Ernie Banks' reputation as THE greatest Cub has been apparent for so long, even evident during his days as an active player, that it has become a cliché, obscuring his true magnitude. He is not a first tier Hall of Famer (e.g. Aaron, Ruth, Mays), but is at the top of what may be called the "second class", and that's not intended as a slight. However, he was definitely headed for that first tier in the early years of his career, only to be derailed by serious injury. Indeed, a large part of Ernie's greatness is that he overcame that obstacle to achieve as much as he did.

Ernie's public presence, invariably sunny, and his instantly recognizable catchphrases ("The Cubs will be fine in nineteen sixty-nine!", "Let's play two!", and he is personally responsible for dubbing Wrigley Field "the Friendly Confines"), has also served to shroud his greatness; it is part of the cliché that he is the greatest Cub as much for all of this, as for his baseball performance. This is a shame, as his achievements on the field can, and do, speak for themselves.

A fairly obvious question forms and must, thus, be asked: how real is the "Mr. Cub" persona? The greatest athletes have no illusions about what is required, mentally and psychologically, as well as physically, to achieve and maintain such a high level of performance. Even so self-effacing a personality as Ryne Sandberg displayed the competitive drive, and near killing instinct, that all players need at that level; it was apparent, however subtly, in everything he did on the field. Nothing in Ernie's outward demeanor, at any time, has ever betrayed any of these qualities.

If what Banks showed all of us in public is absolutely genuine, the only way he could have been as great is to have been the athletic equivalent of a savant. In the absence of any cracks in the façade, it can be viewed as a Potemkin village, hiding a much more intense and profound personality, one that Ernie had no intention of displaying before his fans.

Bill Bryson, a well-respected chronicler of modern life, in his recent book "The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid", tells of meeting Banks one day in Chicago, when he was accompanying his sportswriter father on a road trip; this anecdote clearly shows the image Banks wanted to present, especially to a child:

The photo you see at the top of this profile was taken the day Banks arrived at Wrigley Field for the first time, in 1953, before the game face became permanent. You can see his physical power in those hands and forearms, and in the wrists that Jack Brickhouse spoke of on Cubs telecasts so many times; they are the source of those five hundred twelve home runs.

But there is no sunshine in this countenance. The smile isn't forced or unnatural, the eyes are wary and searching. This is the Banks of Texas and Kansas City, the one who had to fight for the position he'd just reached, in a manner no one who wasn't a black man during that time and place can possibly understand.

Ernest Banks was born in Dallas on January 31, 1931. Or maybe he wasn't -- in the last few years, some unconfirmed research has indicated that he might have been born on that date in 1925. Ernie's mother is still living, aged 95, and perhaps the birth date was altered in order to save her the embarrassment of people knowing she had given birth at age 19. We may never know the truth, but if in fact he is six years older than he always has claimed to be, then he had a 100-RBI season at the age of 44, in 1969, long after he was a dominant player, still good enough for fifth in the National League that year. (From here on, I am assuming that his "official" 1931 birth date is correct.)

After Jackie Robinson had broken the color barrier in the major leagues, the Negro Leagues began a fairly rapid decline; but in 1949, they were still quite active. That is when a teenage Banks was signed by Buck O'Neil for his Kansas City Monarchs, still the dominant team in black baseball -- and via a recommendation from none other than the Negro League immortal and Hall of Famer, Cool Papa Bell. From O'Neil's book "I Was Right On Time":

And so, that is how Ernie Banks became a Cub (imagine -- based on O'Neil's account, he could just have easily become a member of the White Sox), and also how Buck O'Neil began a decades-long association with the Cubs, an association that brought to the North Side players such as George Altman and Lou Brock, and later, through the draft, players O'Neil had scouted like Oscar Gamble, Lee Smith, and Joe Carter.

In the early 1950's, when not every team had integrated (the last holdout, the Red Sox, would not have their first black player till 1959), teams generally signed two black players as their "firsts". Why? In a sad legacy of racism, it was thought that many white players would not accept a black roommate on the road. Thus, the Cubs also signed second baseman Gene Baker, and both made their major league debuts, the first black players for the Chicago Cubs, in September 1953; Banks on September 17 and Baker on September 20. They would be the Cubs' doubleplay combination for three full seasons, 1954, 1955 and 1956, lasting together until Baker was traded to Pittsburgh early in 1957. In 1954, Banks' 19 HR, 79 RBI, .275/.326/.427 performance was good enough for second place in Rookie of the Year voting (won by Wally Moon) and sixteenth place in MVP balloting, the first of eleven seasons in which he would receive MVP votes. He also was selected (in those pre-fan voting days) to eleven All-Star teams.

Banks was fast becoming a star. Athletic and rangy, he was an early prototype of the sort of shortstop that we have seen over the last twenty-five years in, for example, Cal Ripken and Derek Jeter, hitting for average and power. In the photo above, you can't see his fingers, but anyone who saw him play, particularly on television where you could see closeups, will remember those fingers, moving to and fro on the handle of the bat, just waiting to get locked into position to slam another double or triple or home run.

In the field, while his range factors were above average, so were his error counts -- but he worked hard to improve this, and by 1959, he made only twelve errors in 519 total chances, while still having a superior range factor of 5.13. From his debut, he played in 424 consecutive games until the first of a series of injuries that would prevent him from the top-tier stardom he seemed destined for, a broken hand in 1956. The 424 consecutive games Banks played from the start of his career remains the National League record for such things today (the major league record is now held by Hideki Matsui, who played in 519 consecutive games from the start of his major league career in 2003, until he himself was injured last May).

After he returned from the hand injury, Banks began another consecutive-game streak, which ran for 717 straight games starting on August 26, 1956, and ending on June 23, 1961, when knee problems were beginning to end his time at shortstop and force him to other positions. Ernie sat out that June game voluntarily; the streak and the nagging injuries had apparently begun to press on him.

It was in the years before those knee injuries that Ernie appeared to be heading for the top rank of the record books. From 1955 through 1960, he hit forty or more home runs five times in six seasons. Since then -- a span of forty-six seasons -- only Sammy Sosa, Ken Griffey Jr., Harmon Killebrew and Alex Rodriguez have accomplished that feat; Hall of Famers such as Willie Mays and Henry Aaron, Banks' contemporaries, never did. In 1955, he hit five grand slams, a record that stood for thirty-two years (and still stands as the NL record). The climax to all this production was the back-to-back MVP awards he won in 1958 and 1959, the first time a National Leaguer had won two in a row.

Looking back on those awards from a 2007 perspective, they are even more impressive than they must have seemed at the time. The Cubs were mediocre clubs both those seasons -- losing 82 games and finishing 20 games out of first place in '58, losing 80 and winding up a closer, but still poor, 13 games behind in '59. But Ernie dominated. In 1958 he led the league in: games, at-bats, SLG, total bases, HR, RBI and extra-base hits, and finished second in OPS, and for good measure, second in triples with 11, though he was never much known for having any baserunning speed. He got sixteen of the possible 24 first-place MVP votes. He became only the third Cub to hit forty homers in a season, after Hack Wilson and Hank Sauer, and it would take another twelve years (until Billy Williams hit 42 in 1970) for anyone else to join that exclusive club (since joined by Dave Kingman, Andre Dawson, Ryne Sandberg, Sammy Sosa and Derrek Lee).

He repeated this performance in 1959, including a career-high 143 RBI, eighteen more than anyone else in the majors; he nearly singlehandedly put the Cubs in contention. As late as July 29, 1959, the Cubs stood over .500 at 50-49 and only five games out of first place, but they faded and finished sixth.

Ernie's non-stop power barrage continued in 1960; he led the major leagues with 41 HR, his fourth consecutive forty-homer season. On April 29 against the Cardinals, Ernie's 232nd career HR broke Gabby Hartnett's team record. Just to put an exclamation point on that date, he hit another home run in that game, and drove in all six Cub runs ... in a 16-6 loss. His average declined a bit that year, to .275, and with the Cubs' even poorer performance (a 94-loss season), he finished fourth in MVP voting. At age 29, he had hit 269 career HR, and had averaged 41 HR over the previous six seasons -- had he continued at that pace, he would have broken the 500-HR plateau in 1966, and perhaps headed on towards 600.

But Ernie never made it there. And a clue as to why can be found if you look up his "most-comparable hitter" at age 29. There you find the name... Nomar Garciaparra.

And that's a good comp not only on a statistical basis, but also for another reason, because both Nomar and Ernie suffered career-altering injuries right about that juncture, turning a superstar player into someone just "above average". It appears that Nomar is following precisely the path that Ernie did in resurrecting his career, becoming a very good everyday player, though not at nearly the performance level he had established prior to being hurt (and following the same path across the diamond, too, moving from shortstop to first base). In May 1961, Ernie, off to a decent .281/.360/.529 start, but with only 7 HR and 15 RBI through 33 games, suffered a knee injury that forced him out of the infield. He was moved to left field on May 23, and even played a handful of games at first base before finally, as noted above, benching himself on June 23, ending his streak of 717 consecutive games played. At the time it was the fourth-longest such streak in history, and stood as the Cubs' club record until Billy Williams broke it on June 18, 1968. When Ernie returned, he went back to SS for the rest of the year, but failed to hit 40 HR for the first time since 1956, finishing with 29, and 80 RBI. In an otherwise unremarkable season-ending game on October 1, 1961 at Wrigley Field, in front of 4,325, Ernie Banks played his 1125th and final game at shortstop.

Installed as the Cubs' regular first baseman in 1962 (he also, inexplicably, in that bizarre College of Coaches year, played three games at third base, and played eight others there in 1966), he returned to near his MVP levels with 37 HR and 104 RBI, but his average dropped to .269; he never again hit over .276, nor had an OBA higher than .328, for a single season. The 104 RBI, good for eighth in the NL, are actually fairly impressive for a last-place team that lost 103 games and scored only 632 runs.

In 1963, Ernie had hit 14 HR, though with poor production of .244/.296/.488, when on June 15 he was diagnosed with subclinical mumps. He tried to battle through the rest of the season, but hit only four more home runs and didn't play after September 11. It was the worst year of his career; he finished at only .227. The Cubs had briefly contended that year (standing fourth, 5.5 games out, as late as August 2), the year I attended my first major league game (the Cubs got shut out on three hits -- Ernie had one of them), and finished over .500 for the first time in seventeen seasons. One is left to wonder what they might have done in 1963 had Banks been in his form of three or four years prior.

Two years later, Ernie hit his 400th career HR on September 2 at Wrigley Field off the Cardinals' Curt Simmons, who had also given up Willie Mays' 400th HR and who, a year later, would become Ernie's Cub teammate. And on the final day of the 1965 season, October 3, Ernie and Don Kessinger turned a triple play, the Cubs' third of that year. They lost anyway, 6-3 to the Pirates at Forbes Field in Pittsburgh.

And then, at age 35, Ernie's life and career were to change irrevocably, with the Cubs' hiring of Leo Durocher as manager for the 1966 season. As you can imagine now, forty years on, Durocher's irascible temperament and Ernie's sunny disposition were a deadly mix. Leo didn't like Ernie and was bound and determined to find a replacement for him. Keep in mind that in the mid-1960's, thirty-five was considered ancient in baseball terms. Nearly all the over-35's in that era were pitchers (example: of the twenty oldest players in the majors in 1966, fifteen were pitchers), and Durocher kept trying "kids" at first base, to try to find Banks' "replacement". For example, John Boccabella, a catcher, played there 30 times in '66. Ernie hit only 15 HR and there were whispers that maybe Durocher was right.

But Banks had turned himself into a good defensive first baseman, and his contributions there weren't unnoticed. In 1967, the Cubs leaped into true contention in midseason and Ernie hit .276/.310/.455, his highest batting average in six years, and drove in 95 runs. The following year, his power stroke came back -- oddly, in a pitcher's year -- and he hit 32 HR in 1968, good for third in the National League.

The 1969 season dawned brightly for both Ernie and the Cubs. On Opening Day, April 8 at Wrigley Field, Ernie hit two homers and drove in five runs, and Willie Smith's extra-inning walkoff launched the ballclub on what we all thought was going to be "the" year; at age 38, Ernie didn't have much baseball time remaining.

On June 30, 1969 in Montreal's Jarry Park, Ernie was cheated out of a home run in one of the freakiest ways in baseball history. It had rained hard for hours before the game that night in Montreal. Jarry Park, in its first major league season and with poor visibility on a good day, had that visibility made much worse by the poor weather and field conditions. In the second inning, Ernie hit a long fly ball which appeared to leave the park. However, it wasn't counted as a home run; read this bizarre PBP:

You're reading that exactly right -- the umpires believed Expos RF Rusty Staub and ruled that the ball went UNDER the fence, thus giving Ernie only a ground-rule double. Had that been credited properly as a home run, Banks would have hit his 500th career HR on May 9, 1970, a game on a sunny Saturday attended by 33,168 (myself included -- this began a whole series of events where I missed seeing major milestones, including Lou Brock's and Robin Yount's 3000th hits, by one), instead of the following Tuesday, May 12, a gloomy, chilly, rainy day, where only 5,264 saw Banks lace a Pat Jarvis pitch into the LF bleachers for baseball history. Asked afterward what he was thinking when he hit it, Ernie said:

Click here to hear Vince Lloyd's WGN radio call of Ernie Banks' 500th home run (opens .mp3 audio file)

Ernie was reaching the end -- he was a backup now, playing in only sixty-two games in 1970 and hitting only twelve HR, and became a player-coach in 1971, with only 83 AB and three home runs, the final, five hundred twelfth, coming on August 24, 1971, off Jim McGlothlin of the Reds. It was around that time that some Cubs players, chafing under Durocher's yoke and frustrated that, as good as they were, they hadn't won, started publicly calling for Leo to be fired. In early September, P. K. Wrigley took out full-page newspaper ads blasting those players, ending with the quote, "If we could only find more team players like Ernie Banks." But Banks' knees could not stand up to the rigors of major league baseball any longer. He played his final major league game on September 26, 1971 at Wrigley Field, the Cubs' last home game of that season, in front of 18,505 appreciative fans, batting cleanup. I'd love to tell you that, like Ted Williams, he hit a home run in his last at-bat, or at least got a hit and was removed for a pinch-runner to an ovation. Unfortunately, Ernie's career ended more prosaically -- with a popup to third base. His final hit was an infield single in the first inning that day; the Cubs lost 5-1. His 2528 games played, fortieth all-time, is the most for any player who never played in the postseason.

As he approached retirement, Ernie didn't seem to know what he wanted to do after baseball. He continued the coaching duties he had begun in 1971 through the 1973 season, though with somewhat undefined duties (primarily, however, he coached first base). On May 8, 1973, manager Whitey Lockman was ejected in the third inning and Ernie took over for the rest of the game, technically becoming the first black manager in baseball history.

He also briefly tried his hand at broadcasting, at which he was, well, not very good. I will never forget one of the nights that he filled in as an evening sportscaster on WGN-TV's nightly news. It may be difficult for many of you to wrap your minds around the fact, in these ESPNized days, that in the early 1970's WGN would not allow taped highlights of Cubs games to be shown on other local stations' newscasts -- and for years, the other stations in town had to send a separate single camera to Wrigley Field to record their own highlights. This was done in an effort to try to boost the ratings for WGN's own news programs. Anyway, Ernie sat down on the news set one night after he himself had homered, and when the appropriate highlight was about to be aired, he said, memorably: "In the third inning, I came up.", followed by Jack Brickhouse's call of his home run.

After that, the Cubs put him on the payroll as a roving goodwill ambassador, something you'd think would be a natural job for Ernie. And he was good at it. Too good, in fact -- Ernie's problem was that he was both too nice and too disorganized. Any time a group would invite him to speak, he'd say yes, leading, inevitably, to him not showing up somewhere because he'd booked two engagements at the same time.

In 1977, Ernie was elected to the Hall of Fame in his first year of eligibility, named on 83.8% of the ballots. In the unenlightened days of Wrigley ownership, the Cubs didn't believe in retiring uniform numbers, though no one wore Ernie's #14 after he finished playing [want a good trivia question? Who was the last player to wear #14 before Ernie? Paul Schramka, who played in two games in April 1953 and never returned to the majors. Others who wore #14 were: Guy Bush(1932), Zack Taylor (1933), Charlie Root (1934), Larry French (1935-41), Ken Raffensberger (1941), Lou Novikoff (1942), and Vallie Eaves (1942)]. Finally, after the Cubs were sold by the Wrigleys, Ernie's #14 was retired, the first Cub uniform number to be so honored, on August 22, 1982.

Since then, Ernie has spent his days being the image he created, Mr. Cub. In 1984, he was asked to throw out the first ball before game one of the NLCS -- and he did so, but not until he had bowed deeply to everyone in the ballpark, including us in the bleachers, thanking those who had supported and loved and cheered for him for his nineteen seasons as a Cubs player, more years spent in the uniform as a player than anyone other than Cap Anson and Phil Cavarretta.

Ernie Banks' rankings on the all-time Cub lists (ML rank in parentheses where in the top forty):

Games: 2528, 1st (40th)
At-bats: 9421, 1st (39th)
Runs: 1305, 5th
Hits: 2583, 2nd
SLG: .500, 7th
Total bases: 4706, 1st (27th)
Doubles: 407, 3rd
Triples: 90, 7th
Home runs: 512, 2nd (17th)
RBI: 1636, 2nd (22nd)
Bases on balls: 763, 8th
Extra-base hits: 1009, 1st (25th)
Intentional walks: 198, 1st (11th)

As noted at the top of this profile, it's hard to tell whether Ernie's happy-go-lucky, sunshiny personality is really who he is, or whether he's using it as a mask to cover hurts in his personal life (at one point in his life, he went through a bitter divorce in which he lost virtually all the memorabilia from his baseball career), hurts he cannot bring himself to think of or speak of. He appears cheerful and bright, but may hide unspoken storms beneath.

Reports circulating at the Cubs Convention last month from people who saw Ernie were a bit distressing ... they said he was starting to repeat stories over and over, and sounded a bit weary and confused. He is now seventy-six years old, and perhaps nearing the end of a memorably spent life -- a life filled with accomplishment and joy brought both to himself and millions of Cub fans who admired his play on the field and his cheerful demeanor off it. For both the sunshine and the statistics, Ernie Banks is, and perhaps shall forever be, the greatest Chicago Cub.

Memories. Ernie at the plate, in the Wrigley sunshine, immortalized forever:

Courtesy of Jeff Suntala

Ernie Banks' career stats at baseball-reference.com

Chicago Daily News negatives collection, SDN-009578. Courtesy of the Chicago Historical Society. Photo taken in 1911.

Profile by BCB cartoonist Mike

Cap Anson was a larger-than-life figure who came to personify major-league baseball during its first quarter-century. He is generally recognized as the greatest 19th-century player, and his accomplishments on the field remain impressive over one hundred years after his retirement. He played 27 years at the highest levels the game then had to offer, and was a regular the entire span. He was the embodiment of the National League its first 22 seasons, all played for Chicago.

Anson is probably the single most important figure in Cubs history, and one of the handful of most important in the game's history. He was the preeminent figure in Chicago sport for nearly half a century, remaining a national celebrity long after his retirement from the majors. In that time he progressed from "Baby", to "Captain", to "Pop". The team was named the "White Stockings" by its founders, but its succeeding apellations were acquired based on Anson's trials and tribulations. They became the "Colts" when Anson's veterans were sold, and the "Orphans" when he left, in bitterness and anger.

Anson's life is the saga of the America he lived in. Born on the frontier, he became an urban sophisticate, a world traveler, a paragon of the virtues and values of his era; including great flaws for which history would be unforgiving. Our modern judgments of Anson, as a player and a man, would have astounded his contemporaries, and differ dramatically from what they were even a generation ago. It is an object lesson on the transience of even the most secure credoes and reputations.

Strictly as a player, Anson has cause to be ranked first in this list. That Ernie Banks remains on top is a reflection on Anson's and Sosa's negatives. Sammy's are well enough known. The baseball of Anson's time is not to be compared, in athletic quality or competitiveness, with the game that developed later. Ernie remains the number one man, in our considered opinion.

Henry Anson, and untold thousands like him, built the Midwest, and the families that they raised there, in their image. Born in New York, raised in Michigan, and wed in Ohio, he looked west to make his life. He packed his wife, Jeannette, and two small sons into a prairie schooner and set out for Iowa. He housed his family temporarily in Illinois while he made his final search alone.

The frontier of the 1850s is more usually regarded as the Great Plains and beyond, but most of the new states carved out of, and alongside, the old Northwest Ordinance were equally wild and unsettled. Iowa had been admitted to the Union only five years before. The Black Hawk War had been fought in the area only twenty years before. The Sac and Fox tribes had ceded their land rights by treaty less than a decade earlier. The chieftain Keokuk, a rival of Black Hawk's whose accommodations with the whites would allow Henry Anson and his family to live on the land they chose, had died in his namesake village only three years previously.

Henry Anson chose a tract almost exactly in the center of the state, on high ground along the divide between Linn Creek and the Iowa River. There, in summer, 1851, he raised a log cabin and established his claims. He returned to Illinois to retrieve his family, and they arrived at the homestead that autumn. In that log cabin, Henry's third son was born April 17, 1852, the first white child born in the area. He was named Adrian Constantine, in honor of two Michigan villages in which his father had lived in his youth. Melville and Sturgis, the older sons, had been born in Ohio. Melville would die in Iowa before 1860, aged about ten.

Henry Anson named his settlement Marshall. When informed, at the establishment of the post office, that a Marshall already existed in Iowa, he expanded the name to Marshalltown. He had hoped to found the future state capital, but Marshalltown would become a county seat instead. Henry was not the first settler of any kind, a Potawatomi chief, Che Meuse (adopted name Johnny Green), was living in the area, and proved invaluable in assisting Anson and his followers in their ventures and progress. The children of Che Meuse's tribe would become the first playmates of the young Anson brothers.

Iowa had been admitted to the Union under provisions of the Missouri Compromise of 1820, slavery was illegal there. But the Iowa legislature, as a territory and later as a state, passed restrictive "black codes", forbidding immigration of free African-Americans, and denying basic rights to those already present. All the new states of the Midwest enacted, or had enacted, similar laws. Illinois, though admitted as a free state, (before the Compromise), allowed previous slavery to exist under a "grandfather clause" until 1845. Iowa would not allow the vote to blacks until 1865, and at that was the first midwestern state to do so. These were the values, and the attitudes, prevalent even within the free territory of the North. They were the common currency of Adrian's upbringing, alongside the more usual traditional values of the time.

As the privileged son of the founding father of the region, Adrian Anson grew up confident, secure, and arrogant. The town grew with, and around him; his father was farmer, surveyor, land agent, justice of the peace, hotelier, and county supervisor. Young Anson romped in the woods with his Potawatomi pals. It was a boyhood of the sort later found in storybooks. Adrian was headstrong by nature, and was a wild, overbearing child. He was also a physical prodigy, large from an early age, finding satisfaction only in athletic challenge and competition. Chores and responsibility, essentials on the frontier, were beneath his youthful dignity.

Jeannette Anson died in 1859, and Henry's sister Emily moved to Marshalltown to help raise the brothers. In an effort to impose some structure onto his sons' characters, Henry Anson sent them to Notre Dame, and later to State University in Iowa City. These sojourns did nothing to tame Adrian's nature, he was asked to leave both institutions after brief stays. (Both allowed, at that time, prep enrollments as young as 14, Adrian's age when he entered ND). Adrian and Sturgis played ball for these colleges, and joined the town team, the Marshalltown Stars, upon returning home.

The Stars, anchored by Henry Anson and his sons, became a local powerhouse, winning the Iowa state championship in 1868. Adrian was second team until 1866, and his desire to make the "varsity" changed his attitudes and behavior. Adrian had now found his passion, to which he would bring his energy, newfound discipline, and moral code. But there was nothing in Marshalltown to further the professional ambitions of a ballplayer, Adrian would need a chance from elsewhere. And then, in the summer of 1870, one came marching straight into town.

In 1870 the Forest City professional baseball club, based in Rockford, Illinois,led by Albert Spalding, the greatest pitcher of the day, embarked on a tour of the Midwest. They stayed two days in Marshalltown, and played two games with the local team, winning by the surprisingly competitve (by Forest City standards) scores of 18-3 and 35-5. They were impressed by the play of the Ansons, and sent contract offers to all three after the tour was completed. Henry had no intention of leaving the town and businesses he had founded, and Sturgis, too, preferred to make his future in Iowa. But Adrian saw his life's chance, and in the spring of 1871, aged barely nineteen, he began his professional career in Rockford, at a salary of $66 per month.

Rockford belonged to the newly-formed National Association, regarded by many historians as the first major league. It was certainly recognized at the time as a league outranking all others. Spalding had departed for the east coast, playing for Boston; and Rockford, deprived of its biggest star and gate attraction, finished last in its initial, and only, NA season. Rockford was the smallest, and most westerly, of the Association's cities, and hence the most vulnerable. The team folded at the close of `71, after compiling a 4-21 record within the league. Anson had emerged as the team's undisputed star, leading the club by a wide margin in almost every batting category. Anson was offered a position on the Philadelphia Athletics for 1872, at a huge raise, and accepted. In the fall of 1871, Anson became a big-city boy for good, moving to Philadelphia, at the new salary of $1250 per season.

Anson played for Philadelphia 1872-75, the remaining years of the NA, and became, over that time, one of the biggest stars in the game. As baseball itself gained in popularity, the quality of players, salaries, and facilities followed suit. Philadelphia was competitive in these years, but Boston, led by Spalding, was the power of the league, winning all four pennants `72-'75.

Anson was an all-purpose infielder in these earliest days, but his reputation, then and later, would be made with his bat. In his last year at Philadelphia, his salary rose to $1800 per season. He also acquired his first experience as a manager, piloting the Athletics at the end of the season on an interim basis.

In the summer of 1874, Anson was part of the Spalding-organized exhibition tour of England, Scotland, and Ireland, an attempt to proselytize the game in what was hoped to be fertile foreign soil. The Boston and Philadelphia teams made the trip, playing in Liverpool, Manchester, London, Sheffield, and Dublin. The two teams would play one another in a competitve baseball game, then combine to play a cricket match against a local British team. The English were not impressed by baseball ("Why, it's only rounders", said the future Edward VII), but were taken with the American skill at cricket, the "colonials" won several of the matches.

The tour was a financial loss, but it gave Anson a taste of travel, and a sense of the possibilities within his profession for organizational and leadership roles. He and Spalding renewed acquaintances, and a long-lasting and productive friendship began.

Spalding was plotting a professional coup, along with the owner of the Association's Chicago franchise, William Hulbert. The NA had developed fatal flaws; drunkenness, gambling, and bribery had become common. Hulbert and Spalding were convinced that big-time baseball had a future, provided its financial and moral tone could be elevated. They saw themselves as the men to do so, saviors of the new game.

Hulbert assembled representatives of seven other potential ownership groups in New York City in February, 1876, and presented his proposal, and constitution, for a new league. The National League, with a membership of eight clubs, was founded February 2, 1876, adopting Hulbert's constitution almost without change. The NL forbade use of alcohol by players, or its sale at parks. It forbade gambling, with a lifetime ban imposed on players caught "fixing" games. It forbade scheduled games on the Sabbath. All these measures were necessary at that moment, but most would become anachronisms within a few years. Hulbert handed the presidency of the league to a figurehead for the first year, then assumed it himself in 1877, turning the Chicago team presidency over to Spalding.

Hulbert and Spalding's first order of business was to assemble a strong hometown team represenatative of their ideas. Spalding himself joined the Chicago club, bringing Boston stars Deacon White, Cal McVey, and Ross Barnes with him. Spalding then recommended Anson to Hulbert. Anson was an attractive catch; a young star, retaining the local fame from his Rockford days, and he had already made a reputation as a moral standard-bearer. Anson did not smoke or gamble, and was a publicly devout man. He was not (yet) a teetotaller, he indulged in an occasional good time. (During one such indulgence, in Philadelphia, he was dressed down by his future wife, who encounted him, inebriated, on the public way).

Hulbert offered Anson a salary of $2000, and a contract was signed. But a complication arose, Adrian's fiancee in Philadelphia, Virginia Fiegal, daughter of a prominent businessman,   refused to move to Chicago. Anson went so far as to offer Hulbert $1000 for his release, but was turned down. The differences were eventually smoothed over, Adrian and Virginia were married in November, 1876, and took up residence in Chicago. Their marriage was happy and lasting, although tinged by personal tragedies. The couple had seven children; four daughters survived, three sons died in infancy.

The Chicago White Stockings of 1876, with Spalding as manager and pitcher, won the first NL pennant handily, not necessarily a healthy result for a brand-new league. It hurt the gate, and led to the league's first crises; New York and Philadelphia, assured of losing money,  refused to make their final road trips. Louisville players were caught throwing meaningless games. New York and Philadelphia were expelled from the league, the Louisville players were banned. The NL made up the gap by recruiting teams from smaller eastern cities, and was back to eight clubs by 1879.

Anson played at third base in 1876, batting .343. But Spalding was the star, with a record of 47-13, pitching, as was the custom, almost every game. Anson had solid seasons in `77 and `78, hitting .337 and .341, playing several positions in the field. But the team declined sharply.  Spalding's arm finally broke down in `77, and he retired from the playing field in `78, moving permanently to the front office. The aging stars imported from Boston faded quickly, by 1879 Anson was the only remaining player from the original 1876 roster.

Hulbert, Spalding, and Anson were forming a triumvirate of sorts within the league. The two executives promoted their ideas of professional conduct from the front office, Anson from the field. But the league was unhealthy away from the diamond. Five of the original eight franchises had folded or been expelled by 1879, replaced with clubs in cities like Troy, Worcester, Hartford, and Syracuse, places incapable of financially supporting the highest quality teams. In 1879, the NL, although still declaring itself the only "major" league, was in fact of no higher quality than most of the minor leagues with which it competed. The very idea of "major league" baseball was in peril. Anson, from his perspective, saw things his ownership did not, and itched to try his remedies, but neither Spalding nor Hulbert was yet ready to give him the position of authority from which he could implement his ideas.

Robert Ferguson had been made Chicago manager in 1878, succeeding Spalding, leading the team to a fourth-place finish. Ferguson's leadership had not impressed, and Spalding was finally ready to hire Anson to the position he had long desired. Anson assumed his duties as manager May 1, 1879.

Anson now began to implement his ideas on the field, and had the ear of the front office for his ideas elsewhere, and Spalding listened. The Chicago club began a systematic program to identify, and sign (sometimes raid), the best players from other teams and leagues. Anson would often scout potential signees personally. On the field, Anson imposed a regimen of strict discipline, disobedience would sometimes be remedied by physical force. In short order, Anson built the greatest team in history to that time, helped in no small measure by the fact that he was himself entering his prime as a player. This was his one and only period as an innovator, and the league imitated and emulated him, to the benefit of all. After 1880, the NL claim to bring "major" was no longer in doubt. New York and Philadelphia were readmitted in 1883 with new franchises, and the smaller venues were gradually eliminated.

Anson, in his prime, looked and acted the very picture of an athlete. He was the biggest man physically in the NL for most of his tenure. He stood 6'1", 220 lbs, all of it muscle, an imposing presence. He was handsome, and stylish in dress and carriage. The manager was the only person, at that time, allowed to address the umpire, and Anson made the most of this, his too-frequent arguments were often deliberately theatrical and sometimes comic. He was not above using his status as the league's most important star to gain leverage with umpires or team officials.

Anson was a right-handed batter and thrower. Although immensely strong, he did not use his power for distance hitting (he occasionally took a full cut, with sometimes spectacular results). Anson was a place hitter, standing with legs together, flicking his bat forward with his forearms and wrists, sending sharp line drives to all parts of the field. His hitting accuracy led to the development of the first hit-and-run plays. His plate discipline was extraordinary, he struck out only once in `78, twice in `79. He never struck out more than thirty times in any season. No record exists that he was hit by a pitch his entire career. In the field, Anson was merely adequate, one of his first moves on becoming manager was to place himself permanently at first base. His mobility declined sharply as he aged, but when younger, he was one of several first sackers who initiated playing off the bag, a true fourth infielder. He is sometimes credited as the first to use signs, and the first to devise backup positions for his fielders.

The 1879 White Stockings challenged for the pennant, but faltered at the finish, as Anson missed the final weeks with a kidney infection, incurred, he thought, after an evening of mild alcoholic indulgence. After this, Anson, with the zeal of a convert, added temperance to his list of manly Christian virtues.

1880 was Anson's first full year as manager, and he took the field with a team built with his own hands. Catcher Mike "King" Kelly, pitchers Fred Goldsmith and Larry Corcoran, and outfielders George Gore and Abner Dalrymple were all new arrivals, some personally scouted by Anson. Anson, in fact, had an embarrassment of riches, especially in pitching. Corcoran and Goldsmith could each have been primary starter. So, before the season ended, Anson did something which, remarkably, no one else had thought to do at the major-league level, he alternated them in the lineup, the first rotation. The results were incredible, the 1880 White Stockings breezed to the pennant with a record of 67-17, including a 21-game winning streak June 2-July 8. The .798 percentage is highest in NL history.  Anson batted .337, second on the team to Gore. Corcoran pitched the first no-hitter in team history August 19.

Anson's abilities as a run producer led the Chicago Tribune to propose a new stat, runs-batted-in. It would take years to become official, but research would reveal that Anson led the NL in RBI eight times, still the major league record. Chicago's success led to a peace agreement of sorts within the league. The reserve clause was instituted in NL contracts beginning in 1880, Anson's raids would be a thing of the past.

1881 was another pennant-winning year, and the finest of Anson's career as a player. He batted .399 (the only player ever to finish at exactly that), the first of his two batting titles, with 82 RBI. He led the league in hits and total bases. The White Stockings threepeated in 1882, this one a close race, a three-game margin over the rising Providence Grays.

Chicago finished second in `83, fourth in `84; the league had caught up with them, and Fred Goldsmith was declining in effectiveness.  Anson continued his stellar performances, hitting .308 and .335. 1884 was a great freak year in Anson's career, made possible by a change in the ground rules at Lakefront Park, the White Stockings' home from 1878-84. (When you admire the "Bean" in Millennium Park, you are standing where the infield used to be). Balls hit over the short LF fence (180 feet down the line in 1884), were scored home runs this season only, they had previously been ground-rule doubles. Third baseman Ned Williamson hit 27 homers that year, the record Babe Ruth would eventually break in 1919. Anson had his only double-digit total of home runs (21). On August 6 he became the second player in history to hit three home runs in one game (Williamson had done it May 30). In so doing he also became the first to hit five in two games (still the record, often equalled), as he had hit a pair August 5.

Anson appeared ready to return to the top in `85.  The "Chicago Stone Wall", the greatest infield of its day (Williamson, Burns, Pfeffer, Anson, third to first), was in place. Mike Kelly was the best catcher in the league. Corcoran was primary pitcher, but backup John Clarkson, a product of an Anson scouting trip in `84, would lead the White Stockings to the pennant after Corcoran broke down early in the season. Anson considered the `85-'86 teams the best he managed.

Anson, and his team, were now national figures. They were a hustling bunch, hell-raisers off the field, much at variance with Anson's stated principles of virtue. As long as the team won, and did not defy him in public, he was content to try to shame them into reform. Spalding once hired a Pinkerton detective to shadow Kelly during one nocturnal, multi-tavern binge. The report was read, in Kelly's presence, during a team meeting. When asked for his comment, the "King" replied: "I have to offer only one amendment. In that place where the detective reports me as taking a lemonade at 3 a.m., he's off. That was straight whiskey. I never drank a lemonade at that hour in my life." One supposes Anson saw no humor in the reply.

In 1882 the American Association, the self-proclaimed "beer and whiskey league", had begun play as a declared second "major league". They offered alcohol and Sunday games, and their rising popularity forced the NL into change. Hulbert had died suddenly in April 1882, clearing the way for accommodations that likely would not have been made had he lived. A postseason championship, the "World Series", was negotiated, and was held between the two leagues 1884-90. The World Series of 1885, between Chicago and the St. Louis Browns, was a competitive joke, neither team took it seriously. It ended in a tie, 3-3-1.

Anson's last great innovation was yet another attempt to reform his rowdy bunch by example. In 1886 he began an annual team preseason "spring training" regimen in Hot Springs, Arkansas.  This was, in Anson's words, a means to "boil out the fat" accumulated over the winter. In time, he would have his doubts about the practice, feeling it counterproductive to train in warm weather, and return to play in cold.

Chicago won another flag in 1886, one of Anson's best years. He batted .371, with 187 hits in 125 games. His 147 RBI were his career high. He had his greatest day at the plate August 24, against Boston, at the West Side Grounds; five hits, including two homers, with six runs scored, in an 18-6 victory. This would be Anson's last pennant, he had won five over seven seasons.  He was now 34 years old, and had been a major-leaguer sixteen years. Most players were through by this point in their careers, but Anson had more than a decade left.

The `86 Series was the most competitive of the early matchups, renegotiated formats and gate receipt sharing (winner take all), assured a difference in attitude and play. Chicago lost the Series, to St. Louis, 4-2. Spalding blamed the defeat on the nocturnal carousing of some of his stars, and Anson reluctantly agreed to a housecleaning. It was a profitable one, Kelly was the first to go, sold to Boston after `86 for the mind-boggling price of $10,000. Gore and McCormick were also sold. Clarkson, though still in his prime, was sold to Boston, for the same price as Kelly, early in 1888.

The leaner, younger team now began to be called the "Colts", and had promise, new stars Jimmy Ryan and George Van Haltren anchored a solid team. Chicago finished third in 1887, despite great years from Clarkson (his last in Chicago), and Anson. Cap officially won the batting title, hitting .421, though `87 is one of the seasons that maddens today's researchers and editors. Bases on balls were scored as hits that year only. Most references recalculate the `87 averages, and Anson "drops" to .347, second behind Sam Thompson's .372.

Anson won an undisputed batting title, his second and last, in 1888, hitting .344. Ryan emerged as a major star, and would remain one the rest of the 1800s. The Colts finished second. In the following off-season, Anson embarked on what he would consider the high point of his life.

Spalding's World Tour was a magnificent fiasco, a round-the-world excursion in which the Colts, and other NL all-stars, would play exhibitions in New Zealand, Australia, Ceylon, Egypt, and Europe. It was a money-loser for Spalding, and for Anson, who had also invested; but left lasting impressions and memories. Anson devotes nearly a third of his memoirs to an account of this trip. Anson had a falling out with fellow investor John Hart, who acted as financial manager, and this had important consequences later.

Today, the bulk of Anson's reputation rests on two incidents that occurred during exhibition games in the 1880s. The White Stockings, as did all major league teams, played numerous exhibitions on their travels before, during, and after the regular season. It was a welcome source of revenue for host and guest.

On August 10, 1883, the White Stockings played a scheduled exhibition against the Toledo Blue Stockings.  The Blue Stockings' star catcher was Moses Walker, a black, established and well-regarded in Toledo. On this particular day, Walker was injured, and not in the lineup. Anson, not knowing this, decided to make a scene during the traditional pregame lineup exchange. He announced, in his most theatrical and bellicose manner, that his team would not take the field if Walker did. Toledo manager Charlie Morton, insulted, responded that Walker would indeed play, after all, and any withdrawal by Anson would forfeit his share of the gate receipts; as the Blue Stockings would play against a team of nine fans, if necessary, to ensure a game. The two managers argued for over an hour before Anson conceded and took the field. Money had defeated "principle".

The game went on, with Walker in center field. Anson was roundly criticized in the local press, and when Toledo joined the American Association in 1884, Moses Walker, and his brother Welday, would become the first black major-leaguers. The White Stockings would return to Toledo for another exhibition in `84, and this time Anson insisted on a written pregame agreement banning the Walkers. He got it.

There would be no further blacks in the majors, though there were several in the minors throughout the mid `80s. The brand-new Sporting News, already an influence in the game, wrote racist editorials calling for bans based on color. On July 14, 1887, the White Stockings played an exhibition against the Newark Little Giants. The Giants boasted an all-black battery; George Stovey, one of the best pitchers of the day, with Moses Walker behind the plate. Newark, unlike Toledo, did not respect its black players, there had been ugly incidents during the season, before Chicago's arrival.

"Get that n***** off the field!" shouted Anson as Stovey strode to the mound to warm up. Newark management did not have the fortitude displayed by Toledo, and Anson got his way. That very day, as it happened, the owners of the International League, to which Newark belonged, voted to ban future signings of black players. Later that year, in another well-publicized racial incident, Charles Comiskey's AA champion Browns would refuse to play a scheduled exhibition aginst the Cuban Giants. Although the "color line" was never formally put in writing within the majors, by 1897 all of Organized Baseball abided by it.

Anson had no power to draw those lines in the leagues' names, or vote on the bans. But his arrogance and theatrics in both incidents; and passages in his memoirs in which he describes, in despicable terms, the Colts' black mascot, Clarence Duval, have damned him by modern standards. To say that Anson is the father of segregated baseball is a serious overstatement; to say that he significantly influenced, by his example, those who did draw that line, is not.

Racism was called by its name in Anson's time. He had the choice to overcome it, but didn't. His personal bombast has not helped his case in history, the self-appointed paragon falls harder than the mere bigot. Whether Anson changed his attitude with time is an open question, as will be seen. In recent years, as the history of segregated ball and the Negro Leagues has received long-overdue attention, Anson's behavior in these affairs has come to be considered his primary legacy.

Following the World Tour, Spalding and Anson signed an unprecedented ten-year contract. Anson was 36, and his days of innovation were well behind him. He would begin a long, slow decline as a player, and as an authority figure. He was increasingly seen as stubborn, out of touch, old fashioned. His relationships with players and management would steadily deteriorate. But he was still a star on the field, and at the gate. He was a draw until the end of his playing days, the grand old man of the game.

He now was the all-time leader in games, runs, hits, doubles, and RBI. He was the oldest player in the league from 1892. He could hit, but his speed and fielding range were all but gone. In 1892 Anson became the last first baseman in the NL to don a glove. He was increasingly critcized in the press for his age and declining skills, and there were yearly speculations as to his retirement as a player.

By early 1890, Spalding had made Anson a shareholder, with a thirteen percent stake in the team. This was the year that the new Brotherhood of Professional Base Ball Players broke with the National League over the reserve clause and formed their own organization, the Players League. Anson, the consummate company man, derided the league and its members loudly in the press, gleefully predicting the imminent demise of player-run ball. Again his bombast exceeded his power, the PL indeed folded after one season, through no fault of Anson's, but he was perceived as a ringleader in the failure. Once more he had placed himself, ultimately, on the wrong side of history.

Anson's and Spalding's refusal to accept the return of "traitors" would cost them. The young stars who had provided second or third place finishes for the Colts in 1887-89 would shun Chicago; and the team, though competitive for a short while longer, would fall into mediocrity until after the start of a new century.

The Colts finished a surprising second in 1890 and `91, but Anson had now declined noticeably, 1891 was his first professional season under .300 (.291). On September 4 of that year, in response to a particularly scathing newspaper article denigrating his age, Anson took the field in Chicago wearing a long white wig and white stage whiskers, to the delight of all. Gratified by the response, Anson wore his costume the entire game.

Spalding reorganized the Chicago front office in 1891-92, and signed a new contract with Anson. Cap's thirteen percent ownership was retained, but one year was removed from the contract's length. Spalding also pulled a bit of subterfuge. Anson's salary was to be paid, in part, from profit-sharing. The Colts were, at this time, building a new park, the second West Side Grounds, and as Spalding well knew, no profits would be declared, after construction costs. Anson received little or no compensation from team profits in any of his final seasons.

Of equal importance, Spalding hired John Hart as team president, and officially retired, although as majority owner he continued to exercise veto power behind the scenes. Anson and Hart already had a history, and this new relationship intensified their mutual dislike. They fought constantly. Anson felt himself under siege, from the front office and his young players, who chafed at his strict discipline and interference in their off-field behavior.

The Colts in 1892 held first place into mid-September, when Boston, riding the crest of an 18-game winning streak, overtook them and won the pennant. Anson would always believe that Boston's opponents threw games to deprive him of the championship, an act of revenge for the collapse of the Players League. In 1894, Anson made a remarkable playing comeback, hitting .388 at age 42, his last big year. His team faded badly, finishing no higher than fourth 1893-97.

1897 was the last year of Anson's contract, and the Chicago faithful sensed the end. Cap had, at any rate, announced that `97 would be his last year as a player. May 4, the home opener, was "Cap Anson Day", Anson was presented with gifts and fan testimonials. He singled his first at-bat, following a standing ovation of several minutes. Cap continued as a regular, playing 114 games, batting .285, with 75 RBI, at the age of 45. The last day of the season, October 3, was a doubleheader against St. Louis. Anson homered twice in the opener, a 10-9 Colt loss. Anson is the oldest player with a multihomer game. Cap held, at one time, the records for the oldest player to do virtually everything on the diamond, but this is the only one that remains. In the nightcap, Anson's last major league game as a player, he stole a base in the 7-1 victory. The Colts finished ninth, the worst placing of Anson's managerial career. After season's end, Anson berated his players and ownership in newspaper interviews, placing his chances for retention as manager in jeopardy.

Anson and Spalding took a trip together to England in the winter of 1897-98; according to Anson, their differences were settled and his position as manager affirmed. But Anson arrived home to find Tom Burns already named manager, plus a request from Spalding for his resignation. Anson refused to resign, and was "fired", receiving his unconditional release February 1. For the next several years the team would be called the "Orphans" in the press.  In nineteen seasons as Chicago manager, Anson's record was 1288-944, a .577 percentage. He won five pennants, and finished second five times.

Anson was hired to manage the New York Giants for 1898, but it proved a poor match, his brief tenure was a constant squabble with players and ownership. Cap was fired after posting a 9-13 record. It was his last job in major league ball.

By some accounts, Anson earned over $300,000 in his career, a huge sum of money in that era. But the end of his playing days found him in poor financial shape, his reduced compensation in his final Chicago years took a toll. Spalding, perhaps in an effort to assuage a guilty conscience, offered to organize a subscription testimonial, then a popular method of raising cash for individuals and groups, worth $50,000. Anson, feeling betrayed and insulted, refused. "The public owes me nothing, and I am neither old nor a pauper. I can earn my own living as hitherto, and, moreover, I am by no means out of baseball." He still retained his stake in the Chicago club, but this did not translate into income.

Anson's numbers, 19th century ball or not, are extraordinary, especially considering the much shorter schedules of his time. Exactly what his career totals are depend on your source, and how that source handles the NA (major league or not?), and the 1887 season. Most references use NL totals only, and recalculate 1887 to modern standards. The totals used here are from the SABR Book of Lists (a work-in-progress), and represent the "latest and greatest" research. It also follows the conventions just mentioned. Following the total is Anson's all-time Cubs rank, followed by his all-time major league rank, in parentheses, if significant:

.300 seasons: 19, first; (NL record).
Games: 2253, second.
At-bats: 9084, second.
Average: .331, fourth; (24th).
Runs: 1722, first; (21st).
Hits: 3012, first (23rd).
Total bases: 4145, third.
Doubles: 529, first (27th).
Triples: 129, second.
Extra base hits: 751, fifth.
RBI: 1880, first; (10th).
Walks: 952, third.
Stolen bases: 247, tenth.

Anson, indeed, was not finished with baseball, and he would remain a public figure the rest of his life. Cap had always admired Spalding's rise as a business tycoon, and strove to match it. He had no business acumen, however, and his attempts to prosper after his playing days were sad and comic, by turns.

He made attempts to return to Organized Baseball. Anson, in 1900, had an opportunity to purchase a Western League franchise, and move it to Chicago's south side, but this was vetoed by Spalding, whose permission was required by the rules of the National Agreement. This act sundered the relationship between the two men. Had it gone through, the history of Chicago baseball would have been changed significantly, as the Western League would become the American League later that year, and its Chicago franchise, established in defiance of the National Agreement, would be Charles Comiskey's White Stockings, moved from St.Paul MN. Also in 1900, Anson was recruited to serve as president of a renewed American Association, but the league was stillborn, unable to secure sufficient financing. Later that year, Anson would publish his autiobiography, A Ball Player's Career. It includes this passage, which could have been written for today's blog:

Anson would never again attempt to find employment or ownership in Organized Baseball. He invested in a billiards parlor and a bowling alley, both were sports at which he excelled. He won an American Bowling Congress national championship in 1904, as captain of a five-man team. Both the parlor and the alley failed, or were sold, by 1909.

And, there was "Capt. A.C. Anson's Ginger Beer", (a soft drink). It proved a dramatic brew, but let's allow Cap to tell the story in his inimitable fin de siecle style:

Some of the original porcelain bottles survive, treasured and expensive collectibles.

Anson also tried politics. In 1905, he was approached to run for Chicago City Clerk on the Democratic ticket, a relatively harmless office.  He was elected, but proved to be as inept an officeholder as a businessman. Despite his personal popularity, he was not renominated by his party for a second term, and failed to win nomination for county sheriff in a 1906 Democratic primary.

In 1905, Anson cashed his major league shares, in order to settle debts and try one last fling in business. In 1907, his term as clerk completed, he purchased a semipro team, renamed it "Anson's Colts", and built a small ballpark on the south side. The Colts played in a organization called the City League, and also took on independent teams, providing the backdrop for a final enigma.

One of the Colts' frequent opponents was their south-side neighbor, the Chicago Leland Giants, an all-black team, and one of the finest teams, of any kind, in the nation. There were never any incidents, even when Anson himself took the field, as he did from 1908, in a last-ditch effort to boost the box office. At 56, he could still hit (hand-eye is the last thing to go), but was a statue in the field.

On these occasions, he would meet, and converse cordially, with Andrew "Rube" Foster, manager and part owner of the Giants. Foster, a seminal figure in baseball history, would found the Negro National League in 1920. There is at least one posed photo of the two, neither seems uncomfortable in the other's presence. Whether, as in Toledo, Anson modified his behavior for the sake of much-needed cash; or had undergone a genuine change of attitude, cannot be known. Cap left no definitive late-life testimony. Anson sold the Colts in 1909, he had now nearly become the pauper he denied being in 1898.

The National League offered a pension to Anson, but he refused it. In 1910 he declared bankruptcy, and in 1913 he lost his home and remaining property. Adrian and Virginia lived with a daughter until Virginia's death in 1915.

Anson had tried the stage, briefly, in the `90s, and had some success. His friend Ring Lardner wrote a short skit, "First Aid For Father", and with this, and other scenarios, Cap now toured vaudeville circuits, sometimes accompanied by his daughters. It was small-time, but it paid enough to stave off charity. Anson retired from the stage in 1921.

In January, 1918, the Sporting News asked Anson to name his all-time team. Though Ty Cobb was in his prime, and Honus Wagner had just finished a career in which he had broken many of Cap's NL records, Anson named no one from the new century. He submitted: catchers, Buck Ewing and Mike Kelly; pitchers, Amos Rusie, John Clarkson, and Jim McCormick; first base, himself; second base, Fred Pfeffer; third base, Ned Williamson; shortstop, Ross Barnes; outfielders, Bill Lange, George Gore, Jimmy Ryan, and Hugh Duffy.

Early in 1922, Anson, well-known as an amateur golfer, was elected president of the new Dixmoor Golf Club on Chicago's south side, his last employment. He had remained an avid sportsman throughout the years. Approaching seventy, Cap was still active and energetic.

He was suddenly stricken that April, collapsing on the street during his daily constitutional, and died of heart failure following surgery, April 14, 1922, three days short of his 70th birthday. Finally beyond pride, Anson was buried, at National League expense, in Oak Woods Cemetery on the south side. Virginia, buried with her family in Philadelphia, was moved to lie beside him. The funeral was lavish, attended by politicians, ballplayers, league officials, and the new Commisioner of Baseball, Kenesaw Landis, an old friend of Anson's. A long procession allowed the public to pay respects. A few years later, a small city street was renamed Anson Place, still the only Chicago thoroughfare formally named for an athlete.

The National League paid for Anson's monument, dedicated at Oak Woods in 1923. Elegant and understated, adorned by carved wreaths and crossed bats, it is one of the finest baseball-themed memorials. Anson had once suggested that his epitaph read: "Here Lies a Man Who Hit .300". The League had more dignified ideas. Beneath the formalities of name and dates, the inscription reads:

HE PLAYED THE GAME

In 1939, the Committee on Old-Timers voted Anson into the new Baseball Hall of Fame, along with Spalding and four others. Anson's plaque was among those enshrined in Cooperstown at the Hall's dedication, June 12, 1939.

Cap Anson's career stats at baseball-reference.com

Profile by BCB cartoonist Mike

We assume there was no suspense concerning the identities of the three remaining players on this list. We'll leave you guessing one more day about #1.

A good argument can be made for any of these final three ranking first, and there was a time, just before his massive fall from grace, when a consensus had emerged that Sosa had, indeed, become the greatest Cub. Time and perspective may yet confirm that judgment; the author was certainly convinced, a few years ago.

Based on numbers and performance alone, Sosa should be first. His ranking at #3 reflects the continuing doubt surrounding the legitimacy of his accomplishments, the manner and method of his leavetaking, and the redeeming fact that those accomplishments, despite caveats, are of worthy and often heroic stature. In Cubs history, only Anson and Banks achieved the synthesis of identity between athlete and team as did Sosa.

If, as the canard goes, journalism is the first draft of history, a blog is anybody's darn guess. Sammy, after all, may not be finished.

In the current atmosphere of suspicion, even Sosa's birthdate has been questioned. Officially, he was born November 12, 1968, in San Pedro de Macoris, Dominican Republic. The date is almost certainly true; it survived the post-9/11 crackdown on foreign workers' data that resulted in additions of up to several years to many Latin players' ages (including, incidentally, Alfonso Soriano). Those who signed and nurtured Sosa in his first professional years had no doubts about his age. At one early point, it would have been much to Sosa's advantage to be "older", and he didn't take the opportunity.

He was born Samuel Peralta Montero, the fifth of seven children, into poverty almost unimaginable to those who would pay to see him perform. Sammy was seven when his father died, and acquired a new surname upon his mother's second marriage.  The combined family eventually grew to eleven children. One younger brother, Jose, would play in the Cubs' minor league system.

A poor boy with athletic gifts, Sammy saw sport as his means of ascent. He initially attempted boxing, but quit at his mother's request. Sosa would later claim his boxing instructor assaulted him.

Sammy took up baseball with school teams at fourteen, and began playing in local leagues soon after. Within a year he had attracted enough attention to receive a professional offer, from the Phillies. MLB nullified the deal, as a new rule forbade contracts with prospects younger than sixteen. Had Sosa been fudging his age, the pretense would have been dropped at that time.

Omar Minaya, scout for the Texas Rangers, signed Sosa in 1985, following Sammy's sixteenth birthday, for a bonus of $3500. Sammy was "skinny and malnourished", according to the reports Minaya filed, but he possessed the rarest qualities, top-notch hand-to-eye coordination and bat speed. On those abilities alone, the Rangers took a four-figure chance.

Sosa rose quickly through the minors, despite considerable flaws in his game, most notably a lack of plate discipline. He made his major league debut for the Rangers (leading off) on June 16, 1989. On June 21, he hit his first major league home run, off Roger Clemens, at Fenway Park.

Sosa had played 25 games for the Rangers when he was traded to the White Sox, with pitcher Wilson Alvarez, for Harold Baines and Fred Manrique, July 29, 1989. Sosa hit .273 with three home runs in 33 games with the Sox in `89.

Sammy played the full schedule in 1990, batting .233 with 15 home runs and 70 RBI, though with an alarming 150 strikeouts. He spent some time in the leadoff spot, but primarily batted fifth or lower. The team was experimenting with a raw talent. He proved his value in a year in which the young Sox made a stirring run at the division title, only to falter in September. Despite the Ks, Sosa was the only AL player that year to record double-digits in doubles, triples, home runs, and stolen bases.

Sammy wasn't Sammy yet. In hindsight, it can easily be seen that Sosa was a quintessential late bloomer. The culture shock must have been immense in his first pro years. The persona that reached maturity in `98 grew hand in glove with the player. It is certainly no coincidence that Sosa the player grew apace with Sosa the act.

Those who hang at both parks (more than local lore would have you believe), remember a tall, lanky, wiry dude (and that is the word), who projected an air of too-much confidence. He was comfortable as a professional, if not quite as a public figure. He fell in with fellow countryman Melido Perez, as might be expected. Sammy, for a time, even wore the same curly perm Melido affected. They seemed a good match, Perez was a player of occasional brilliance who seemed unable to realize his talent.

That perception was an error in Sosa's case. His work ethic and passion was evident to everyone, thus his inability to live up to potential was particularly galling to management and coaches. Larry Himes, Sox GM, had a special regard for Sammy's future. Himes had, after all, traded one of the greatest and most popular Sox stars of all time to acquire him. This faith would pay huge dividends, but in a direction the Sox could never have imagined.

A harbinger, perhaps, of hard times came during the winter of `90-'91. Sosa was charged with spousal abuse, allegedly after his wife refused his demand for a divorce. The charges were later dropped, and an understanding of some sort was reached. The marriage survives to this day; the couple has four children.

In 1991, Sosa hit .203 in 116 games, with 10 home runs and 98 strikeouts in 316 at-bats. He also served a month-long stint in the minors that summer. The Sox tried him all through the lineup, looking for something to click. There was now a general sense of incurable underachievement regarding Sosa, and his future with the Sox was doomed. He was ripe for trade bait by the end of the season.

The Cubs and Sox have made relatively few trades in their mutual histories, and most of those of small import. The exchange made on March 30, 1992 would have been notable even had Sosa never developed. The Cubs, now led by newly-hired (and ex-Sox) VP of Baseball Operations Himes, traded George Bell to the White Sox for Sosa and pitcher Ken Patterson. Both clubs got value, Bell spent two decent seasons as south side DH, and was a regular most of the division title year of `93.

And, of course, the Cubs got Sammy. It was received bleacher wisdom that the Cubs had traded an old head case for a young one. How right we were.

Sammy has left a lot of regret in the wake of his departures. George W. Bush, managing partner of the Rangers at the time of the first Sosa trade, made it a laugh-line at campaign appearances eleven years later ("my greatest mistake"). Jack Gould, who made the second Sosa trade on behalf of the Sox, would make similar statements. But no one could have foreseen the magnitude of Sammy's rise. Larry Himes has taken the credit, but if he really saw what Sosa was to become, it was a flash of genius not evident elsewhere.

Sosa's first Cub season was a near disaster. Expos pitcher Dennis Martinez broke Sosa's right hand June 13, Sammy returned to the lineup July 27. But he fractured an ankle three weeks later, returning again in mid-September. In 67 games in `92, Sammy batted .260 with eight home runs. The Cubs did what the Sox had done, first trying Sammy toward the top of the lineup as a possible power/speed man (Sosa would have eight leadoff homers in his career), then dumping him in the middle of the order.

In 1993 Sosa finally, and suddenly, became a power hitter, more than doubling his previous season high with 33 home runs. Also stealing 36 bases, he became the first Cubs member of the 30-30 club. During this season, Sammy was moved to a more conventional power spot in the lineup, and stayed there.

Now began the "Selfish Sammy" years, as we called them in the bleachers. Sitting directly behind Sosa in right field, we had a thirteen-year ringside seat for what was arguably the biggest show in team history. Over the next few years, all the Sosa hallmarks would fall into place. "Sammy's Spot", the perpetual bare patch in the outfield grass, the bunny-hop during home runs, the over-deliberate batters box dance between pitches, the love tap, the charge into right field to open home games.

There was a method to the act, Sammy improved as a player, almost never missed a game, and became the face of his team. Certain elements of his game now came into sharp focus. Sosa produced in astounding white-hot bursts. Of all the members of the 500-HR club, Sammy hit homers in the fewest individual games. His 68 multi-homer games are third in history, and he played in far fewer games than the two players ahead of him. His six three-homer games are tied for first (John Mize). But it seemed all for the stat books. His strikeout totals remained phenomenally high. He would not adjust.

Sammy would always be, first and last, a hitter. Speed was incidental to his game. His stolen bases were the product of the raw swiftness of his youth, he never learned to run the bases well. His fielding was adequate at best. He had, probably, as strong an arm as any outfielder of his time, but he was as likely to nail the backstop as throw out a runner or hit a cutoff man. His running and fielding never received the intensity he would now bring to his batting.

All of what was to come nearly took place in, of all things, a Boston Red Sox uniform. During the offseason following the 1994 player's strike, Sammy had agreed to a free agent contract with the Red Sox. Before he could actually play his home games at Fenway Park, the commissioner's office ruled that any such contract negotiations were null and void, and by the time the strike had been settled and the 1995 season was to begin Sammy had changed his mind and chose to remain a Cub.

Sosa had his first 100-RBI season in `95, as well as his second 30-30 year, the only two such seasons in team history. He also made the first of his seven All-Star appearances.

1996 seemed to be the year Selfish Sammy might become history. More clutch singles were in evidence. Strikeouts were still high, but all other aspects of Sosa's production increased. The season was peppered with small spectaculars. On May 16 Sosa became the first Cub to homer twice in the same inning. On June 5 he had his first three-homer game, driving in five runs, almost single-handedly erasing a four-run deficit in a winning cause.

On August 20, Sosa had 40 home runs and 99 RBI, well on his way to an historic year. He got his 100th RBI that day, a bases-loaded hit-by-pitch that broke his wrist and ended his season. Still fresh in fan memory was the similar injury suffered by Ryne Sandberg in `93, from which the future HOFer had never fully recovered.

Sosa returned to play a full schedule in 1997, but got off to a slow start, redeemed somewhat by a late-season surge. He hit 36 home runs and drove in 119. But his .251 average and 174 strikeouts (the team record), seemed to herald a disappointing return to bad form. Nonetheless, he signed a contract extension through 2001, worth $42 million, one of the most expensive deals in the game.

At this time, Sosa and new team hitting coach Jeff Pentland formed a strong relationship. Pentland is widely credited as the man who got Sammy to listen, focus, and adjust, as he had never done before.

What happened in 1998 was not entirely unexpected, the power game had been building incrementally since the early `90s. In `94, Ken Griffey jr had been on pace to break Maris' single-season home run record before the strike halted play in August. Subsequently, Griffey, Mark McGwire, and Matt Williams had each hit 60 or more homers in 162-game spans, spread over two seasons. In 1996 McGwire had hit 52 homers, in `97, he hit 58. McGwire had long been considered the best potential threat to the record, but he was frustratingly injury-prone. With two fairly healthy seasons behind him, all that was seemingly needed was one calendar year of uninterrupted production. 1998 began with the anticipation that this most hallowed record was due to fall. But no one saw the magic coming, or the direction from which it would come.

There was no magic the first two months. McGwire started hot, setting records for home runs in April, and for the end of May. On May 25, Sosa entered play with nine home runs, McGwire with 24. On that day Sosa had his first multi-homer game of the year, hitting a pair in Atlanta. It was the start of the greatest concentrated home run binge in history.

Sammy hit a record 21 home runs in the next thirty days (5/25-6/23). He shattered the record for home runs in a calendar month, hitting 20 in June (Rudy York, 18, July 1938). Along the way, Sosa also had streaks of 21 homers in 24 games, and 14 in 15 games, (6/1-6/15), the latter capped by a three-homer game against the Brewers at Wrigley June 15.

At the end of June it was a race, although Sosa would pass McGwire only twice, and both times very briefly. McGwire had only two slow spots in his season, the first from late July through early August. On August 19, with the Cardinals at Wrigley, McGwire watched Sosa pass him for the first time, Sammy's 48th home run. Mac hit two home runs of his own later that game, retaking the lead, which he would not relinquish until after Maris' record was broken.

By now it was a circus, in the best sense. Batting practice, when the Cardinals were in town, was a spectacle. McGwire always bunted the first BP pitch thrown him, (nearly always perfectly down the line), and took a few relaxed cuts before turning things loose. Then the moonshots would fly onto and across Waveland, into a crowd that filled the street shoulder-to-shoulder. Sosa's BP displays were lower-keyed, he did his serious prep work in the batting cages beneath right field, hidden from view.

For us ballpark lifers, it was paradise. We knew we were witnessing the greatest baseball season in decades, and by the grace of whatever one believed in, most of it was happening before our eyes in Wrigley Field. There had been a small crash of recognition, a reporter had already spotted the used vial of supplement (a legal one, to be sure), in McGwire's locker, but for the moment, joy was still unfettered.

Double joy for Cubs fans, the wild card had turned into the most dramatic race of its kind. From mid-August to the end, the last forty-five days of the season, the Cubs, Mets, and Giants fought it out, no team gaining more than a single-game lead in all that span. Sosa was not only performing the greatest power feats in team history, he was doing so under the ultimate pressure.

The act was now at its zenith. The fans, and the country, devoured it. Only those forced to deal with it at close quarters on a daily basis, Sammy's teammates and the beat press, were jaded. The press, especially, thought they scented more than a whiff of the fulsome. They knew Sosa and McGwire were not friends, and met only on the playing field. Mark Grace, the congenital wiseacre, had a few bon mots at Sammy's expense. But the public saw only the entertainment, played to perfection. Sosa was now a national figure, and performed the role as well as anyone could. McGwire sometimes lost his cool; Sammy, never.

Feats, and records, dropped like rain. Sosa had set an anti-record, 4428 at-bats, and 247 homers, before hitting his first grand slam, July 27, at Arizona. He hit his second slam the next day, the first Cub to slam in consecutive games, the 18th player ever. On August 31 he caught McGwire at 55, a home run at Wrigley against the Reds. On September 2, Sosa tied Hack Wilson's 68-year-old team record with his 56th home run, also at Wrigley (it had been the NL record until McGwire passed it the day before). Sosa broke Wilson's record September 4 in Pittsburgh.

On September 8, in St. Louis, McGwire hit the season-record-breaking 62nd home run, of course, against the Cubs. Sosa joined the plateside celebration, sharing a bear hug with his rival. A perfect moment by two men who had grown into their roles. Here, perhaps understandably, McGwire began his second slowdown, and it set the stage for what, we all agreed, was the best weekend we'd ever spent at a ballpark.

Friday, September 11, the Brewers came to town for three games. Every game was critical now. The weather all three days was hot, sunny, and magnificent. Friday was a tough loss, 13-11, redeemed somewhat by Sammy's 59th home run. Saturday's game was even crazier. Sosa's 60th homer came in the seventh inning, a three-run blast that brought the Cubs close, 12-8. The Cubs hit six homers that day, two of them pinch-hit, including Orlando Merced's walkoff in the ninth, for a 15-12 win.

Sunday topped everything that had gone before. Sosa tied McGwire, and thus the in-flux major-league record, with two titanic blasts onto Waveland, numbers 61 and 62. The Cubs won, 11-10 (on a Mark Grace extra-inning walkoff HR), retaining a one-game wild card lead over the Mets.

On September 16 in San Diego, with the score tied 2-2 in the eighth inning, Sosa came to bat with the bases loaded. With the crowd screaming for a long ball, Sammy delivered, his third slam of the season, and 64th home run. He obliged the ecstatic throng with a curtain call. "I thought I was at a road game", was the disgusted remark attributed to several Padres players the next day. Sosa and McGwire had transcended team loyalties.

Sosa passed McGwire for the last time September 25, his 66th home run, also his last of the season. McGwire tied him within an hour, and hit two home runs in each of the remaining two games of the year to finish at 70. Sammy went homerless the last three games, but the Cubs made the playoffs in an almost comically unlikely manner, backing into a wild card tiebreaker after both they and the Giants lost dramatically, within moments of one another, on the final day. The Cubs won the deciding 163rd game of the season against the Giants, at Wrigley, 5-3. Sosa went two-for-four, both singles, scoring each time.

The Cubs, utterly spent, were promptly swept by the Braves, the eventual pennant-winner, in the first postseason round. The season was left on the floor before the playoffs began.

Sosa was the near-unanimous MVP; only the two St. Louis writers cast first-place votes for McGwire. The summary of a truly great season: 159 games, 134 runs, 198 hits, 66 home runs, 158 RBI (the only league-leading stat), .308 average, .647 slugging percentage. Sosa's 86 extra-base hits were the most in the NL in fifty years. His eleven multihomer games tied Hank Greenberg's record for a season.

Sammy remained busy in the offseason, performing highly praised charity and relief work in the Dominican, which had been devastated that summer by Hurricane Georges. Sosa had become, and remains, a Dominican national hero. Dominican flags could be seen in every ballpark in which he appeared during his glory years. During home games, his national colors were a fixture atop a lamppost on Waveland. Today, it has to be one of the sublime ironies of existence that Sammy, and his family, must often live and travel under guard within their native country. His astonishing rags-to-riches life has made him a paragon, but also a potential target.

Although several superb seasons, and the best individual year of all, were still to come, `98 would be Sosa's peak as a star. The act began to show its seams. The expanding ego, the clubhouse entourage, the boombox played at earsplitting volume even during Joe Girardi's migraines, wore down the goodwill built with such care. Sammy knew he was special, and he pushed it, undermining team morale and his managers' control.

He was hardly the only difficult player loved for his performance. 1999 would have been heroic had it followed any other year. Also, the Cubs began a two-year tenancy in the cellar, depriving Sammy's feats of dramatic backdrop. Sosa became the first player to have two 60-homer seasons on September 18, although McGwire would pass him at the end, again leading the league with 65 homers to Sosa's 63.

Sosa made noise in the offseason, asking for a contract renegotiation, though signed through 2001. The Cubs put him on the market, but withdrew his availablity in the face of obvious fan discontent. Don Baylor was hired as manager, and vowed that Sammy would steal more bases and play better defense under his regime. Neither would happen. Sosa had reached his maximum size, and was no longer built for speed. For what it's worth, the 1990 White Sox media guide lists him at 6'0", 175 lbs, the 2004 Cub guide at 6'0", 220.

McGwire had now entered his career-end decline, and Sosa led the league in homers for the first time in 2000, hitting 50. He also won the Home Run Derby in Atlanta during All-Star week, belting drives of almost cartoonish length. The Cubs, however, finished the year with the worst record in the majors. The team took no chances in the offseason, signing Sammy to a four-year, $72 million deal, the fourth-richest to that time.

The Cubs challenged in 2001, and again Sosa had his backdrop, this time for the greatest offensive season by any Chicago Cub in history.

On May 16, Sammy hit his 400th career home run in a loss to Houston at Wrigley. Sosa had two three-homer games within two weeks in August, the first game a loss, the second a 16-3 win over Milwakee at home. In that second game, Baylor pulled Sosa after six innings, depriving him of a excellent chance to hit a fourth homer. On August 26, another multi-homer game produced Sammy's 50th and 51st roundtrippers, his fourth 50-HR season, and fourth consecutive, both tying major league records. On August 28, Sammy tied Willie Mays' NL record for home runs in August (17), in an extra-inning loss to the Marlins. Continuing a year-long theme of frustrating losses during heroic games, Sosa became the only player to have three three-homer games in one year in a September 23 defeat at the hands of the Astros, 7-6.

On October 2, the Cubs were eliminated from the wild card, and again Sosa made history, belting his 60th home run, the only player with three such seasons. He would remain hot to the end, including a bizarre inside-the-park 63rd homer at Wrigley October 6, a game in which he had three hits, three runs, and three RBI.

Sammy outdid himself, in an ultimately maddening year for his team. His 64 homers were second to Bonds' record 73; in none of Sosa's 60-HR seasons would he lead the league. His 103 extra-base hits set a team record (97, Wilson, 1930), his 160 RBI the most in the NL since 1930. His 425 total bases (Cubs record), fourth in NL history, were the most by anyone since 1948. And his strikeouts, 153, were the lowest of his monster years.

2002 was a miserable season in almost all respects. The team lost 95 games, costing Baylor his job and making Bruce Kimm, his replacement, a laughingstock despite his candor. Sosa got off on the wrong foot immediately, asking Bonds, during a joint spring training appearance, for "permission" to break his new home run record. It was not the sort of talk the team wanted to hear. Again Sammy thrived amidst the general horror, and was well on his way to another historic individual effort. A sign of the inflated times came June 18, against the Rangers at Wrigley, when, in the first such occasion, four members of the 400-HR club played in the same game (Sosa, McGriff, Palmeiro, Juan Gonzalez). Only Palmeiro homered that night.

Soon after he had a notable binge; on August 10, in Colorado, Sammy hit three three-run homers in consecutive innings to tie the club record for RBI, nine, in a game (Heinie Zimmerman, 6/11/1911). It was his record-tying sixth career three-homer game. He followed with a grand slam and five RBI August 11, and another homer August 12 in Houston. The five home runs in three games tied another Cubs record.

Only a few days later, on August 18 at Wrigley, during a meaningless game against the Diamondbacks, Sosa and Mark Bellhorn, chasing a flare hit by Damian Miller, collided in short right, knocking heads with a sickening impact. As both players lay prone in the grass, Miller circled the bases for an inside-the-park home run. There was no DL time as a result, but Sammy played the remainder of the season at much diminshed levels. It cost him a 50-HR year (49), and a long wait for his 500th career home run (ended the year at 499). For those of us who watched Sosa on a daily basis, this was the beginning of his physical decline as a player. He was never again the same.

Dusty Baker was hired as manager for 2003, and Sosa and the Cubs began a strange season, the last decent year of an already badly strained relationship. Baker did nothing to seriously interfere with Sammy's increasingly irritating clubhouse lifestyle. Although he was still the big man in the lineup, the team leaders would be veteran imports Eric Karros, Kenny Lofton, and, ironically, Miller, who displayed no deference to Sosa and showed the team how to win despite distractions.

Historic milestones were due to be paid in `03, and Sosa collected on the first April 4 in Cincinnati, his 500th home run, off Scott Sullivan in the seventh inning. Sammy was the 18th member of the 500-HR club. Sosa would collect his 500th Cubs home run June 8, and his 2000th hit August 22.

On April 20 Sosa was beaned by Salomon Torres in Pittsburgh, a horrifying incident in which even the high-tech metal lining of his batting helmet was left in pieces. Without that protection, Sammy would have suffered, at minimum, a disabling, career-ending injury. He was back in the lineup two days later, after passing a CAT scan, only to be hit again, less dramatically; one of three Cub batters hit in the same inning by Padres pitcher Brian Lawrence. The beaning is usually cited as the start of the decline evident the remainder of Sosa's career, but that decline had already begun the season before.

Sammy's recovery, in confidence and plate presence, after the beaning, was slow and painful, he was obviously tentative and overmatched. This was further complicated by a twenty-day stay on the disabled list (May 10-20), his first since 1996, for surgical removal of an infected toenail. On June 1, the U.S. House of Representatives passed a unanimous resolution of congratulation in honor of Sammy's 500th homer, praising him as a role model for the nation's youth.

Two days later, in the first inning of the Cubs-Devil Rays night game, June 3 at Wrigley Field, Sosa's bat shattered as he hit into a groundout, revealing obvious corking. Crew chief Tim McClelland (the same umpire who had tossed George Brett in the "pine tar" incident), ejected Sosa. Sammy would receive an eight-game suspension, reduced to seven games on appeal. MLB examined all 76 bats then in Sosa's possession; even the Hall of Fame tested bats donated by Sosa in previous years. All were clean, no other bat of Sosa's, then or otherwise, has been found to be illegal.

The "official" explanation, finalized after some embarrassing trial and error, was that the incident resulted from accidental use of a batting practice bat. The bat was notably different in appearance from Sammy's usual, and if it were the only corked bat he owned, he could not possibly have misused it in error. He was, in cold fact, caught as red-handed as could be. His reputation took a major and irreparable hit.

Sammy returned to the lineup to have a solid second half, finishing with 40 homers and 103 RBI in 137 games.

Sammy batting vs. the Expos in San Juan, Puerto Rico, September 11, 2003. Photo by Al

But, for once, the team was center stage, and Sammy went to his second postseason. Sosa was 3-for-16 in the division series against the Braves, and hit .308 during the LCS against Florida. In that homer-happy series, there were two great Sammy moments, a game-tying, two-out, ninth-inning homer off relief ace Urbina in Game One; and a gargantuan centerfield shot, off the roof of the TV camera shed, in Game Two.

Sammy's final Cubs season would begin with one last burst of fun. On April 18, 2004, in his 64th multi-homer game, Sosa passed Ernie Banks for the team record in home runs, hitting his 513th and 514th Cub clouts.

On May 16, he began a month on the DL after sustaining one of the most bizarre injuries imaginable, throwing out his back after two violent sneezes in the visitors clubhouse in San Diego -- shades of Jose Cardenal's eyelid. Yet it was legitimate, fully witnessed by trained observers of the fourth estate.

In yet another maddening year, the Cubs finished horribly, losing seven of the final eight games, botching a wild card bid that had seemed easily within their grasp. Sosa had spent the majority of the year in deep slumps, yet managed another 30-homer season (35). But he had become something he had never been; unreliable, physically and mentally.

Sosa had been informed he would not start the season's last day, October 3, at Wrigley. He arrived late, in violation of one of Baker's few rules, and then left early, without permission. Security cameras confirmed his departure five minutes after game time. It was a final, unpardonable act of professional contempt.

Cubs players, after the game, held a ceremony of defiance and liberation. Sammy's boombox was destroyed by a teammate's lumber (legend says Kerry Wood, though no one has ever officially `fessed up). It was a symbolic and prescient act. Despite the near impossibility of a trade, given the structure of Sosa's contract, the Cubs actively sought a deal, and Sammy's representatives proved cooperative in arranging details.

On January 28, 2005, the trade was announced. Sosa went to the Baltimore Orioles in exchange for Jerry Hairston, Jr., and a couple of miscellaneous minor leaguers. Sammy waived his guaranteed 2006 salary, and the Cubs paid $7 million of the $17,875,000 owed for 2005. It was considered cheap at the price.

Sosa's 2005 was a season of injury, absence, and long slumps. He batted .221 with 14 home runs, his lowest totals since 1992. On December 7, 2005, the Orioles declined arbitration, making Sosa a free agent. Sammy declined non-guaranteed offers from the Nationals in 2006, and sat out the season. His recent signing of a minor-league deal with the Rangers confirmed his desire to return to the majors: "I still have a lot of passion for the game and I'm in shape. I want to get to 600 home runs before saying goodbye".

On January 30, only a couple of weeks ago, Sosa and the Texas Rangers, his original team, announced agreement to a non-guaranteed minor league contract. Sammy will end a 17-month layoff with his first appearance in spring training.

Some accounting of Sosa's cumulative accomplishments, not otherwise mentioned in this article, needs to be given, in their entirety they are without a doubt the most remarkable batting stats by any player who has worn the red and blue.

Career home runs: 588 (5th), Cubs home runs: 545 (1st).
Consecutive 40-homer seasons: 6 (NL record).
Consecutive 30-homer seasons: 9 (3rd).
Most 150 RBI seasons: 2 (NL record).
Most homers, 3 cons. years: 179 (1998-2000); 4 cons. years: 243 (1998-2001), both NL records.

Homers in consecutive years, all major league records:
5 years: 292, 1998-2002.
6 years: 332, 1998-2003.
7 years: 368, 1996-2002, 1997-2003.
8 years: 408, 1996-2003.
9 years: 444, 1995-2003.
10 years: 469, 1994-2003.
Cubs ranks: games 1811 (10th), at-bats 6990 (8th), runs 1245 (6th), hits 1985 (9th), total bases 3980 (4th), long hits 873 (3rd), RBI 1414 (3rd), walks 798 (6th), strikeouts 1815 (1st), slugging pct .569 (2nd).

On March 17, 2005, Sosa appeared before the House Government Reform Committee, under subpoena, to testify concerning steroid use in major league baseball.  He shared the table with Mark McGwire, Jose Canseco, and Rafael Palmeiro.  Sosa, as did Palmeiro, denied usage; McGwire gave ambiguous, noncommittal reponses that destroyed what little then remained of his credibility.  Palmeiro would later test positive, and make no attempt to return to the majors.

Sosa chose to testify in Spanish, his first language (a not uncommon practice when under oath and subject to possible penalty).  All knew Sammy was perfectly competent in English, and the act laid an egg in Congress.  Despite Sosa's denials, the testimony served to diminish his reputation further.

Of all the players tarred with the steroid brush, Sosa remains the most enigmatic. He never quite attained the comic-book bulk of the others. He never tested positive. There is no anecdotal or investigative account of his usage, as there is for Palmeiro, McGwire, and Bonds. Whatever happened, if it did, happened in the Dominican, and stayed there.

Sosa was the only player in the majors to diminish, every year, in home runs, RBI, and batting average in the span 2002-05, a damning pattern of decline. Only McGwire, Sosa, and Bonds achieved and maintained their historic levels of performance during the unregulated years, they are undoubtedly the greatest sluggers of their generation. But McGwire and Bonds had already established HOF credentials before performance enhancing became rampant, Sosa almost literally came from nowhere. No player, perhaps, has ever risen so high so swiftly, and then declined to his previous level, as swiftly.

But the deeds were done, the numbers are permanent, and awesome in any circumstance. What to do with it? If a definitive answer exists among the myriad suggestions, this author has yet to hear it.

Years after `98, Al and I had our attention called to a book entitled Baseball's Best Shots, a compendium of photos taken from all eras of the game. One spread is a shot of the right-field bleachers at Wrigley during a seventh-inning stretch in `98 (probably the game of September 18). A typically festive, half-dressed, half-bombed crowd gone half-bonkers over what they were seeing.

Except, that is, for two figures, in one corner of the image, bent over a pair of scorecards; literally the only people in the frame whose faces are not visible. Yes, it's us; and we agree, as do our baseball friends, that it's our perfect portrait.

I'd like to remember `98 that way, a season of joy, a season for the ages, fit for groupies and students alike, our season.  But I can't, not anymore.  It was stolen from us, under false pretenses, and time has not assuaged the anger.

A second draft of history was delivered, by proxy, last month; the baseball writers' vote for the Hall of Fame. Mark McGwire, on the ballot for the first time, received 23.5 percent. If Sosa has indeed played his last game, it will be delivered, in person, from the same source, in January, 2011.

Sammy Sosa's career stats at baseball-reference.com

Profile co-written by BCB reader TheBeerBaron and Al; the personal references within are TheBeerBaron's

To many baseball fans outside of the Chicago area, a player with a career hitting line of .285/.344/.452 (.796 OPS) would be regarded as slightly above average -- not really a player worthy of enshrinement in the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown. To fans of the Chicago Cubs, this line represents one of the greatest players to ever grace the friendly confines of Wrigley Field and a modern day baseball legend -- Ryne Sandberg.

The fondest memories of my early childhood predominately revolve around the Cubs' most notable second baseman. Ironically enough, the then not-very-notable January 27, 1982 trade of Ivan DeJesus to the Phillies for Sandberg and Larry Bowa occurred less than six months before my exact date of birth. My own personal affliction for the Chicago Cubs began courtesy of Ryne Sandberg. Nearing my fifth birthday in May of 1987, I became aware of Sandberg simply because of the similarities in our first names -- Ryne and Ryan. Due to this personal revelation of sorts, Ryne Sandberg instantaneously became my childhood hero -- along with several characters from Sesame Street, of course. From that time on, I loyally followed the Chicago Cubs and the career of Sandb