Front pages: San Diego Union-Tribune shows how city loved Tony Gwynn; ‘Baseball reporter’s best friend’

This is quite a display.

Gwynn also was beloved by the writers who covered him.

Bob Nightengale, USA Today:

Gwynn, the Hall of Famer and the San Diego Padres’ eight-time batting champion, was just about everyone’s favorite person in the world.

He was a baseball reporter’s best friend. You could talk to him about steroid abuse in the game to an occasional hitting slump, and he would give you the same courtesy whether you’re from Time Magazine or the Escondido High school newspaper.

He treated the kids picking up the dirty socks in the Padres clubhouse with the same respect as ownership.

When a certain reporter arrived into San Diego to write a piece on Gwynn’s final season for USA TODAY Sports, only for the 9/11 terrorist attack to hit and postpone baseball games for a week, guess who was calling to make sure everything was OK, and bringing him to his home.

Tom Verducci, Sports Illustrated:

All of his amazing numbers, however, don’t tell the true story of Tony Gwynn. He was an ambassador not just for the game of baseball but for mankind. His dignity and modesty were remarkable in any age, but especially this one, in which the individual who shouts the loudest about himself gets the most fame, and we have confused fame with character. Gwynn won the 1995 Branch Rickey Award, the 1998 Lou Gehrig Award and the 1999 Roberto Clemente Award, all honors given to baseball players for their character and humanitarianism, not just their batting skills.

Nick Canepa, San Diego Union-Tribune:

I’ve been in this sportswriting dodge for 43 years and along the way have met athletes who are great people and total idiots, but I easily can admit Tony was my favorite. Maybe because I knew him so long. But he was always there for me. Always. Never turned me away, honest as a mighty oak.

Richard Justice, MLB.com:

And Gwynn held court with anyone — with teammates and reporters, with opposing players … with anyone, really. Today, there are hundreds and hundreds of people — teammates, clubhouse attendants, front-office employees — who are grieving because this remarkable man made all of them feel important.