Remembering MLB Great Ron Santo

I come from a long line of diehard Chicago Cubs fans.

The kind that stand outside on Waveland Avenue during games with a mitt waiting to catch the next home run ball. The kind that opt to sit in the bleachers with Ronnie Woo Woo, because even though they may get beer spilled on them, everyone knows they're the best seats in the house. And the kind that mute the TV to pair a game with the hometown call on WGN radio.

I think that's what I'll miss most about Ron Santo. Swimming in the backyard pool at my parents' house as a kid, listening to Ronnie banter with fellow Cubs radio legend, Pat Hughes, on 720-AM about the time he burned his hair.

Without ever realizing his dream of seeing his team win a World Series, the legend, eternal Cubs optimist and most famous non-Hall-of-Famer, died early Friday morning at the age of 70. He passed away in Arizona following a battle with bladder cancer and a 50-year fight against diabetes, reported the Chicago Tribune.

When I first heard the news, the first person I called was my dad. After all, he's the one who instilled his love for Ronnie and the Cubs, for better or for worse, in my three brothers and me. (We'll exclude my oldest brother and "black sheep" of the family, who against his better judgement, became a fan of the White Sox).

In fact, my dad met my mom—he was 19, she, 16—in 1971 at the local swimming pool because she had a transistor radio and he wanted to borrow it to listen to the game. (I know he probably also saw it as an excuse to talk to the pretty blonde in the bikini and he'll likely admit to that.)

But either way, he hooked her too. My mom never missed an opportunity to listen to Santo on the radio and was genuinely concerned with each bout of poor health—and there were many—that he spent in the hospital over the years.

It's funny, I almost consider the guy a part of my family. I really feel like we got to know him. Like he was a beloved uncle.

Even though I never got to see Ron Santo play, I've heard stories of his amazing feats at third base and seen his plays in documentaries and old clips including one of my all-time favorites, This Old Cub.

Aside from his adherence to the game, he overcame nearly every obstacle possible while battling diabetes, including amputations to both of his legs. He went on to raise millions of dollars to fight juvenile diabetes.

But you'd never know he suffered at all from listening to his positivity on the radio. He even remained in good spirits after being rejected 19 times from the Major League Baseball Hall of Fame. Hopefully one day, the Baseball Writers Association of America and Veterans Committee will wise up and finally induct him. It's too bad they couldn't do so while he was alive.

It's obvious that my family and I are not the only ones with a love for Ron. He was the heart and soul of Chicago baseball, after all. There are plenty of local Cubs fans too. Including graduate and former paperboy, J.J. Tindall, who wrote a poem coined "Mighty Santo at the Bat."

If you ask me, Chicago and Cubbie flags should fly at half-mast today. And while we're at it, make a donation in his name to the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation.

I can only hope that other fans continue Santo's legacy of being famously devoted to our favorite perennial losers. And that one day, Ronnie can look down and see them finally win a World Series. Maybe next year.