CHICAGO — Ryne Sandberg is often remembered as a quiet man, an unnamed team captain, a legend who made his mark more by his diving saves than his arm-raising victories. But beneath that calm demeanor was a deep soul — and a never-before-seen letter tells the story.
Found in a box of personal documents that his family gave to the Chicago Cubs just days after his death, the letter was titled simply:
“To Myself – Summer 1984.”
That year, Sandberg won the National League MVP award, leading the Cubs to their first World Series dream in nearly four decades. But the letter made no mention of glory. It was handwritten in blue ink, in small, slightly slanted letters:
“Ryno, if you ever forget what this summer felt like, read it again. Don’t remember the crowd chanting your name, but remember the mornings when you came to the field earlier than everyone else, remember the slide that got your shirt dirty just to save a second out. You’re not the star. You’re the spirit keeper.”
The letter was only a page long, neatly folded, sandwiched between old lineups. In it, Sandberg told himself things no one else saw:
“I know you’re scared. Scared of disappointing people. Scared of hitting well today and losing the ball tomorrow. You’re quiet, because no one taught you how to be a captain. But keep respecting the game, respecting the fans, and respecting yourself.”
There was one line underlined twice:
“Never lose the simplicity of the game. Even if you’re called a legend.”
The Truth Behind the Silent Smile
Sandberg’s family says he began writing letters to himself while he was in the Minor Leagues. No one read them, and he never published them. But the 1984 letter was kept private — a fulcrum for his career.
His son, Justin Sandberg, choked up as he read it:
“Dad never talked much about titles. He just said, ‘There was one time I thought I did something right.’”
To many, Sandberg is an MLB legend, a Hall of Famer, the number 23 who will forever live at Wrigley. But to those who love the Cubs, who love baseball with all their hearts, the letter says it all: he was a man who knew fear, but who kept moving forward — quietly and courageously.
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The Memory Box and the Empty Grandstand
Along with the letter, the box contained an old glove, a collector’s card from Sandberg’s first year in MLB, and a faded note that read:
“Do it right every day, and greatness will follow.”
Since his death, the 23rd seat in Row F of the first grandstand of Wrigley Field has been empty. A fan placed a handwritten copy of the letter on it:
“Thank you for writing to yourself. And to us.”
Ryne Sandberg is gone. But his message—which he never sent—has found a recipient.