Frank Thomas Is a Hall of Famer

Eminor3rd · December 18, 2013

QUOTE (hi8is @ Dec 15, 2013 -> 12:49 AM)

This is exactly who Frank Thomas was to the fans who followed him closest.

I'm sure many of you can attest as well with similar stories.

Frank was the reason I became a Sox fan. Being a born and raised Southern Californian, there really was no other reason for a 7 year old boy to latch onto the Chicago White Sox. All it took was one ESPN highlight of him mashing a Mike Mussina meatball out to the left field concourse.

And so a childhood obsession began.

Whenever the Sox were in town playing the Angels, my dad took work off... Bringing me with him for a series long indulgence of modern day Cracker Jack glory. My pops was a pretty smart guy - the first thing he taught me about the spectator side of Baseball was, "get to the park early." Real early. Four hours early.

We would wait for players to arrive and get their signatures with a black felt tip Sharpie pen. It was a crap shoot I'd soon learn.

Some players would quickly sign for a couple of people without breaking stride or taking their sun glasses off. Others would treat fans as if they where air and walk right by. The first time I saw Frank Thomas walk up with his six foot five frame holding two hundred and something pounds of muscle - I figured it would be a tough autograph to pull off.

He always was dressed as a consummate professional. A full suit with a coat. Nice slacks and a fleece sweater. Not flashy or arrogant but rather, as a man who was there to do a job. Being that he was one of the most talented players on the planet - I expected him to just blow by all the fans.

They swarmed up quickly... Clearly everyone had really been waiting for him. It was a shock seeing what happened:

Frank walked up to the entrance door. Removed his glasses. Turned around and smiled. He said two words, "Line up!" and then resumed back to smiling.

About fifty or a hundred people would stand in a single file line. We all fell into formation. The Big Hurt stood there and signed every autograph. He shook any outstretched hand. He posed for any picture requested. He treated everyone as if they where equals. The respect we had for him as a baseball player was returned to us tenfold as fans.

The first time I saw this system - I figured we just came on the right day. Got lucky. It was a priceless moment. I've no clue who won or lost the actual game but I'll never forget that moment.

After the stadium emptied, my dad turned to me and asked if I wanted to wait for the players again - this time catching them as they exited. To a seven year old, "sure!" is the only possible response. And so we waited.

About two hours later, Frank appeared at the player door, yet again in his professional attire. Everyone saw him and lined up. The man signed autographs for at least another hour. Amazing.

And so began a family tradition. For nearly the next decade - we always saw the Sox play in Anaheim. More often than not, Frank would sign for hours before or after a game... Sometimes both.

Unbelievable. Consistent. Humble. Amazing. Powerful. One of a kind.

Those are words that not only define his career on the field but they also are appropriate descriptions of his character.

Two years ago, right before getting married and starting a family of my own - I had a chance to save up some cash and surprise my dad with a trip to Chicago. It was our first trip to The Homeland after all of those years on enemy grounds. I wrote to Brooks Boyer and told him a little about my Dad and his selfless dedication to me during all of those Sox away games. After so many years waiting around for autographs and seeing the Angles beat our Sox - my pops was finally treated to a surprise on a new level.

Brooks instructed me to meet him at the field on our last game of a 7 game set. We arrived an hour before gates opened to the public. He greeted us - shook my dads hand... And walked us into the executive offices. He walked us down under the stadium, by the players locker rooms, and up through the umpire tunnel. We arrived behind home plate.

The look on my Dads face was priceless. He had no clue any of this would happen. Standing behind home plate, on the dirt of US Cellular Field... My old man cracked a smile like Frank Thomas always showed and teared up a bit.

Bad. Ass.

Thanks Frank Thomas for introducing me to the White Sox. Thanks for absolutely crushing baseballs. For inspiring me to play the game. For showing me how to handle success with grace. For affording me the opportunity to know gratitude and show appreciation on a Big Hurt scale. Thanks for leading me to the best organization in all of sports. An organization where everyone from the top down treats each other like a family. Thanks for being a legend of mythic proportion that can now be passed down to a son of my own once he's born this March.

He'll be three weeks old when the 2014 season opens this year. He'll be wrapped in his first Sox jersey - watching his first game with Daddy. Here's to hoping that by 2021 - when I go wait around with my boy at first first ball game - that some now unknown player will treat us with so much dignity.

I doubt there will ever again be a player of such a Big Hurt magnitude.

But hey, here's to hoping... Right.

Frank Thomas is already in the Hall of Fame to me.

Period.

So this is what happens when hi8is doesn't just reply with "Poop."

Reddy · December 18, 2013

QUOTE (hi8is @ Dec 15, 2013 -> 01:49 AM)