To be Continued

A sub-headline in today’s Sun-Times pretty much sums it up:  Chapman’s stint makes Joe look like genius again.  What the columnist forgot to note, though, was that Dr. Frankenstein isn’t likely to leave well enough alone.

With the Cubs ahead 3-2 and one out in the seventh inning, manager Joe Maddon summoned closer Aroldis Chapman to finish the game.  Chapman isn’t used to working more than an inning.  Judging by what he did in the eighth inning, it might be a focus thing.  Rajai Davis hit a ball down the right field line that first baseman Anthony Rizzo, playing well behind the bag, was able to field.  Only Chapman never left the mound to take the throw.  And he let Davis steal second, then third.  But Chapman got out of the inning and pitched a perfect ninth.  The Cubs live to see Cleveland, where they have to win both games.

And what will Genius Joe do for an encore?  At the very least, expect him to bat Kyle Schwarber cleanup.  After that, who knows?  

Too Smart by Half, Contd.

 The Chicago Cubs, those darlings of destiny, fell to their supposed patsies, aka the Cleveland Indians, at Wrigley Field last night by a score of 7-2.  The Cubs were so flat, so totally out of it, that Kyle Schwarber never left the bench as Chicago now teeters on the brink of elimination, three games to one.

Cubs’ manager Joe Maddon has garnered the reputation of dugout genius.  The question is, why?  He let his starter—snarling, overrated and over the hill—John Lackey lead off the bottom of the third inning with his team already two runs down, and what did Lackey do?  He took a called third strike.  How ironic that Maddon didn’t use Travis Wood to pinch hit.  Wood has nine regular-season homeruns plus another this postseason.  As it was, Maddon brought him in to pitch in the seventh inning.  But he doesn’t pinch hit Wood, the same player he put in the outfield three times this season while in the course of being brilliant.  Go figure.

And while you’re at it, ponder Maddon’s defense of Jorge Soler not running from the start on his triple.  Maddon told the Tribune, “At the best, he was going to get to third base anyway.”  Joe’s not making excuses, mind you, “I’m just saying the best he could have done is get to third base.”  Right, because Indians’ right fielder Lonnie is the second coming of Roberto Clemente; never mind how Chisenhall misjudged the ball or that he’s shown a tendency to lose his footing in right this season.  No, Soler never could have caused Chisenhall/Clemente into an overthrow by hustling out of the box.

Talk about leading from behind.  

A Family Affair

Clare just got a real job, the kind with benefits, at [insert name here] on Chicago’s Gold Coast.  For those of you who might not understand, that’s north of Madison Street.  For those of you who might not understand, Madison Street is the border between the North Side and the South Side.  We live south, so we’re White Sox fans.  And my daughter has been spending the postseason among Cub fans.

It was so bad last night that, as soon as Clare came home, she changed into her A.J. Pierzynski jersey and sat on the couch to watch game three of the World Series.  “They were talking about going to the victory parade,” Clare said in disgust, as an athlete who knows never to assume victory.  Chris, her fiancé, was on a bus headed to Bloomington, Illinois, where his Elmhurst Blue Jays will be playing the Illinois Wesleyan Titans this afternoon.  So, we got our daughter, and Chris got to listen to the game on the radio.  Call it a family affair.

The Indians won, 1-0, amidst a lot of chess moves and lack of hustle by yet another Cubs’ player.  Jorge Soler might have had an inside-the-park homerun if only he had to run from the start rather than jog out of the box on a ball that got by right fielder Lonnie Chisenhall.  Soler’s manager might want to take that up with his player as soon as he’s done holding court at the postgame news conference.

Other than that, I enjoyed all those shots of the one percent—I mean, who do you think could afford those secondary market ticket prices?—praying and high-fiving and, best of all, crying when Javy Baez struck out with two runners in scoring position to end the game.  Perhaps I should also mention that Kyle Scwarber popped out as a pinch hitter.

Stay calm and beat the Cubs.

Fleecing the Flock

Mark Twain said that when he was a boy of 14, “my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around.  But when I got to be 21, I was astonished at how much the old man had learned in seven years.”  My father would appreciate that.

He’d also be confounded by what Cub fans are doing, as in giving away their money by the bucket and wheelbarrow.  Parking spots around Wrigley Field have an asking price of upwards of $300; a bleacher ticket for tonight’s game is fetching something like $3,000; tickets for game five, which in Cub Nation will be the clincher, may fetch $10,000; and at least one Wrigleyville bar intends to charge a $250 cover and another $500 for a table.

This isn’t Twain’s old man’s national pastime, or mine.

What Do I Know?

 That would seem to be the question of the hour, as Kyle Schwarber went 2 for 4 last night with 2 rbi’s in the Cubs’ 5-1 win over the Indians.  The World Series now stands tied at one game apiece.

Stubborn South Sider that I am, I’m not willing to admit being wrong to oppose activating Schwarber for the Series.  What happens now with the action shifting to the National League park, which means no more DH?  Does Schwarber play the field?  Left field, really?  Good luck with that.  And remember that in going 3 for 7 over two games, he’s struck out the other four times (and, yes, plus two walks).  With the game on the line in the seventh inning or later, Kyle Schwarber will not be facing right-handed pitching.  It’s going to be lefty on lefty.

So, like I've said, we’ll see.

You Decide

Kyle Schwarber reached base twice last night in four at-bats, on a double and a walk, with the double inches from clearing the wall in right field.  That’s your glass half-full.  Schwarber also struck out twice, stranding three base runners, two in scoring position.  That’s your glass half-empty in a Cubs’ 6-0 loss to the Indians and starter Corey Kluber, who threw six-plus shutout innings.  Schwarber also was nearly doubled off of second base on a fly ball to center.  That’s your basic Schwarber on the base paths.

The Indians won in part because they did what other teams have only threatened to, which is to run on yips-in-his-noggin Jon Lester.  With two out and nobody on in the bottom of the first, the Indians’ Francisco Lindor singled, then stole second.  This seemed to upset the hyper-emotional—or should I say “hysterical”?—Lester, who proceeded to walk the next two batters before giving up a swinging-bunt single and a hit by pitch.  If Cub pitchers don’t control their emotions, and Lester was hot all night over balls and strikes, they’re going to lose.

Before the game, Manager Joe Maddon hinted at Schwarber playing the field once the Series shifts to Chicago, and the DH disappears.  “Let’s watch him the next two nights and see how he moves,” Maddon was quoted in the Sun-Times.  Yes, oh yes,  put the guy who injured himself trying to play left field back out there for game three of the World Series.  Please.       

Too Smart by Half, #1

 With both Chicago papers giving the managerial edge to Terry Francona of the Indians, I figured Joe Maddon would be chomping at the bit to prove them wrong.  I didn’t figure on the Cubs’ front office beating him to it.

The Cubs announced today they were adding Kyle Schwarber to the playoff roster.  Schwarber hasn’t played since April 7, when he tore the ACL and LCL in his left knee while proving he can’t play the outfield.  But the team deemed him fit to go after a weekend of hitting in the Arizona Fall League.  Apparently, Theo Epstein considers himself to be every bit the genius his manager is.  I mean, who hired whom here?

As a lowly I-don’t-wish-them-well White Sox fan, I can only guess at the thought processes of the enlightened.  I imagine the Cubs want another left-handed bat against a predominantly right-handed pitching staff.  The thinking is Schwarber will DH in Cleveland and pinch hit in Chicago.  An Ohio native, Schwarber made his big-league debut in Cleveland last year in an interleague series, going 6 for 9 with a homerun, a triple and 4 rbi’s.  Those must be the stats the smart guys are looking at.

For me it would be the 24 rbi’s Matt Szcur managed in 185 at-bats during the regular season.  Szczur can play all three outfield positions and has good speed.  But being a rightie who hit .259 didn’t carry much weight with the Theo braintrust.  One thing, though.  Do they really think Schwarber will get to pinch hit against a right hander?  Last time I checked, Andrew Miller was a leftie, and a lights-out one at that.  So, we’ll see.

Hold onto Your Wallets

 I liked sports more when they were professional but not yet bigtime.  On the wall in front of me is a “phantom” ticket for the 1964 World Series.  If the White Sox had beaten the Yankees two more times that year (to go 8-10 rather than 6-12), they would’ve been the AL representative against the Cardinals.  The ticket for an upper deck box at Comiskey Park was was priced at $12, or just under $93 today.  Reports have World Series tickets at Wrigley Field going for as much as $10,000.  And here I thought “Hamilton” cost a lot.

At some point before Thanksgiving, a report will come out adding up all the economic activity the Series generated.  People will make money, I have no doubt.  I only wish it were the right ones.  Clevelanders and celebrities will pay what the market will bear, both for tickets and a hotel room.  How much will go to vendors or the maids and janitors?  Celebrity fans will make sure to be seen eating at the hot/hip restaurants.  How much extra will the wait staff take home this week?  T-shirts and memorabilia are flying off the shelves, a very good thing for the Cubs, the Indians and MLB; it’s always good to own a copyright.  But I wonder.  How much overtime does the extra silk-screening generate?  The Cubs’ t-shirts I saw at the grocery today were from Honduras, so I doubt anyone down there is making extra cash, except for the mill owners.

My Auntie Lou reserved World Series tickets for the two of us in 1967, but the miracle that year happened in Boston, not on the South Side.  The Trib says there are some tickets for Game 3 on Stub Hub in the $3,000 range.  I don’t know if my aunt would think I was worth that kind of money.   

Backs to the Wall

 Well, now I know that a baseball playoff game in 2016 can take 2 hours and 36 minutes just like game seven in the 1960 World Series.  You just shave off a few hits, walks and runs.  There were 24 hits in 1960 and 9 last night; 5 walks in 1960 and 1 last night; 19 runs scored in 1960 and 5 last night.  Other than that, both games were exactly the same.

Clare and her fiancé Chris were here watching the game with us last night; my daughter is not taking things well.  Me, I’ve reached an age where I know whoever wins the Series, nobody on either team, Indians or Cubs, is going to pay our bills stop by for a visit.  Clare will learn this soon enough.  Until then, my job is to act as the older, wiser White Sox fan.

Of all things, “Star Trek the Next Generation” is giving me some solace right now.  There’s an episode where the Enterprise is hiding from the Borg in some sort of sensor-dampening nebula (I verge on being a Trekkie).  This gives Captain Pickard a chance to contemplate the call of duty and the possibility of death.  Obviously, that’s stayed with me.  And then there’s the episode where Data studies humanity through acting in “Henry V,” the Shakespeare play with the “band of brothers” speech.  White Sox fans, unite and go bravely into battle with your brothers and sisters.  Our voices united may power the Indians to victory.

Or not.  But the sun will rise either way, and we’ll live to fight another season.  Tribe in seven.

Time Killer

The Tribune did a story yesterday about how long Cubs’ games are taking in the postseason, 3 hours and 23 minutes on average to be exact.  In a way, that’s fast, or at least faster than the 3:26 average for all playoff games this year.  And how long were games in the regular season?  Why, they averaged 3 hours and 5 minutes.

Of course, fans whose teams are playing don’t care, but regular fans might.  Really, who wants to stay up late for all the commercials and the inane banter in the broadcast booth?  It makes yearn for the days of yore, like when Bill Mazeroski of the Pirates hit his walk-off homerun to win the 1960 World Series against the Yankees.  The score was 10-9, both teams combining for 24 hits and 5 walks.

Commissioner Manfred, the game took all of 2 hours and 36 minutes to play.  Why do you think that is?    

Coverage

The Cubs beat the Dodgers 8-4 last night.  Now one win away from the World Series, the team is generating coverage just this side of V-E Day.  Woe to any team that gets in the North Siders’ way.

Which, in the case of the Bears, is probably a good thing.  The Mopes of the Midway also played last night, falling to the Packers 26-10 and moving their record to 1-7.  The papers scaled back on their coverage to focus on the Cubs; ditto local TV.  Once the no-shows become too obvious to ignore at Soldier Field, the McCaskeys will be in high dither.  Whatever will they do?  Why, fire the old regime and put in a new one just like the one before, of course; that’s their track record.  But how it must gall the dynastic underachievers to have to share the stage with Theo Epstein and company.

Meanwhile, the LA Sparks of the WNBA defeated the Minnesota Lynx 77-76 last night to become WNBA champs.  The Tribune gave the game two paragraphs, the Sun-Times zero.  Women’s basketball in this town may as well be the Chicago White Sox.    

Could be a Trend, or More of the Same

 OMG:  Terry Francona used reliever Andrew Miller for, now get this, not 2 but 2-2/3 innings yesterday against the Blue Jays on the way to a 3-0 victory in Toronto; Tony LaRussa must be in his cups now that managers are moving away from his strategy of employing constant late-inning, pitcher-hitter matchups, which is fine by me.  The Indians now go to the World Series as the AL team.

This is good for a couple of reasons, starting with Joe Maddon.  If the Cubs get in, their manager will want to show off how smart he is.  The thing about Francona is, he is smart and capable of maneuvering Maddon into making a mistake or two.  As someone who will have a pizza riding on the results, this gives me hope.

Then, there’s the matter of the Cleveland team’s name and logo.  The Indians and their fans just love Chief Wahoo.  Sorry, folks, the Chief is downright offensive, racist, if you will.  He’s got to go.  The team name is fine, unless Native Americans can make a compelling argument that "Indians" stings too much.

What could it hurt Cleveland management to find out?  I wouldn’t be offended if the White Sox changed their name to the “South Side Poles,” so long as they didn’t come up with a mascot/logo that incorporates an overweight character wearing a “wife-beater” t-shirt; that would be a problem.  If a name is meant to honor a group, then show some respect, drop the Chief and reach out to the tribes that have called Ohio home since the founding of the United States.  There are at least six, from what I can tell.

Otherwise, get ready for protesters outside Progressive Field starting next week.  They’ll be there, along with the TV cameras to show just how dumb a team and its fans can be. 

Everything Old...

Terry Francona and Dave Roberts are earning headlines this postseason for using relievers beyond an inning.  They’re even going so far as to make their closers go two.  Wow, finally, managers are starting to challenge the LaRussian notion of matchups.  Who knows where this will lead to?

Smaller pitching staffs?  Bigger benches?  Strategy based on late-inning defensive substitutions; pinch runners; pinch hitters; and/or platooning?  I can only hope.  Then, everything I remember from my youth will be in vogue again.  I can’t wait to see who the next Smokey Burgess and Ray Oyler will be.

Down to the Last Penny

 The Tribune did a cute little story yesterday about those dinosaur fans who still score the game.  Yes, I’m one of them, and, yes, I passed on the skill to my daughter.  But, no, my father didn’t teach me.  At games, he sat in his seat, more stoic than fan.  It was like he expected a beating over the course of nine innings, after which we could go for hot dogs.

Anyway, the best part of the story concerned a switch the Cubs pulled off—no more scorecards for $1.50 ($1 at the Cell, by the way).  Instead, anyone who wants to score an NLCS game has to fork over $10 for a program, with scorecard attached.  Really, ten bucks to score a game?  Didn’t they make enough off the tickets, or do they figure anyone who has the cash for a playoff game won’t mind a little price gouging with scorecards?

Baseball is on the path of self-destruction by taking too long and costing too much.  We should be arriving any day now.

Killing Time

TV is determined to kill baseball, and baseball won’t do a thing about it.  Last night, the Dodgers beat the Cubs 1-0, in a game that featured all of 13 baserunners total, one of them being a homerun and two of them erased on double plays.  The game took 2:45 to complete.

The night before, the Indians beat the Blue Jays 2-1.  Between them, both teams managed all of seven hits along with four walks.  The game went a minute shorter than the Cubs and Dodgers.  And let’s not forget game five of the NLDS, where the seventh inning took 66 minutes because both teams scored six runs, three coming off of homeruns.  A 4-3 nine-inning contest took 4 hours and 32 minutes, which happens to be a postseason record.

The Fox sports cable broadcast periodically ran commercials right up to the pitcher going into his windup because, well, there were commercials that had to be run.  The fans be damned.  Right, Commissioner Manfred?     

Deep in Enemy Territory

Michele and I spent much of Saturday deep in Cub Nation, above Madison Street.  There’s a citywide “open house” the Chicago Architecture Foundation sponsors every October.  Buildings never otherwise open to the public are for one Saturday and Sunday a year.  That was how we got in the Edgewater Beach Apartments, home of George Halas.

Two things I noticed as we went from church to apartment building to park fieldhouse: the North Side loves stop signs and speed bumps; the North Side loves to fly the Cub “W” flag.  Joe Maddon almost turned that W into an L last night against the Dodgers.

Too-Smart Joe lifted his starter, Jon Lester, after six innings, even though Lester had only thrown 77 pitches and had a two-run lead.  Two Cub relievers proceeded to load the bases before Aroldis Chapman gave up a game-tying single.  Too bad that Joe Blanton grooved a pitch to pinch-hitter Miguel Montero with two outs, two strikes and the bases loaded.  Cubs win, 8-4.

The good news for us non-Cub fans is it looks like Maddon will be tempted to push the envelope again and again until it goes right off the cliff.  I hope.   

A Breath of Fresh Air, Not

 A couple of weeks ago, the White Sox named their new manager, who happened to be their old bench coach.  Other staff changes were announced yesterday.  The new bench coach is the old third base coach; he’s been with the organization since 2008.  The new third-base coach is someone who’s been with the Sox for 21 years.  And the new bullpen coach has been around since 1991.  Let me also note here that the “pitching coach” will be back for his 15^th season with the team while the “hitting coach” will be starting his fourth season.  And let’s not forget the first-base coach, who’s been with the organization for eighteen years, or the bullpen catcher, who’ll be starting season number ten in that position.

This is the textbook definition of a stale organization in action, but what else would you expect of a team that pioneered the idea of turning back the clock with throwback jerseys in 1990?  Jerry Reinsdorf really does want everything old to be new again (except for having to own and operate a ballpark).  In the universe the Chairman calls home, there is no free agency or Scott Boras to negotiate player contracts.

High School Sports

Michele and I went out on the front porch for twenty minutes last night to watch the fireworks.  That might seem odd for a weeknight in mid-October, but the high school was celebrating the soccer team’s number-one ranking in the country.  When you got it, flaunt it.

How times change.  When Clare graduated Morton in 2010, spring sports were the thing.  One of the baseball players was drafted by the White Sox his senior year, then played a year of community college before he was drafted and signed by the Angels; he made it to high-A.  In softball, Clare and a teammate ended up at different schools in the same conference.  Look at the record books for Elmhurst or North Central College, and you’ll see their names.  But that was then.

The demographics are skewered more toward a Hispanic student body at Morton these days.  That’s definitely good for soccer, and it hasn’t hurt football or basketball, which has a real United-Nations’ roster that does incredibly well in a very tough suburban conference.  But spring sports, not so much.  Working-class families can’t afford travel ball expenses, or, if they can, it’s going to be for soccer.  But everything’s cyclical.  Another Clare is out there, waiting to hit .450 her junior year to get on the radar….

Like Father Like Daughter

 It was a good thing Clare wasn’t wearing shoes Tuesday night while we were watching the Cubs-Giants playoff game.  She would’ve thrown one at the TV during the Cubs’ four-run ninth.  I heard “stupid” uttered one or two times, though.

My daughter thinks the Nationals would put up a better fight in Wrigley than the Dodgers, but I’m already past the NLCS.  My hope rests, as it ever does, on the American League.  I think the Cubs will be going to the World Series, where—please, oh please—they’ll lose to either the Blue Jays or Indians.  The deciding factor may be the AL having home-field advantage one extra game.

With the Jays, I can see the Rogers Centre really playing a role in things.  The Cubs wouldn’t be used to the artificial surface, and the noise level is pretty intense.  The Indians wouldn’t have the same advantages at Progressive Field.  Instead, with them it would be all mojo.  Cleveland wants to shake the image of “lovable losers” just as much the Cubs do.  This summer, the Cavaliers brought the city its first professional sports’ championship since 1964.  You think the Indians won’t be motivated to add another?

Clare is already upset the North Siders have won one series; she’s not going to be any better after two.  With age comes wisdom.  The sun will rise and set whoever wins the World Series; that I’ve learned.  But the days will be a little brighter if it’s the AL in seven.     

Monkey See, Monkey Do

 The Cubs rallied from three runs down in the top of the ninth last night to beat the Giants 6-5 and move on to the NLCS.  I’m OK with that because any team whose pitchers give up four hits in a game to Conor Gillaspie (yes, it happened) will have ever more problems moving ahead in the playoffs.  And it really was nice to see another team’s relievers mess things up for a change.  Bruce Bochy ran through five pitchers in the ninth, and I’m thinking each one of these guys is making Matt Albers look good.

What really got to me, though, was the Chicago media coverage after the win.  I didn’t stay up for the obligatory champagne follies in the clubhouse; coverage of the Wrigleyville bars was more than enough to send me to bed.  Where does it say all true sports’ fans inhabit drinking establishments?  Could any of these “fans” even name the starting lineup for the last time the Cubs went to the playoffs, in 2008?  But TV loves emotional displays, even alcohol-fueled ones.

Especially alcohol-fueled ones.   

Older and WIser

Baseball must fear daylight the way the Wicked Witch did the water.  How else to explain the 8:39 PM Chicago time start for the Cubs-Giants’ game?  I went to bed with the Cubs leading 3-2 after six innings.  The Giants won 6-5 in thirteen.

So, I didn’t see Aroldis Chapman give up a two-run triple to Conor Gillaspie (!) in the eighth or Joe Panik—when is this guy going to get traded to Detroit?—double in the winning run.  Games that start late only to go five hours and four minutes aren’t meant for me.  Why would baseball think they’re good for anyone else?  A 2AM ending in the Midwest meant 3 AM on the East Coast.  And those poor TV reporters doing the live remotes from the Wrigleyville bars….

Well, at least tonight’s game is supposed to start at 7:30 my time.  Wow, I may even stay up a little later to watch.   

Just a Visit

Yesterday was a Sunday so perfect as to make your heart ache, not a cloud in the sky, hardly any breeze, temperature nearing 70 degrees.  Congress should decree this the official weather for 12-inch softball.

Instead, it was a game between the current players at Elmhurst College and alums, Clare being an alum.  I knew most of her teammates, had rooted for them on days when the sky was gray, the wind howled, and the temperature refused to budge out of the 40s.  Originally, the alums intended to play without an audience.  Yeah, right.  I wasn’t the parent who said “No way” first, but I’d like to thank the one(s) who did.  I even remembered some of their faces from spring games so long ago.

Elmhurst’s best pitcher ever played as did the school’s best-ever power hitter (Clare, right field).  For two years, I never once saw the pitcher’s father within 150 feet of his daughter when she played; he stood out beyond the outfield fence, so no one could see him agonizing over every pitch and call.  Yesterday, he sat, a smile on his face, along with all the other parents.  “How long did it take you to get over it?”  I asked.  “Two years,” he said.  That sounds about right, if you factor in flashbacks.

The alums did pretty good for being out of season, if not out of shape, losing by a score of 7-4.  Clare went 1 for 3 with a single and should’ve had a walk to end a great nine-pitch at-bat, but umpire was asleep standing up, as I like to say.

Same place, same time, next year.  I can hope.  

True to Character

I wasn’t wild about the White Sox acquiring starter Jeff Samardzija from Oakland in the 2014 offseason.  He cost us two good young players, Josh Phegley and Marcus Semien (27 homers and 75 rbi’s this year), and was going into his free-agent season, to boot.  And what did Mr. ex-Cub do for us in 2015?  Well, he went 11-13 with a 4.96 ERA.  Those stats earned Samardzija a five-year, $90 million contract with the Giants.  Playing for Bruce Bochy, who has Dave Righetti for pitching coach, improved Samardzija’s record to 12-11 with a 3.81 ERA.  No great loss on either side of Chicago.

Only Samardzija returned to Wrigley Field last night to face the Cubs in game two of the NLDS.  He managed all of two innings, giving up four earned runs on six hits and a walk; that really makes the SF front office look smart.  TV analyst and former pitcher John Smoltz kept saying Samardzija needed to throw something other than his fastball to keep the batters off balance.  Wrong, John.  Jeff doesn’t need to do anything he doesn’t want to; never has and never will.  A steady diet of fastballs to Cub hitters it was, and now Chicago stands 2-0 in the series.

But there is a silver lining for Sox fans in this Cubs’ postseason.  The Sox made a qualifying offer to Samardzija, which he turned down for that $90 million.  Not only are the Giants saddled with said contract and player, they had to give us their first-round draft choice in return.  Miracle of miracles, we drafted pitcher Zack Burdi, who played in the same suburban high school conference as Clare, and he looks to be really good.  Burdi went from rookie ball, A and AA to AAA in the 2-1/2 months from the time he was drafted.  So, thank you, Jeff.        

Alone

Cub Nation, which by extension reaches across Chicagoland and through the national media, is delirious right now after an exciting 1-0 Cubs’ win over the Giants last night, the winning run coming on a Javy Baez homerun against Johnny Cueto with one out in the bottom of the eighth inning.  Aroldis Chapman stranded the tying run on second base so that the faithful can now count down the hours to game two of the NLDS.

And I am left alone, as much by fate as by choice.  

Seasons

The calendar and its “muscle,” aka the weather, will dictate how much longer I’ll be biking.  Already on the lakefront, beach sand is creeping onto the bike path, and my Schwinn does not like sand; it makes the tires go drunk.  And when the wind starts blowing hard out of the east, the waves have a nasty little habit of reaching Lake Shore Drive around Ohio Street.

The young whippersnappers may feel different, but I won’t bike in November cold or December snow.  It’s like the Bible says, as did The Byrds, to every thing there is a season.  Well, there was until television took over professional sports.

My freshman year of college in 1971, the Bucks swept the Bullets to win the NBA championship on April 30; this year, the Cavaliers beat the Warriors in game seven of the finals on June 19.  Again in 1971, on May 18 the Blackhawks lost to the Canadiens in seven games in the Stanley Cup finals.  This year, the Penguins topped the Sharks in six games to win the Stanley Cup on June 12.  (How do they keep the ice from getting soft with a summer sun beating down on the facilities?).  Super Bowl I took place January 15, 1967.  Super Bowl L was played February 7, 2016.

Thanks to TV, one season bleeds into another.  Anything more than five games and this year’s World Series goes into November.  Sorry, the only baseball that should be played in November is the Arizona instructional league.  Anything else constitutes a bad joke, most of all on those fans sitting out in the November chill—at night, of course—to watch the boys of summer do their best with winter closing in.   

Frankenstein Playoff Game

By color and logo, the Mets are a Frankenstein monster, their creator at least in part being the Giants.  Met “orange” is San Francisco orange, the Met “NY” on the cap once belonging to the Giants.  (If you believe Wikipedia, Met “blue” comes from the Dodgers.)  The Mets’ first home was the Polo Grounds, which also happened to be the Giants’ last New York home.   The very Mets’ franchise exists to fill the void caused by the Dodgers and Giants moving to the West Coast.   It was fitting, then, that creator and creation squared off in last night NL wildcard “play-in” game.

That ex-White Sox third baseman Conor Gillaspie hit the winning three-run homer for the Giants is just a bizarre detail.  Gillaspie is a good contact hitter playing out of position at third.  If everything went right in Gillaspie’s baseball life, he’d be another Bill Mueller.  Both Gillaspie and Mueller started their careers as infielders with San Francisco.  Mueller went on to win a batting title with the Red Sox in 2003.  Gillaspie comes back to win a big game with the Giants after stops with the White Sox and Angels.  It all makes perfect sense somehow.

Gillaspie got the big hit because the Giants are an organization that sets their players up to succeed.  In contrast, the White Sox point players to their position and say “good luck.”  That’s the extent of their player development.  Maybe that’s a reason why we haven’t made the playoffs since 2008.     

"Fun"

Cubs’ pitcher Jake Arrieta said something Sunday that struck me as odd.  Arrieta doesn’t care who is team faces come the first round of the playoffs, Giants or Mets.  “Who gives a s--- who we play?  Now the fun starts.”  Oh, really?

What were those 162 games about, then?  This notion that only the postseason counts comes from other, lesser sports—college basketball and football, the NBA, the NFL and the NHL.  In baseball, everything counts.  In 1927, Babe Ruth hit 60 homeruns during the regular season; then in 1961, Roger Maris hit 61.  Joe DiMaggio hit in 56 straight games in 1941, the year Ted Williams hit .406.  This year, Ichiro Suzuki reached the 3,000-hit mark.  The postseason had nothing to do with those accomplishments.

If only the postseason counts, then what does Arrieta make of the careers of Cub greats Ernie Banks, Ron Santo and Billy Williams, assuming that he knows who they are?  None of them went to the World Series, and only Williams made it to the playoffs, after he was traded to Oakland.  So, Jake, does Williams’ HOF career boil down to three games and eight at-bats in the 1975 ALCS?  I would hope not.      

We get to enjoy baseball for the regular season as well as what comes after.  If only the postseason counts, then Arrieta should base his contract demands on what he does in October.  That career 2-1 won-loss record with a 3.66 ERA includes going 0-1 against the Mets last year.  Five innings and four earned runs must’ve have been a lot of fun, though, for the Mets.

Older and Wiser

The worst time of my life as a baseball fan had nothing to do with the White Sox won-loss record.  The team was terrible in the late 1960s before bottoming out at 56-106 in 1970.  But it never fazed me.  I was young, naïve, optimistic and soon to be rewarded with Chuck Tanner pulling rabbits out of his managerial hat for the next five seasons:  Anyone for Wilbur Wood starting both ends of a doubleheader?

No, the worst time for me was in the early ’90s, when the Sox were very good, led by a core of players including Jack McDowell (a right-handed version of Chris Sale), Frank Thomas and, yes, Robin Ventura.  I felt absolutely no connection to that team.  Jerry Reinsdorf had threated to move to Tampa, of all places, in 1988 if he didn’t get a new, publicly funded stadium.  He got it, and Comiskey Park was torn down to make way for a ball mall.  I found it impossible to forgive or forget.

So, I watched ballgames on TV to cheer against what had always been my team.  I had no idea that the child sitting next to me on the couch would be feeling something entirely opposite; Clare was growing to love what I had turned against.  I soon had a rabid little baseball fan on my hands.  I either switched my allegiance to the Cubs or made my peace with the situation at 35^th and Shields.  I made my peace and have since enjoyed being proven right about what constitutes a real ballpark and enlightened ownership.

After going through that, I can deal with the Cubs’ success.  It’s driving Jerry Reinsdorf crazy to the point he’ll either end his embrace of mediocrity or explode.  I can wait for either.  In the meantime, Chicago could use a feel-good story, up to a point.  Let the Cubs make the World Series and win three games, even; it’ll take everyone’s mind off the murder rate and the presidential election and the coming of winter and…

Just don’t let them win a fourth game.  I’m not that mellow, and neither is my daughter.

End and 'Bye

We sat in the bleachers to watch the White Sox lose the last game of the season to the Minnesota Twins, aka the worst team in baseball, by a score of 6-3.  Chris Sale gave up an inside-the-park homerun to Byron Buxton on the first pitch of the game.  It was downhill from there.

We still found ways to enjoy ourselves.  Baseball is a game of small rituals, always to be savored.  Sale warmed up in the outfield, to cheers.  When he walked in to the dugout, he received a standing ovation.  A young woman did a nice job singing the National Anthem.  Tim Anderson hit a double that one-hopped the wall in left and didn’t so much run as he flew to second base.  Fans may soon find a place in their hearts for Anderson as they have for Sale.

Some things at soon-not-to-be Guaranteed Rate Field I can do without, starting with the statues meant to honor team greats.  As God is my witness, you’d be hard pressed to see more than or two differences between the “likenesses” of Frank Thomas and Paul Konerko.  They must get these figures out of a giant Mold-A-Rama like the ones at Brookfield Zoo that make the little plastic animals.  And then there’s the sound system, pumping AC/DC straight into my ears.  The switchover to the stadium organist was as jarring as a jet hitting an air pocket.

When a game goes bad, you can always people-watch.  I had no idea fans could be so close with beer vendors.  I counted two embraces and one heart-felt comment from a slightly inebriated fellow one row down from me.  “I thank you for your service,” said he.  The best line of the day came from a vendor who announced in the seventh inning, “Last chance to pay $8.50 for a beer, guys.”  What do you think he meant by that?  I tried not to stare too much at the woman in front with the massive star tattoo on her neck, with “White Sox” in the center.  Some stuff is best left alone.

Baseball is a game of small rituals.  My father always took me for hotdogs after a game, so I took my wife and daughter to Johnny O’s on the corner of 35^th and Morgan.  It’s pure Bridgeport, with the stand located in a half-basement; the counter person has to look up to take your order.  I had my annual mother-in-law, a tamale on a bun covered with chili.  What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, I think.

By the time we finished, Robin Ventura had already become ex-manager of the White Sox with the announcement he was stepping down.  To his credit, Ventura said the team “probably needs a new voice, and I have to be big enough to understand that.”  Too bad the front office didn’t realize that years ago.     

Why Not Me?

So, the other day at the Ryder Cup some guy is heckling European Team players unable to sink a 12-foot putt.  Rather than put up with the raspberries, one of the golfers goes over to the guy and hands him his club while another one of the golfers bets him $100 he can’t sink the putt.  Dumb move on the part of Team Europe.  The guy sank the putt.

I heckle Jerry Reinsdorf and the White Sox front office all the time.  Why don’t they make like Team Europe and dare me to do better than they can at their jobs?   

48 Words and Counting

 The Sky lost game two of their WNBA West semifinals matchup against the LA Sparks last night by a score of 99-84, not that anyone in Chicago noticed.

The sports’ segment of the 10 o’clock news I watched had maybe a 20-second snippet of video; it was more important to show clips of the Cubs beating the Reds in what the announcer kept referring to as an exhibition game (that nothing counts until the playoffs start is a very unbaseball-like notion), while the papers showed even less interest.  The Tribune devoted 48 words—and that includes the seven-word headline—to the game while the Sun-Times merely listed it as a “late” game and therefore not worthy of attention.  (By way of contrast, the NYT did a full story.)  How much space do you think the Bears or Cubs will get for their next loss?  Even the White Sox are given some due.

If the WNBA wants to survive, it’s going to have to find ways to call attention to itself.  For openers, I’d suggest a picket line of star players in front of the Tribune offices and a television station or two.  Playing nice is a ticket to the ash bin of failed sports’ enterprises.