Monday, Feb. 6, 2006 | 12:34 p.m.
He was one of the icons of my youth, and I can still see him digging into the batter's box as if it were yesterday, when in fact, the last time it happened was 1971. I can see his elbow cocked high, forming a near-perfect right angle. And his long fingers dancing across the bat handle, like Nat King Cole playing the piano. Waiting ... waiting ... waiting ...
BAM!
... for that sweet sound of northern white ash meeting horsehide. And the sight of the baseball rising in a tight arc toward the ivy, climbing toward the Bleacher Bums where it would disappear into a sea of flailing arms and shirtless torsos. Or, if the wind were blowing out that day, perhaps it would clear Wrigley Field altogether, where it would wind up on Waveland Avenue and later that night, on the mantel of some guy who didn't even pay to get in.
That is the memory I had of Ernie Banks until Thursday, when we spoke for the first time.
Having just turned 49, I thought I had outgrown worshipping the heroes of my youth many, many, many years ago. But I have to admit that while dialing his suite at the Palms, I had butterflies. I mean, what should I call him?
Ernie? Too friendly.
Mr. Banks? Too formal.
Mr. Cub? Too Bill Murray.
I was thinking I would just break the ice by saying something clever about the Friendly Confines of the Las Vegas Strip or it's a beautiful day in Southern Nevada, let's play two, when the instantly recognizable voice of my youth came on the line.
"Momma always said life is like a box of chocolates, and you never know what you're gonna get," Ernie Banks said, catching me off guard.
"Tom Hanks in 'Forrest Gump,' " I replied, not knowing what else to say. "If you build it, they will come."
"James Earl Jones, 'Field of Dreams,'" I said, still batting 1.000.
"Sometimes you win, and sometimes you lose. And sometimes it rains."
Pregnant pause. Well, 2-for-3 isn't bad for a light-hitting middle infielder. I was momentarily stumped.
"C'mon, you know this one," prodded the baseball Hall of Famer who was elected to Cooperstown in 1977. "The Susan Sarandon movie."
The trivia light flashed on. "Tim Robbins in 'Bull Durham,' " I said. Ernie Banks laughed, told me I was smart and asked where I went to school, as if I were some sort of genius or at least the guy in the middle seat on "Jeopardy."
No, just a long-suffering Cub fan, I thought. Not much to do during October except watch movies.
I had prepared a list of questions to ask Ernie - that's what he said to call him - every one of which he probably has been asked at least 512 times, which is how many homers he hit in the big leagues. So I just wadded up the list, like David Letterman does when Robin Williams is a guest, and threw him a curveball.
I asked what he wanted to talk about. He mentioned his wife, Liz, and her Web site, www.500hrc.com, extolling the feats of the 20 men who have hit 500 or more homers in the major leagues and the four (Sadaharu Oh, Josh Gibson, Martin Dihigo and Hector Espino Gonzalez) who did it in other professional leagues. "Reggie, Hank, Killebrew ... all of us are getting together and getting behind Liz to help get the brand out," Banks said.
He mentioned his fundraising work for the Jackie Robinson Foundation. "Jackie's always been my idol. We were even born on the same day, Jan. 31."
He mentioned his informal Hall of Fame lobbying effort on behalf of old Cubs teammate and lifelong friend Ron Santo. "We need to get Jim Bunning (who pitched a perfect game in 1964 and is now a U.S. senator from Kentucky) on it."
And he mentioned his 75th birthday bashes at Joel Robuchon at The Mansion at the MGM Grand and Pietro's at the Tropicana. "Sixteen courses, three hours," Banks said recalling his humble upbringing in Dallas. "Like Lee Trevino said, 'Is this a great country or what?' "
We chatted for a half-hour and you could hear Banks' sunny disposition coming through during virtually every second the conversation - especially when I asked what it would mean to watch his, mine and so many others' beloved Cubs finally win the World Series, which they haven't done since 1908.
"It would be the happiest moment of my life," Banks said. "This is something I visualize, going out there and throwing out the first ball in Game 7 of the World Series at beautiful Wrigley Field."
But you know something? I have a feeling if the Cubs won in six, he wouldn't complain.
Ron Kantowski can be reached at 259-4088 or at [email protected].
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