Peter Schmuck: Brooks Robinson was one of the greatest baseball players ever. He was an even better man. | COMMENTARY

This is all you need to know about Brooks Robinson. In the early days of the commercial sports autograph boom, a fellow Hall of Famer sidled up to him and told him that he was signing way too many free autographs, which was lowering his value on the memorabilia circuit.

Brooks just went on signing. He didn’t have anything against making a few dollars off his signature, but he clearly did have something against saying no to anyone who met him on the street and wanted it.

That’s why just about every self-respecting Orioles fan has one and remembers the time and place when Brooksie flashed his homespun Brooksie smile and said “Sure, kid” — just like the guy in that famous Norman Rockwell painting.

Robinson died Tuesday, his family said in a joint statement with the Orioles. He was 86.

[ Brooks Robinson, legendary Orioles third baseman, dies at 86 ]

To say that he was a nice guy is like saying that Abraham Lincoln was a good president or Rembrandt could paint a little bit. It’s true, of course, but it sure doesn’t tell the whole story. He was actually a better guy than he was a baseball player, and nobody has to tell you that he was one of the greatest players who ever put on a major league uniform.

It was during spring training — maybe 1990, maybe 1991 — when it really dawned on me how much Brooks meant to Baltimore. I should have known already, but I was still an out-of-towner trying to fit in around here and, on that afternoon, I was with another Sun reporter behind the batting cage having a casual conversation with Brooks that was repeatedly interrupted by a man and his young son standing at the railing trying to get his attention.

This was not an unusual occurrence, apparently, because Brooks politely stepped out of our conversation.

“Excuse me, guys,” he said without a trace of obligation, “I’ve got to go meet another little Brooks.”

Sure enough, as soon as he got to the railing, the man introduced him to another boy named after the best-loved baseball player in the history of Baltimore. Later, I suppose, you might make that case for Cal Ripken, but I’m sure both would agree to call it a draw.

Baseball Hall of Famer and Orioles great Brooks Robinson, left, puts his arm around 6-year-old Brandon Conk of Los Angeles during a convention in 2019. (Kenneth K. Lqam, The Baltimore Sun)

The thing that made Brooks such a unique son of Charm City is that — unlike Cal — he had no link to Maryland when he signed with the Orioles. He grew up in Little Rock, Arkansas, but with a smile for everyone and a glove that must have had a suction pump inside, he crawled into the heart of every kid who ever wore an O’s cap to bed and every adult who watched him perform magic at third base, or at home plate or in the middle of a crowd of fans in the parking lot after the game.

That’s where I first met him, outside Anaheim Stadium one night in the late 1960s and he stayed there until every kid had an autograph and a kind word. I don’t know what happened to that baseball he signed for me, but I do remember — decades later — wondering how such a big star could be such a nice guy.

It turned out to be no great mystery. He was just built that way.

Everyone knows the rest. He was the best defensive third baseman of his era and maybe of all time. If he had played in the 24-hour TV highlight era, there probably would be no doubt about that, but fans who didn’t grow up watching him on a regular basis have to settle for the grainy images of his tour de force Most Valuable Player performance against the Cincinnati Reds in the 1970 World Series.

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Trust me, there were a lot more great plays where those came from and an impressive offensive resume that has been overshadowed by a glove that was platinum long before Rawlings decided that gold wasn’t quite enough.

He won 16 straight Gold Gloves and made 15 straight All-Star teams. He finished his major league career with 2,848 hits, 818 extra-base hits, 268 home runs and 1,357 RBIs. He was a no-doubt Hall of Famer when he became eligible for induction at Cooperstown in 1983.

Everybody knows that, because we also live in a world of total statistical access, but those numbers are just proof of his physical skill on a baseball field. The evidence of a life well-lived by a man so well loved can better be found on the untold thousands of worn baseballs, old photos and wrinkled scraps of paper that bear his signature.

Brooks never met an autograph he wouldn’t sign or a kid he didn’t like.

There are a lot of smug young players these days who think they’re God’s gift to baseball.

Brooks Robinson really was.

Editor’s note: Peter Schmuck, who spent 30 years covering baseball and writing columns for The Baltimore Sun, wrote this article in 2019.