy, I loved it.

I wanted to be Ron Santo as a ballplayer. I wanted to play third base, and wear number 10. Unfortunately, that wasn't to be - I was never that much of an athlete. Passably good, but not good enough to make a school team or anything like that. But it didn't stop me from my admiration of Santo.

Later I (and the world) found out that he had played his career while battling juvenile diabetes, and indeed, that disease had shortened his career to 15 years at a time when the best of them played 20-22 years.

Ron was traded to the White Sox near the end of his career, and he played 2nd base mostly for them. (I think he was dealt for Steve Swisher, a pitcher named Ken Frailing, and another young pitcher named Steve Stone, but I could be wrong on the exact names in the deal.) He remained my favorite player until he retired.

Then came the Hall of Fame wait. Year after year, Santo was on the ballot, and year after year he fell short. There's a lot of speculation on why. One of the ones that makes the most sense is that he played on a team that never won anything (but no Cubs teams ever do) and there were already three players on that team in the Hall (Ernie Banks, Billy Williams and Fergie Jenkins). Another is that the numbers, when taken out of context, don't stack up with some of those others who played longer. Another is that opposing players didn't like him because of those heel clicks and his outspokenness as a player, and that translated into influence over those casting the ballots for the Hall. Later it was long after his playing career had ended and many of those voting had never seen him play or knew much about him.

But I saw him, and I believed him to be the best third baseman in the National League during a fairly long stretch of time. Bill James and others believe him to be deserving of induction into the Hall based on statistical analysis of his numbers compared to his peers. Yet he never made it.

I think he went into broadcasting to get his name out there, to campaign for votes. But he ended up being a much loved radio voice for the Cubs. Comical at times, but always passionate. He was not a great broadcaster, but his love for the Cubs showed through always. He lived and died with the team.

I met him once in Mesa, Arizona during spring training, and he couldn't have been nicer. He signed an autograph for me and just seemed like a nice guy. (I completely ignored Jimmy Piersall sitting next to him as I was so starstruck by my childhood idol.)

I'm going to miss Ronnie. I'm sorry he didn't get into the Hall of Fame while he was alive, but I hope the voters for the Hall will rectify that soon.

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