"It was Tuesday, July 18, 1967, at 10:25 a.m. Central Standard Time.
I know because it was one of the turning moments of my life.
It was about 105 degrees that day, and as I walked into our locker room, my Cubs teammates were really worn down.
But I was feeling so great.
So lucky.
I was getting paid to do something I loved.
So I walked in the locker room and I said:
"Boy's.....
It’s a beautiful day....
Let’s play two!"
Everybody kind of raised up and looked at me.
They were saying to themselves:
"This guy is crazy. . . ."
I wanted to finish my career with one team, one city, one park, one owner.
I did that.
We played all of our home games at Wrigley Field during the daytime.
So my career was very unique, and I am proud of it."
Ernie Banks.
"Ernie Banks played with joy at the beginning, when he was a raw-boned kid out of the Negro leagues and the future was seemingly filled with pennants and World Series rings;
And he played with joy at the end, when his career had become a symbol for greatness amidst futility.
Banks was a power hitter, but in contrast to many sluggers, he was not a big man, nor did he swing from the heels.
Like Hank Aaron, his contemporary and friend, his pop came from his wrists.
He stood in the batter’s box, looking out at the pitcher with equanimity, his energy betrayed only by his fingers, which drummed against the bat.
His swing was waist high and steady, snapping across the plate with a final break of the wrist that made all the difference.
Ernie Banks hit 512 home runs and once held the record for shortstops, but few of those shots were of the towering God-ball variety.
Like Banks himself, they were remarkable for their persistence."
Rich Cohen on Ernie Banks.
"Ernie Banks"
Art by Graig Kreindler.