A Rick Hummel story

The HOF baseball writer passed away in his sleep on Saturday morning.

Rick Hummel didn’t have to be nice to me, but he was.

Jaime Garcia was on a rehab assignment that was nearing closure, and that meant I received a cool job assignment to take a road trip to Memphis. John Nagel at Cardinals Farm had brought me on recently, and tossed me the chance to cover Garcia’s start. The embattled former Cards southpaw starter was making another attempt to get back to the majors after an injury setback.

It was the first time covering anything outside of my hometown. The assignment was more reporting than commentary; I was the eyes and ears for many readers over at the now-expired C.F. Upon walking into the nicer-than-expected press box at AutoZone Park, there was Hummel. He was sitting calm and patiently, waiting for the game to start.

There wasn’t a nervous bone in his body. Hummel, nicknamed “The Commish,” had the ease and steady hand of a veteran on the scene, having spoken to players who I watched as a kid as well as ones that were playing before I was born. If there’s a thing baseball reporters do, he has done it and done it well. He was so good, there wasn’t a real need to be nice to a nervous rookie.

It’s not like we hit it off and became best friends. Hummel spoke to me when I had a question, and our conversations picked up as the game aged on. Garcia came and went, and the two of us made our way to the basement with another out-of-town reporter. What we came to was the smallest room possible; yes, smaller than the Wrigley Field visitor’s room.

It was four of us in a hot box of sorts. Garcia enjoyed answering media questions as much as I liked going to the dentist. Hummel joked about getting real answers to our questions, as if it wasn’t a certainty. I believed him. Once again, anything he did seemed like a great idea.

The interview went as expected. Each of us had a couple for him, and around 10% of it was actually answered. On the way back up, I commented on Hummel being right. He handed back a sly grin and nod. He didn’t have a ton to say, but what was said meant a lot. Our night ended seemingly as soon as it got going; once Garcia was gone, our jobs were done.

What I took away from that night was an appreciation for him as a person. Anyone who likes the Cardinals should have read and understood why he is in the Hall of Fame. There’s mountains of words on the internet. If I were you, start with the weekly chats.

Each week, the St. Louis Post Dispatch opens the door for readers to comment with questions for their sportswriters. Hummel took many of those assignments. He never wrote an extra word, just like Greg Maddux never wasted a pitch. His replies were succinct, buried in decades of visual research and an impressive knowledge of the game in each era. He was blunt and honest, nothing less but way more than you’d expect.

Whenever I covered the Winter Warm-up, an annual preseason event in January in downtown St. Louis, I got to see and maybe share a few words with Hummel. He always made himself available and ready to go, whether it be to prepare questions or just talk about the game.

In a single night way back in 2015, he made me feel like a veteran. Hummel treated me like an equal, something I am sure was an occurrence for many young writers. He retired recently, but reportedly never left the park or got real far. According to the Post Dispatch, he died this past weekend after a “short, aggressive battle with an illness.”

His writing will be remembered for all time. Don’t forget about his humanity.

Photo Credit: Muddy River Sports