I’m sometimes considered insensitive when older folks die.

“They’re old,” I say. “They die. That’s when people are supposed to die.”

But today, when Ron Santo passed away at the age of 70, I’m absolutely heartbroken.

You know the story of Santo – one of the best third baseman to play the game, one of the best men people were fortunate enough to know, and one of the most excitable broadcasters to the very end.

But his legacy was always defined more by what hadn’t happened than what had. Namely: he was the best player not in the Hall of Fame.

Now, in the next few years, the Veteran’s Committee will posthumously admit Santo to the place he has belonged for decades, and they’ll pat themselves on the back.



And I’ll still be heartbroken. Ron Santo wasn’t supposed to die before it happened. He was too young.




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