As journalists, we're not supposed to let anything get to us.
We're supposed to be stoic, impartial observers. We're certainly not supposed to say things like, "I admire you."
I broke that rule when I interviewed Cubs legend Ernie Banks in September 2007. And I have no regrets about making that exception. As a sports fan, my heart broke when I heard he died Friday.
Before you write an angry letter to my boss, hear me out. It's not as if I ran up to him and asked for a boatload of autographs. I also have no illusions that Banks was some mythical figure without his missteps. We're all only human, after all.
But it felt natural to say what I did to a baseball pioneer, the first African-American Cubs player. That alone deserves applause, even if he turned out to be a world-class prima donna-which, as anyone who met him likely will tell you, is the opposite of the truth and precisely why he's so beloved in Chicago.
The compliment I gave him slipped out because Banks was that naturally disarming. Our conversation-I would label it that more so than a traditional interview-was more comparable to two baseball fans talking than a reporter firing questions at one of the game's legends.
Athletes love to say they're living a dream. No one has ever meant it more than Banks did.
No doubt there are athletes who take being famous very seriously. Not Banks.
Sitting in an adjacent bank cubicle in Naperville, I asked him when he knew he wanted to be a major leaguer. He had just finished signing autographs, taking pictures with local Little Leaguers and sharing his wisdom from a life playing the game he loved.
"I never knew I wanted to be a major leaguer," he said. "My dad wanted me to play; I never knew that. I don't even realize now I was a major leaguer."
That shocked me, that someone who hit all those home runs, won two MVPs and thrilled baseball fans everywhere-on and off the field- had virtually no consideration for his substantial celebrity.
Throughout the half-hour I sat across from him that afternoon, he never turned away one autograph request. He never seemed annoyed by anyone who stopped to introduce themselves. He meant no disrespect when he paused our talk to ask what the Cubs score was. (They split a doubleheader with St. Louis that day en route to a division title. How fitting was that?)
Banks made a then-20-something reporter from a small newspaper feel like Walter Cronkite. I hope he's passed on that gift a million times over.
Not to mention the way he appreciated everything the game gave him.
"Overall it's been a great journey, a great life. Lots of fun. Lots of good memories. I wouldn't trade it for nothin'."
Nor would I, Mr. Cub.
Chris Sosa is RedEye's sports editor. @redeyesportschi