Tag: fans

This Generation’s “Mr. Cub”

While we wait for the World Series to start (and end) so the Cubs can finally do something to get back to the postseason, I realized a couple things that stemmed from the previous entry. The one thing is an extension of that blog, where it’s way more fun when the Cubs win, and that could generate far more goodwill than pure nostalgia:

https://twitter.com/Matt_Winkelman/status/1584955425996558336
Office gif: “It’s true…”

The second thing I thought about, given the Cubs’ reliance on nostalgia and tradition to have a higher attendance floor than most other teams, is that I would prefer more continuity with the players wearing my favorite team’s uniform. Such is the case with the late great Ernie Banks, who, despite never having played in the postseason, remains one of the most beloved (if not the most) Cubs of all time due to both his play and his personality. Banks also remains the most revered Cub from that group of Hall of Famers from those close-but-no-cigar Cubs teams, and the only one to remain with the franchise for his entire MLB career. I’m unsure whether any player will be able to claim that again, considering that they’re likely to be traded or sign elsewhere way before their 19th season.

The only Cub legends who could even rival Mr. Cub and also played while I was alive would be Ryne Sandberg or Sammy Sosa. Both also played for other franchises for various reasons, and in Sosa’s case (unjustly I might say) he just isn’t welcome to a significant portion of the Cubs fan base. It seems more logical to anoint one of the players who actually won a goddamn World Series as a legend even if they’re not quite Ernie Banks Mr. Cub level, but we’ve probably talked a bunch already about how this front office allowed that much talent to just deteriorate or walk away, and that does suck. Even second-tier but still obvious stars like Aramis Ramírez weren’t appreciated enough while they played with the Cubs to be considered. The obvious choice for our generation’s Mr. Cub would have been Anthony Rizzo, who had the longest tenure with the team of the previous core, and might possibly be a candidate to return to Chicago if the stars align (arguably he shouldn’t have left in the first place, but what’s done is done). And since the Cubs are unlikely to retain Willson Contreras, he’s probably not going to assume the mantle of respected long-time veteran either. It isn’t like they’re Hall of Fame elite level guys either, but that is obviously very difficult to achieve and so we might not witness a true next-gen Mr. Cub for a while longer.

Since this mantle is going to take a few extra years to materialize because, you know, legacy and narrative and all that, maybe we don’t need a Hall of Fame level talent, we just need a guy who was developed in-house to stick around past his walk date. That could still be Rizzo (if he comes back) or Contreras (if he gets to stay), but of the remaining guys on the 40-man who aren’t going to get unceremoniously dumped, I can only think of extension candidates in Ian Happ or Nico Hoerner. Neither guy is likely to end up in the Hall of Fame (but again, that’s already extremely unlikely for the bulk of players anyway) but could serve as respected veterans to guide the future Mr. Cub, whoever that is going to be.

This turned out to be a rather futile exercise because we are unlikely to satisfy the Hall of Fame level talent nor the franchise longevity requirements that a player needs to be considered Mr. Cub. I like Nico’s skillset on both sides of the ball and there’s a nonzero chance he turns out to be elite, but I don’t think we should bank on it. For me, I think my priority here is just the continuity of seeing a respected veteran who (hopefully) doesn’t suck at baseball staying around for more than his six years of club control before being let go, because that was rather painful when we had to say goodbye to Rizzo, Javier Báez, Kyle Schwarber, and Kris Bryant (even though I understand why they had to go from a baseball perspective).

We live in a different baseball business environment where free agency is very real and analytics is king in determining who stays and who goes, but I firmly believe that the Cubs, with their relative advantage in resources, can develop and retain/pay their guys to stick around. Similar to what Winkelman said in his tweet above, the Cubs have a good development pipeline, they have an obviously loyal (for whatever reason) fan base who wants to see more winning and is willing to pay for it, so why not churn out some All-Stars and Hall of Famers so the next generation of Cubs fans can grow up rooting for their own Mr. Cub(s)? Easier said than done, but in addition to winning, I’d just like to own a jersey that isn’t obsolete next year (which is why mine is blank). Although winning is the main business goal, I think it tracks well with continuity and fan engagement, and I’m excited and curious to see who may emerge as a new Mr. Cub in the next decade or so.

Cheers!

I recently stopped in at a local dive called Ritz Klub in Michigan City, Indiana. I had heard their burgers were the best thing ever to happen to dead cattle, so I had to see for myself. I had also heard the place was something short of a spectacle for the eyes, and I love a place that’s not too fancy.

Trust me, Ritz Klub is not too fancy.

This wasn’t a hole in the wall; it was a rented-out nook in the far dark corner of a hole in the wall. It smelled like beer and grease with faint wispy reminders of an age when smoking wasn’t merely legal but practically mandatory in such establishments. Smaller than some walk-in closets, the room was shabbily divided into four quadrants: the seating area, the pool table, the jukebox, and the bar.

No two of the 7 or 8 tables in the place were alike. They may very well have been the remnants of 7 or 8 different cafeteria fire sales. My friend and I sat down at the one in front of the two giant tanks of carbon dioxide. We weren’t handed menus. They were printed on a half-sheet of paper (one side) mounted in a clear plastic tabletopper. Burgers. Three varieties of fries. A couple options nobody ever orders. That’s your menu.

The pool table was small. The jukebox was gargantuan. The bar sat about eight, and six of the stools were occupied. Before our arrival, the rest of the less-than-cavernous environs was deserted.

The lighting was extremely dim except for the overpowering glow of a few really nice widescreen TVs mounted around the place. Clearly the primary investments poured into this place over the last decade were for entertainment purposes.

This was a place where you come to watch the game. They’ll even give you the remote to the screen nearest you.

“They” are a brother and sister team who run the place. Sam works behind the bar, serving up colossal steins of beer and half-pound (at least) cheeseburgers on toasted sesame-seed buns. No joke, they serve a 5-WAR burger. The sister comprises the entire wait staff. I assume her name is Margaret . . . because she really looks like a Margaret. She needed a full two minutes to examine my ID under the glow of the lamp in a nearby popcorn machine, even though all I drank was a Pepsi. She’s really cute in a way only Margarets can pull off.

But the raison d’être of this joint is the bar and its assorted viewing options. And that’s really the raison d’être of this post: the phenomenon that took place there during my visit (and, I presume, the one that takes place just about every night).

The men sitting at the bar came to watch the White Sox game. Or they came to commiserate, and the game gave them an excuse to stay for three hours. They sat together and barked at the screen. When Hawk uttered his catchphrases, these six Sox fans recited them in unison (He gone!). When the Orioles started breaking out against Jake Peavy and the Sox bullpen, these guys filled Hawk’s long, frustrated silences with wisecracks and red-blooded advice (Hit ’em. Open up a can of whoop ass. Whoop ass! Whoop ass!). And during commercials, they’d pass the time with political analysis (I heard that if Obama gets reelected, the Amish are gonna move to Canada).

It was fantastic. It made me think of that question Aisley asked earlier: What does it take to get White Sox fans to the ballpark? The answer seemed so clear. No, not “a designated driver” or “the short bus.” For Sox fans to go to the game, it has to make more sense for them to go instead of hanging out with each other in front of the big screen and cheap beer.

And really, that’s not all that different from the reasoning of Cubs fans. We just tend to hang out at a much more expensive bar.

And let’s be honest, at it’s best, Wrigley was a family-friendly bar. In the ’70s, the cover charge was a quarter. In the ’80s, when I first started attending games as a kid, there wasn’t a single time I didn’t have to (get to?) pass a couple rounds of beer along my row at least every other inning. Ever since, the atmosphere of the place has fluctuated between frat house and upscale(ish) pub.

Wrigley and the Cell have both raised their cover charges inordinately. Cubs fans still flock to the Northside dive in droves, but most Sox fans (and, let’s be honest, a ton of Cubs fans) seem to recognize with greater consistency that the ambience, thrill, and camaraderie can be replicated elsewhere.

But this post isn’t really about attendance. This is a post about us, the fans. We the people, I guess. The teams we watch are the excuses we use to come together as friends, especially if we’re uncomfortable considering each other friends.

Take this blog, for example. Commenters drop by when there are a lot of others joining in the discussion, not necessarily when there’s a game on. The Cubscentric posts are basically a front to excuse discussion about anything. (Side note: the tagline for this site could easily be “A Cubscentric Circle of Hell.”) Cubs news draws more of us out of our holes, but the range of topics covered in this site’s comments is broader and more diverse than my Facebook feed ever is. The Cubs are our excuse for showing up so we don’t ever have to admit that we really just like each other. And please, don’t. I don’t want this to get awkward.

My point, if I even have one, is that it’s nice to have a place to get together and converse without taking ourselves too damn seriously. But, at the risk of taking this too damn seriously, it’s pretty cool to have a place to go where everybody knows your fake name.

The Cubs Are Still In It!

Tim is right: 2011 is not the Cubs’ year. (see also: 1909-2010). But not everybody needs to think that way.

There are two approaches to being a fan (probably more, but I’m concerning this argument about these two alone . . . unless I get so inspired to consider others; I doubt it): thinking like a player and thinking like an owner. One approach tends to be more relentlessly optimistic, while the other stirs up storm clouds of doom and gloom not unlike those delaying today’s Cubs vs. Pirates titanic clash.

I’ll take a look at the latter, more pragmatic (and, at this point, pessimistic) approach first. When you think like an owner, you ask the basic question: “What should the Cubs do?” Another way of phrasing it: If I were the owner, GM, manager of the team, what would I do? Well, I think most of us agree that ownership and management can’t afford to be blind optimists. If it’s your money or your job on the line, you don’t make decisions based on what you hope will happen but instead on what you think will happen based on hard facts and well thought-out philosophies.

If you think like an owner, you look at this Cubs team and realize the writing on the wall is all too easy to read. It’s “Cubs Suck” in bright blue graffiti. You start thinking about how to make the team better. You start thinking about 2012 and beyond. You realize that fighting desperately to compete in 2011 probably runs counter to the team’s best long-term interests. 

You realize that cheering for success in 2011 is pointless. If you think like an owner. Nothing wrong with that.

But that same owner (and you probably) expects the players to adopt a completely different attitude. If I’m paying guys many millions of dollars to try to compete on a lost cause of a team, I expect them to try their best each and every time to the plate, each and every pitch, each and every defensive play, and every single game. I expect them to expect to win. Always. Even though I know they’ll more likely to lose, I expect the players I’m paying to embrace some rather unrealistic expectations.

That’s one reason we weigh all performance essentially the same. We don’t value stats accumulated in a pennant race any higher or lower than those put up when the team is out of contention. Players on winning teams are expected to compete as fiercely as they can. Players on crappy teams are expected to compete just as tenaciously. Playing for a championship or playing for pride, athletes aren’t extended any grace based on their circumstances. They’re expected to try to win, no matter how ridiculous that might seem.

Players shouldn’t get discouraged. Players shouldn’t concede. Players should never give up hope, even after mathematics declares hope dead.

Some fans, a lot of fans, take that approach. There is absolutely nothing wrong with that. Is it stupid? Let me say this as plainly as I can: there is nothing intelligent about being a Cubs fan. There’s nothing intelligent about being a sports fan of any kind. We do this for fun. Sometimes being a Cubs fan is fun. It’s rarely, if ever, smart.

So I don’t begrudge anyone who takes the die-hard approach of a player on the team. Go ahead and describe yourself as a member of the team. Invoke the collective we. We need to keep trying. We need to rally. We need to do whatever we can to win and win now. Fine. I like people who think that way. It’s an admirable quality in a fan, a teammate, or a friend.

If you’re a fan who thinks like a player and approaches every game as a new opportunity to try to win, who believes that every year has a chance to be the year, and who cheers as loud as your vocal chords will allow at the slightest sign of positive progress, I applaud you. (I might not want to hear you pontificate on why your approach is superior, but I applaud you nonetheless.)

So go ahead and keep hope alive. Tell all the haters and naysayers to embrace love and say, “Yeah,” and enjoy every minute of it if you can. There’s nothing wrong with thinking like a player when you’re a fan.

Unless, of course, you’re a fan who actually happens to be the owner.

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