Finally Acknowledging Joy: The Restoration of Sammy Sosa to Cubdom is a Good Thing

In case you missed it, Sammy Sosa issued a public apology for his steroid use last week. In response, team Chairman Tom Ricketts released a statement stating that he planned on inviting Sosa to this offseason’s Cubs Convention. As someone who was born in the 1990s, I sincerely hope that this is the beginning of a time where we can celebrate the memories that Sosa gave to all of us.

In so many ways, Sosa is the reason that I became a Cubs fan and, therefore, a baseball fan. I don’t think I recall any of the magical 1998 home run chase between him and Mark McGwire. Nor do I recall any of the team’s run to the playoffs that season. What I do recall is that I owned this CD, and that I listened to that thing front to back during summer days, probably until something like 2007. Chock-full of Sosa home run calls by the great Pat Hughes, that CD was to me what the latest Beatles album would have been to most children growing up in the 1960s.

Almost all of my pre-2003 Cubs memories are exclusively of Sosa. I don’t specifically recall the first baseball game I ever attended. I can’t say that I ever had the poetic experience of smelling the freshly cut grass or anything. I do specifically recall attending one game when Sosa was on the team, though. My uncle took me. They were playing the Cardinals. I don’t recall whether the Cubs won or lost, or how Sammy even did that day. But I made a sign for him. “Go Sammy” was all that it said. I think just being able to see him in person was all I really cared about.

I’m sure the home runs helped, but he also had such an aura about him. He sprinted out to right field before every inning. Growing up playing baseball, I sprinted out to my position in the field every inning. Because Sammy did it. In the era before bat flips, the way he hopped out of the batter’s box when he knew he hit a home run was loaded with charisma. I wouldn’t have dared try that one growing up, for risk of hearing about it from my dad. I didn’t hit home runs anyway, so it didn’t matter much. But you best bet I dreamed about doing it.

At some point along the way, I acquired his autobiography, and devoured it almost nightly. As something like a six-year-old at the time, I don’t think I comprehended a single word in there. It didn’t matter. It had Sammy Sosa on the cover. Sammy was so intertwined with my identity at such a young age that I even remember grown adults asking me about him. “Hey Matt, how did Sammy Sosa do today?” Of course, I always knew the answer.

I can recall the 2003 playoff run with, I think, pretty good detail. One hallmark memory I will always have is of Sammy’s game-tying home run in the ninth inning of Game 1 of the NLCS. I was jumping around the living room with my brothers. The game was now tied, but this was undoubtedly different because Sammy hit it. The anticipation of the plate appearance culminating in the exact thing my eight-year-old brain was dreaming he would do made it all the more exciting. What’s funny is that I constantly have to remind myself that the Cubs went on to lose that game. I can recall this home run with clear detail, but not even the result of the game:

Sosa was and is an imperfect human being, and that is a part of the legacy, too. He played during an imperfect period in baseball history—ne that I hope won’t be entirely forgotten or distorted, but that’s another conversation. Barry Bonds and Mark McGwire both coached in MLB after their careers. Álex Rodríguez is part of baseball media. It’s not unprecedented for the water to flow under the bridge.

Fandom is irrational. We all remember the way every one of his home runs made us feel. All 545 of them. They did happen, whether Tom Ricketts likes it or not. They were, for better or worse, my childhood, and my birth as a Cubs fan. Not acknowledging them in any form or fashion is, to put it mildly, insulting to those of us who were there for them. The Cubs welcoming him back is, I hope, the first step in all of us being able to reminisce about those days more freely, and to eventually lose the need for our preambles and caveats—not because they'll cease to matter, but because we'll all know them well enough to understand that they aren't the point of every Sosa conversation.

Today, my wife is pregnant with our first child. If I’m lucky, the kid will like baseball. Without a doubt, the first stories I’ll share with them will be of Anthony Rizzo, Kris Bryant, Kyle Hendricks, Jon Lester, and the rest of the 2016 team. Immediately after that, though, will be Slammin’ Sammy.