Uniform Standards

I literally just got off the phone with Clare, who was walking to her physical therapy appointment; another two months of grunts and groans on her right shoulder, and my daughter may be ready to step into the batting cages come spring training.  This gave me the chance to ask if she’d heard about Steph Curry and the nine-year old girl.  She had.

The girl in question, Riley Morrison, is a basketball player who wanted a pair of Curry shoes that Under Armour puts out, only there were none available on the UA website for a girl her size.  So, Riley wrote Curry to ask what was up, and the two-time MVP, a father of two girls, actually answered her.  It seems that the smaller sizes were mislabeled as “boys,” a problem since rectified.  But it gives you an idea what female athletes have to contend with.

For Clare, just getting dressed was a challenge.  Through eighth grade, whether she was playing baseball or softball, she had to buy what were in effect male hand-me-downs, from pants to sliding shorts.  “I don’t have a boy’s butt,” as my daughter put it ever so delicately.  She had the same problem finding cleats and gloves that could be used for her gender even though they were intended for another.  As for softball bats, they did exist twelve years ago, but only at a fraction of the number made for baseball.

Clare used to joke, “When I grow up, I’m going to open a sporting goods’ store for women.”  It looks like there’s still a real need for one.

Family Feud

So, Browns’ rookie quarterback Baker Mayfield doesn’t like ex-coach Hue Jackson, and he’s happy to tell the world what a “fake” Jackson is.  Wow, Mayfield could pass for a Chicago Bear back in the day.

Before I was out of grade school even, I was familiar with belly-achin’ Bears.  There was HOF defensive end Doug Atkins, who didn’t seem to care much for coach George Halas, and ditto some guy named Mike Ditka.  Even Dick Butkus, the heart and soul of the organization, felt compelled to sue the team for what he considered medical negligence in the treatment of a chronically injured knee.  And let’s not forget Virgil Carter, like Baker Mayfield, a quarterback with a voice.

Carter was a 23-year old rookie out of BYU in the fall of 1968 when he took over from an injured Jack Concanon and led the Bears to a 4-1 run.  But the Bears—at least until recently—have never taken a shine to rookie quarterbacks, and so Concanon was back at the helm for the last game of the season with first place in the NFL Central Division on the line.  Naturally, the Bears lost 28-27, naturally, to a below-.500 Packers’ team.

The next season didn’t go so well for the Monsters, not at 1-13.  Carter was pulled from one of those games and said it would be pretty “chicken shit” if he didn’t get to play again.  The Bears being the Bears, they traded him to Cincinnati.  And the world was never the same.

The Bengals’ quarterback coach was a young Bill Walsh, who devised his vaunted West Coast Offense as a way to capitalize on Carter’s short-pass accuracy and smarts; in Chicago, Carter had earned a master’s degree in mathematics, and he taught some statistics’ courses at Xavier while with the Bengals.  Carter even led the three-year old franchise to its first-ever postseason appearance, a loss against the Super-Bowl bound Baltimore Colts.

If past is prologue, things could get interesting should Baker Mayfield keep popping off.

Take a Knee

Remember, kids, in the NFL it’s always better to get arrested for domestic violence than take a knee during the National Anthem.  Just ask Reuben Foster and Colin Kaepernick. 

Kaepernick, of course, gained notoriety—to say nothing of unemployment—for his anthem protests during the 2016 season.  In the two years since, not a team has found any use for the free agent and onetime Super Bowl (XLVII, 2013) quarterback.  Kaepernick turned 31 this month, so his employment “status” doesn’t seem quite as bizarre—and outrageous—as it did two years ago, at its start.   Ironically, Kaepernick opted out of his contract with the 49ers a month before they drafted Foster, a linebacker out of Alabama.

Foster had a good rookie season in 2017, with the second most tackles on the team and third most for a loss.  Then came the offseason, with arrests for marijuana possession and domestic abuse, charges for which were dropped after the victim recanted her allegations.  Those run-ins with the law led to a two-game suspension at the start of this season, which saw Foster total 29 tackles in six games going into last weekend.  That’s when he was arrested a second time for domestic violence while with the team in Tampa.

But fear not, you lovers of second chances.  Within 48 hours of his 49ers’ release, Foster was picked up by the Redskins, a team that could not care less who’s offended by their name or their roster moves.  Washington did go through the motions of sounding concerned, though.  Team executive Doug Williams released a statement in which he said the allegations “are nothing our organization would ever condone” and Foster will have to “go through numerous steps” before he could ever “wear the burgundy and gold” of Washington.

Even with another suspension likely, Foster has better career prospects than Kaepernick does.  How sad, and revealing.  

Tap the Brakes

Win in Chicago and all is forgiven.  That’s a truth Bears’ general manager Ryan Pace certainly has discovered.

Forget hiring John Fox or drafting Kevin White or taking a flyer on Ray McDonald.  All is forgiven.  Forget avoiding the media during the regular season; it’s the media.  All that matters is that the Bears stand atop the NFC North.  At 8-3 and a 1-1/2 game lead over the Vikings, it’s their division to lose, and they don’t look to be in the mood.  But hold on, guys.

I know this is spitting in the wind.  Still, it needs to be said.  For openers, they haven’t won anything yet; remember how Marc Trestman let the playoffs slip away in 2013.  I doubt history repeats itself, but it’s good to be cautious, or superstitious, if you prefer.  And let’s say the Bears capture lightning in a bottle, all the way to the Super Bowl.  Again, I’d tread carefully.

Remember how they made it to Super Bowl XLI against the Colts in 2007, when Devin Hester ran the opening kickoff back for a touchdown?  That’s when we all learned Lovie Smith is not the guy you want coaching with your team behind late in the game.  And I’d also caution against Philadelphia whiplash.

The Eagles went 13-3 last year on their way to their first-ever Super Bowl win, over the Patriots.  Granted, that’s great, and it sure beats not going to the Super Bowl.  Only the team has been in a funk all this season, limping along at 5-6 in the NFC East; any bets on a repeat?  These Eagles look a little like the post-Super Bowl Bears of 1986, 1987….

All I’m saying, folks, is slow down, take it one game at a time.  Ryan Pace and company will get there when they get there, wherever that is.

Mind Your Own Business

My daughter has made several attempts to get a job connected to major-league baseball, without success.  At least now we know why.  Clare doesn’t measure up to Cindy Hyde-Smith, the “honorable” junior senator from the great state of Mississippi.

In March, Hyde-Smith was appointed by Gov. Phil Bryant to fill the vacancy caused when Thad Cochran stepped down for health reasons.  Only baseball appears to be the one feeling sick now after making a campaign contribution to Hyde-Smith, who is seeking to win the seat in her own right (with a runoff set for tomorrow).

MLB gave $5000 to the campaign of a woman who has said that if a supporter “invited me to a public hanging, I’d be in the front row” and termed the use of voter suppression of college students “a great idea.”  Hyde-Smith also had a Facebook picture where she was wearing a rebel cap and holding onto a Civil-War musket.  Wow, with friends like that, MLB sure doesn’t need any enemies. 

So, why does MLB have Hyde-Smith for a friend?  “The [$5000] contribution was made in connection with an event that MLB lobbyists were asked to attend,” according to a MLB statement that doesn’t explain much of anything.  So much for Manny Machado never being able to live down that “Johnny Hustle” crack of his.

And let’s not forget Charles B. Johnson, a major investor in the San Francisco Giants, who with his wife Ann contributed $5400 to Hyde-Smith, this after the lynching comment went public, according to the San Francisco Chronicle.  Barry Bonds and Charles B. Johnson—enough said, when it comes to the Giants.

Baseball has always been an ugly business, with or without the color line.  Lobbyists are employed to make sure the Supreme Court never wakes up from the dream world in which it gave the national pastime an anti-trust exemption and to guard against anyone in Congress from moving to keep the likes of Charles B. Johnson from getting subsidies for a major-league ball club (think publicly-funded stadiums).  But at least we finally know what kind of woman MLB is aiming to attract.

Clare never had a chance, I’m happy to say.

Easy for You to Say

I don’t get sportswriters, at least those who write for themselves.  Take this guy in the Sun-Times who did a column the other day titled, “Hey, Bulls, it’s tanks-giving.”  The point of his piece is that the Bulls need to lose more.  Apparently, any team committed to a rebuild has to “expect at least four consecutive lottery years.”  Oh, yum.

So, in order to win at some indefinite point down the road, the Bulls are supposed to rest Zach LaVine a lot and go slow on Lauri Markkanen’s return to play.  Plus, “when playing bum teams such as Cleveland, Atlanta and Phoenix, insert bum lineups.”  Of course, the sportswriter gets to crack wise whenever he wants about the losing and the bums, when it should stop and who’s to blame for the state of affairs.

This is offensive for about as many reasons as you have fingers.  To embrace losing, for whatever reason and whatever length of time, goes against everything sports purports to stand for.  It’s a good thing they don’t do rebuilds with Olympic teams.  You’d have runners doing the 100-yard dash sitting down, silly for the Olympics yet expected of any professional team undergoing a rebuild.

News-flash to Mr. Sportswriter: No professional athlete considers himself a bum, or he wouldn’t risk his body game after game.  Whatever the sport, they all want to be sprinters with a shot at the medal.  To advocate for a team to fill up its roster with “bums” is beyond cynical; it’s perverse.  So, when these athletes were kids, their parents and coaches were supposed to tell them, “One day you’ll grow up to be a bum on the Bulls”?  I would hope not.

Then again, maybe there are parents who raised their son to be a bum on the Sun-Times.

Karma's Bite

Lovie Smith spent nine years as head coach of the Bears, going 81-63, with one (losing) Super Bowl appearance.  Smith was some combination of a defensive genius and lucky guy who had Brian Urlacher, Lance Briggs and Charles Tillman to implement his defensive schemes.  In two years at Tampa Bay, Smith went 8-24.  That’s what happens when you don’t have Urlacher and friends to play the defense you want.

I may have been in the vanguard of Lovie-haters.  I disliked his constant smirk, his John Fox approach to the media—something the McCaskeys must look for in a coach—and his dislike of offense (another McCaskey prereq until Matt Nagy).  God forbid the Bears had the ball on their 35 with a minute to go in the first half and two timeouts left.  You knew they were going to run the ball up the middle and not bother taking a timeout.

For reasons best known to its athletic department, the University of Illinois named Smith its head football coach in 2016.  With one game left (Northwestern, which could mean another slaughter), the Fighting Illini have amassed an 8-24 record under Smith, which happens when you don’t recruit the necessary talent (see Northwestern).  How bad has Smith’s team been this year?  Well, they lost to Iowa 63-0, on Senior Day, no less, a week after they lost 54-35 to Nebraska.  Why mention the 63-33 beat-down by Maryland or the 49-20 one to Wisconsin or the 46-7 one to Purdue?

The moral of the story here is, he who smirks last smirks best.  And you should see the look on my face now.

Grumpy Old Man in Victory

I may as well be the grumpy old man Carl in UP; that’s how I felt watching the Bears beat the Lions 23-16 yesterday afternoon.  Oh, I loved the final score and how career backup quarterback Chase Daniel threw for two touchdowns and safety Eddie Jackson had his second pick-six in four days.  I just can’t stand the after-touchdown productions.  If I have it right, there was the sleeping child, a Motown group impression and a gym class.  Please.

No, I didn’t like “The Super Bowl Shuffle,” and I don’t like this.  Give me Walter Payton, who believed in acting like you’d been in the end zone before and intended to visit again.  Payton understood that what counts is the scoring, not the production afterwards.     

Rearranging Deck Chairs

On Tuesday, Cubs’ pitching coach Jim Hickey announced he was leaving the team for those ever-mysterious “personal reasons.”  For those of you keeping tack out there, the North Siders will start next season with their third pitching and hitting coaches since 2017.  What gives?

I’d say team president Theo Epstein is going through your typical front-office state of denial, only more so.  Team executives are loath to admit they’ve made mistake in acquiring talent.  No, the mistake has to be in the coaching of that talent, hence the coaching merry-go-round. 

From a South Sider’s vantage point, I’d happily take ex-hitting coach Chili Davis or Hickey, whose pitching staff finished third in baseball with a 3.65 ERA; imagine what it would have been without Yu Darvish and Tyler Chatwood coughing up run after run.  This “blame the coaches” mindset may be a character flaw of Epstein; I seem to recall he made a lot of coaching changes back in his Boston days.  The White Sox have already taken one Epstein castoff in manager Rick Renteria.  Why not go for the hat trick with Davis and Hickey?   

Too Violent by Half

The thing about baseball is I can easily imagine myself hitting or pitching, however deluded that mental picture might be.  Football is an entirely different game, if you will. 

I probably most identify with running backs who, for the life of them, don’t want to be touched; think Gayle Sayers or Tariq Cohen, both of whom at times have looked to be running for their lives.  That I get.  But to be Khalil Mack or Dick Butkus?  Those are nightmares I would forever be running away from.

Which brings us to last Sunday, when Bears’ quarterback Mitch Trubisky received a late, cheap shot from Vikings’ safety Harrison Smith.  Trubisky was clearly going down, if not already on the ground, and yet Smith went ahead and hit him anyway.  The hit to Trubisky’s left side ended up driving his right shoulder into the turf.  His status for Thursday’s Thanksgiving contest in Detroit is day-to-day. 

But it could be worse, and Trubisky could have suffered the kind of injury Washington quarterback Alex Smith did.  Smith broke his leg Sunday against the Texans on the 33^rd anniversary of Redskins’ quarterback Joe Theismann suffering the same injury.  Such is football karma.

Alex Smith’s injury, unlike Trubisky’s, appears to have been “one of those things” while   Harrison Smith was given a penalty for the late hit.  But if Trubisky can’t play, neither should the Vikings’ Smith.  If you can’t take the violence out of the game, you can at least try to make it fair.

The Injury Report

Well, that mysterious ankle injury suffered by the Bulls’ Denzel Valentine just got a whole lot worse.  Valentine is slated for “ankle reconstruction” next week and is likely done for the season.  The good news here is that the Bulls still expect Lauri Markkanen, Bobby Portis and Kris Dunn back soon, sort of.  Either this team is awful unlucky, or something else.  I’m starting to lean in the direction of something else.

Valentine’s injury history goes to back college; Dunn had a concussion last year.  Zach LaVine came to Chicago off of knee surgery with the Timberwolves.  And let’s not forget the litany of injuries sustained by Derek Rose.

While we’re at it, let’s not forget the injuries that have hit the White Sox recently—Micheal Kopech ended his season with Tommy John surgery; 2017 first-round pick Jake Burger has torn his Achilles twice so far; mega-prospect Louis Robert can’t seem to go more than a month without hurting himself.  Maybe it’s a coincidence both the Bulls and Sox are owned by Jerry Reinsdorf, maybe not.

The point I’m trying to make here is that both teams may have the same approach to injuries past, present and future.  The two front offices could use less concern about the potential for injury—Kopech, Burger—and the effects of injuries sustained by players [LeVine, Rose].  It just ain’t luck.

Consider the Bears.  Under head coach John Fox, they were always getting “dinged,” as I think Fox used to put it.  Only the dings added up during the Fox era of 2015-2107 to the point that the Bears ended each season with an injured-reserve list that rivalled the active roster.  No more.  Why is that?  What changed?   Hint:  The McCaskeys realized it was time for a new head coach with a new approach.

Too bad the owner of the Bulls and Sox doesn’t feel the same way.

Forgive and Forget (Maybe)

Bears’ fans by and large are an incredibly forgiving lot; that’s what a first-place NFC North record of 7-3 will do to people.  Lovie who?  Marc what?  John why?  The Ray McDonald fiasco may as well belong to another time and dimension.

Some, if not all, of this forgiving nature has rubbed off on head coach Matt Nagy in terms of embattled kicker Cody Parkey.  Twice in their 25-20 win over the Vikings Sunday night, the Bears went for the two-point conversion instead of having Parkey (try to) kick the point after.  Weak vote of confidence, that.  On the other hand, Nagy let Parkey try three field goals, and he made them all.  A real boost to Parkey’s self-confidence, that.

What I especially liked was how Parkey conducted himself in the immediate post-game interview with Michele Tafoya.  He could have gone all chest-thumping, letting the world know how he never doubted.  Instead, Parkey was a lesson in humility, thanking his coaches and teammates for believing in him.  That, along with the three field goals, was impressive.

Now, fingers crossed Parkey repeats his performance Thanksgiving against the Lions.

Abandon Ship, Abandon Ship

Holy belly-up, Batman.  The Bulls really stink.  Yes, they do, Boy Wonder, and here’s why—the Riddler and the Joker, aka Jerry Reinsdorf and his son Michael.  The one owns the team, the other “runs” it.

Because of injuries, the team is playing at anything other than full strength.  But sports is all about effort, regardless the talent on the roster, and the Bulls at 4-13 don’t try, as evidenced by their 123-104 loss on Friday to the Bucks.  The score at halftime was 63-45, Bulls.  I repeat, Chicago was winning by 18 going into the third quarter, where they got outscored 46-17.  According to the Bulls’ website, they lost “despite a strong and energetic first half.”  You know what that makes the second half, right?  At home against Toronto last night, they did even worse.  Here, let the website headline paint an unpretty picture:  Bulls come out flat in loss to Raptors, 122-83.  Ya think?    

Players aren’t playing defense, again.  Players are turning the ball over in double figures, again.  Players are starting to question what’s happening, again.  Coach Fred Hoiberg points out the obvious, again.  Hoiberg was on the sideline Saturday, again.  The reasons for that are beyond me.

No, wait.  Hoiberg has a job because this team is operated by Reinsdorfs one and two, who confuse dysfunction with performance.  The Bulls sort of stink like the…White Sox, come to think of it.  The Sox may be slightly better off because one only Reinsdorf is involved (although Kenny Williams tries his best to even things up).

I mean, even some of the injuries are head-scratchingly weird, starting with Lauri Markkanen’s.  The second-year forward hurt his elbow the first week of practice and has yet to appear in a game this season.  What kind of elbow injury keeps a player out eight-plus weeks?  Nobody has talked about the possibility of Tommy John surgery, so what’s the holdup?  Ah, the team is being careful, as in taking the lemon of an injury and turning it into possible lemonade.  The more losses, the better the draft choice, you know.

And then we have Denzel Valentine, who played a few games at the start of the season before “spraining” his ankle.  The sprain turned into a bone bruise, and now there’s not even the hint of a timetable for his return.  But fear not, Bulls’ fans, for the more losses you endure, the better your team’s draft standing will be.

This would almost be funny if it weren’t so Reinsdorfianly sad. 

The Emperor's New Clothes

The Miami Marlins have announced a new logo and team colors, including the ever-popular “Caliente Red” and “Miami Blue.”  Be still, my beating heart.

The Marlins are rebranding because “We want to put our own mark on the organization,” in the words of team chief executive officer Derek Jeter.  You would think the new ownership group had already done that with their January trade of outfielder Christian Yelich to the Brewers.  How often do you trade a guy who goes on to win the MVP in his first season with his new team, Derek?

Oh, and the Marlins also announced the creation of a standing-room-only section at Marlins Park for reasons that are a mystery to me.  Miami drew all of 811,000 fans last season, worst in major-league baseball.  Maybe it’s for the players who want to get out of town.

Can the Kick

Sunday at Soldier Field against Detroit, Bears’ kicker Cody Parkey missed two extra points and two field goals; each time, Parkey clanked the ball off an upright.  How do you say, “Getting rid of Robbie Gould in 2016 was a big mistake”?  Oh, I just did.  Gould has made 70 of 73 field goal tries since being cut and this year has missed one extra point.

But wait, it gets better.  Unlike Gould, Parkey had never practiced kicking at Soldier Field, which is strange given the stadium’s location on the lake and its well-earned reputation for being a (lake-induced) wind tunnel.  You see, it’s thirty-nine grueling miles from Halas Hall to our stadium by the lake.  Oh, the traffic, the traffic.

You’d think someone who signed to a $9-million guaranteed contract would camp out at his home field six days a week to get his kicks right, but the Bears, even when good like they have been this year, do things differently.  (See Robbie Gould.)  They did, however, finally consent to having Parkey practice at Soldier Field on Wednesday, at which time the media fun began.

Two local stations sent helicopters over the field.  Somehow, the Bears didn’t have the right to control airspace over Soldier Field put in their lease, so they had to allow live shots; tape of Parkey practicing, though, they were able to keep from being broadcast.  Why?  Because stations sign an agreement letting the Bears determine how much of a practice can be shown.

According to marketwatch.com, the public kicked in $387 million of the $587 million—65.9 percent—spent on the 2003 Soldier Field renovation (and I suspect that remaining 34.1 percent private contribution is just smoke).  That makes it more public than private, which should mean we should have the right to see what goes on there, practice included.

I mean, don’t you want to see if the guy can kick the ball through, not at, the uprights?

Winning Optional

Let me get this straight.  The Mets Jacob deGrom wins the NL Cy Young Award with a 10-9 record and 1.70 ERA.  In that case, Steve Carlton should have been voted king of the world for what he did with the Phillies in 1972.

Pitching for a team that managed all of 59 wins, Carlton went 27-10 with a 1.97 ERA.  Put another way, Carlton won nearly 46 percent of his team’s games that year to 13 percent for deGrom.  Yet deGrom has a 10.0 WAR for his Cy Young season, versus a mere 12.5 for Carlton.

I have no particular love for Carlton, who off the diamond has flirted with anti-Semitism and other extremist beliefs.  But in strictly baseball terms, deGrom’s Cy Young performance is nowhere near Carlton’s.  If numbers don’t lie, then sabermetrics do.

Get-together

We visited my in-laws last night.  The entourage included Clare and her husband, which meant that at some point my father-in-law Bob and son-in-law Chris talked football.  Bob played in high school but not college; instead, the Army had him spend a year on the front line in Korea, lugging a BAR across hilly terrain.  Bob was a lineman and very much wanted to score a touchdown just once in his life.  Chris, a center, could relate.

Father-in-law asked son-in-law if he missed playing; the answer was a simple, heartfelt Yes.  My daughter would say the same thing.  The next best thing, she thinks, is working in an athletic department, better yet if she can run said department.  Time will tell.

Of course, Clare wouldn’t mind working in an MLB front office, either.  It’s just that she can’t shake what she heard recently from those two women who’ve worked for teams.  And now comes news of Dr. Lorena Martin being fired by the Mariners just a year after hiring her and Martin’s allegations that team officials made racist comments about Latin players.  Martin was hired after the 2017 season as “director of high performance,” meaning that she was supposed to make Mariners’ players strong of body and mind.  Fired very quietly last month, Martin has retained a lawyer and is considering legal action for wrongful termination.

Sometimes it looks like the offensive linemen I happen to know will score touchdowns before women make any headway in major league baseball.  But that’s just my imagination, right? 

ROY

So, baseball writers picked the Angels’ Shohei Ohtani (.285 BA, 22 homeruns and 61 RBIs in 326 AB) AL Rookie of the Year, this despite the fact he played for a team that finished 80-82 and two other players—the Yankees’ Miguel Andujar (.297 BA, 27 homers and 92 RBIs in 573 AB) and Gleyber Torres (.271 BA, 24 homers and 77 RBIs in 431 AB)—had what I would consider better offensive years, and for a team that went to the postseason.  So much for  Daniel Palka of the White Sox being a dark horse.

What seems to have clinched it for Ohtani was his pitching, which netted a 4-2 record with a 3.31 ERA and 63 strikeouts in ten starts that totaled 51.2 innings.  Granted, Ohtani was a nice story last year—when he played—but the second coming of Babe Ruth?  I would tend to doubt it.  In fact, I’d go so far as to say Ohtani hasn’t yet stepped out of the shadow cast by Willie Smith.

From 1960-63, Smith won 48 games in the minors for the Tigers.  In early 1964, he was traded to the Angels, where he went 1-4 with a 2.84 ERA in 31.2 innings.  The thing is, Smith hit better than he pitched.  He hit .301 his rookie year for the Angels, with 11 homeruns and 51 RBIs in 359 AB.  Those are numbers that should put Smith in the same ballpark, if you will, with Ohtani.

The next year Smith switched to hitting fulltime in a career that spanned nine seasons, including three with the Cubs.  In case you’re wondering, Tony Oliva won AL Rookie of the Year in ’64.  Oliva was more of an Andujar-Torres kind of player, batting a league-leading .323 with 32 homers and 94 RBIs.  Voters have different standards nowadays, I guess.

Put Up or Shut Up

When exactly did the NFL invent patriotism?  Judging from yesterday’s Bears-Lions’ game, I’d say 1776 or thereabouts.

Flags, jets, Terry Bradshaw and pals surrounded by active-duty personnel—football does love the military, up to a point.  I noticed at least one advertiser who mentioned their veterans-employment policy, but nothing from the NFL in that regard.

Yes, Pat Tillman walked away from an NFL career, never to return.  What about all those veterans who do?  How committed is Commissioner Roger Goodell to hiring them?  What are the job numbers, for the commissioner’s office and the individual teams?  Nobody expects coaching staffs to be filled with former Marines and Rangers, but what about the business departments, the video staffs?

Like the saying goes, don’t tell me, show me.  Numbers don’t lie.

Keep Your Shirt On

This being a Sunday in November with the temperature not expected to crack 40 degrees, you can bet on the clowns coming out in force for the Bears’ game at Soldier Field.  They’ll fall into one of two categories, bare-chested with Bears-colors’ makeup or fully clothed with Bears-colors’ makeup, bears’ head for a cap optional.

What is it about football that makes people want to do this?  Maybe there’s a subconscious need to identify with a (usually stupid) mascot, of which baseball has many, from the White Sox’s Southpaw to the Phillies’ Phanatic.  And let’s not forget the Cubs’ rather sad entry in this category, Clark.  The thing is, outside of those Brewers’ fans who feel the need to put on their Cheeseheads, major-league ballparks are pretty much free of the half-dressed, over-make-upped fans.

Yes, the Indians have that guy who bangs on a kettle drum, but he’s dressed in street clothes, and the Sox from time to time have a guy who shows up as Sox Man, with white socks for ears, but that’s more harmless than anything.  So, I guess it’s a good thing I don’t go to Bears’ games.  I have a very low tolerance for adults playing dress up on a Sunday afternoon.

In Your Dreams

I swear to God this happened.  Thursday night I dreamed the White Sox hired a female scout; what stood out to me is that it wasn’t Clare.  Then, yesterday morning, I read in The Athletic that the Sox have as many as 51 scouts in their employ.  And not one of them is a woman, I’ll bet.

Wait, it gets better.  My daughter has recently become acquainted with two women who’ve worked for MLB teams; according to Clare, both people found it to be a frustrating experience.  It seems that they were relegated to the bread/circus/charity end of the business while they were hoping to be more involved with the baseball playing and talent side.  Oh, well.

When Clare heard about the dream, she asked if she could be the one hired next time.  That’s about the only way women are going to get ahead in baseball.

State of Confusion

My daughter was pretty much in a mood fit to be tied when she called on Wednesday.  “What are the White Sox doing?” Clare asked, as if anyone outside of owner Jerry Reinsdorf’s inner circle could possibly know for sure.

“A month ago, there were rumors that Joe Girardi wanted a managing job in Chicago, so some White Sox fans got all excited, but now they sign Ricky Renteria to an extension.  All we hear about with Renteria is how ‘Ricky’s boys don’t quit,’ only there are stories how the Sox are going after both Bryce Harper and Manny Machado.  It doesn’t make sense,” said my eminently sensible child.

It’s a good thing Clare doesn’t go in for dead-tree journalism the way her old man does; then she’d really be ticked.  Sox general manager Rick Hahn said at the general managers’ meeting this week that Renteria signed the extension “a while back” and that, “We don’t tend to advertise these things.”  Yeah, no kidding.  So what if your fan base is left confused.

On the other side of town, Cubs’ President Theo Epstein sounded as if he and Hahn hale from different planets.  “I believe in being honest and giving you guys information when we can,” he told a Tribune reporter.  Now, why would he do that, you might ask?  Well, Epstein has this crazy notion that journalists “have the right to cover any aspect of the organization any way you want.”  That’s not so much a breath of fresh air as it is a level-five tornado of a difference compared to how the Sox front office handles the media.  Lucky us.

A Different World

Sports are different in Chicago than other places.  Joel Quenneville fired is more popular than whoever coaches the Rangers.  If Matt Nagy guides the Bears to the postseason in his rookie season, he will have more clout than any three Jets’ and Giants’ coaches combined.  If you have to ask what clout is, then you’re not from around these parts.

I get a sense other cities are one- or two-team towns—Cardinals; Yankees and Knicks; Steelers and Penguins; It’s as if fans have only so much room in their hearts for a team or two.  But here it’s as if each franchise helps define a part of the civic fabric.  Our blue-collar identity is reflected in the Bears, Blackhawks and White Sox, our white-curtain sensibilities and insecurities (again, if you have to ask…) in the Cubs.  The Bulls remain however Michael Jordan defined them, and Jordan was a demigod on a par with Ted Williams.

If you have South Side roots like I do, you live and die with the Sox and feel a vague yearning for the Arizona ne St. Louis ne Chicago Cardinals, who once upon a time played at Comiskey Park.  Baseball here does not produce “Chicago fans” but partisans of the North and South Side versions of the game.  The other sports lend themselves more to a citywide following.

Maybe we take sports so seriously because of our “Second City” complex.  Everything, it seems, comes so easily to New York; the only things that come with ease here are the cold and the gray (if you have to wonder…).  Sports, then, are our fire, a way to generate heat and light in an otherwise dark and hostile world.  We don’t expect success so much as we do full-out effort.  When the one leads to the other, we give thanks and elevate all those responsible to hero status: Ditka, Guillen, Maddon, Quenneville and maybe Phil Jackson, if only he bothered to visit.

Maybe I should say we’re a Jack London kind of town, where the striving counts more than the having.  That said, I’m all in favor of having the proverbial cake and eating it, too. 

Coach Q

I like Joel Quenneville for two reasons.  As a boy growing up in Windsor, Ontario, he used to go to Detroit Tigers games and root for Dick McAuliffe with that peek-a-boo batting stance of his.  Coach Q also found the time 6-1/2 years ago to visit my nephew shortly before he died from pediatric cancer.  He dropped in at home, not the hospital.

The Blackhawks fired Quenneville yesterday, ending his 10-plus year run as head coach.  Hawks’ owner Rocky Wirtz said in a statement that the team needed a “fresh start.”  Apparently, Quenneville and his three Stanley Cup championships had grown stale.

With the hiring of 33-year old Jeremy Colliton as Quenneville’s replacement, the Hawks may be signaling they want in on that Chicago rage, a full rebuild.  No doubt, ticket prices will be rolled back to pre-Q levels.  Roll back if you’re going to roll over, I say.  That, and don’t be surprised if and when Q makes the hockey Hall of Fame.

Trading Curses

I’m starting to wonder if the Cubs haven’t traded one curse for another, 2016 for the billy goat.  Hear me out.

Cubs’ president Theo Epstein made a series of moves—getting Jon Lester, Jayson Heyward and Ben Zobrist along with manager Joe Maddon—that led to a World Series’ championship two years ago.  Only now Epstein can’t seem to do anything without balancing it against those 2016 moves, plus the Yu Darvish signing this past season.

Go after Bryce Harper?  What do you do with Heyward?  Go after Manny Machado?  How do you avoid taking a huge hit from the luxury tax courtesy of those big deals given to Lester et al?  Tired of Maddon and looking to change managers?  What will the fan base say?  Want to see what you can get for Kyle Schwarber?  Again, what will the fan base say?  People have a way of growing attached to Series’ heroes.

I might be tempted to laugh here, but I just read some “insider” analyst that the White Sox are interested in both Harper and Machado; perish that thought.  But if nothing else, the hot stove is glowing already, and it’s not even close to winter.  Damn’.

Highway Robbery

When your married daughter calls at 9 PM on a Sunday night, your heart skips a beat, or at least mine did.  But there was no news good or bad of a personal nature to report.  Adam Engel of the White Sox missing out on a Gold Glove was another matter.  The South Side’s intrepid centerfielder lost out to Jackie Bradley Jr. of the Red Sox.  Now will somebody please explain to me why?

Managers and coaches do the voting (though not for their own players).  Sabermetrics count, but aren’t the sole criteria.  OK, then let’s match up Engel and Bradley.  Engel had 355 putouts on 367 chances, with five assists and seven errors, good for a .981 fielding average.  The numbers for Bradley were 299 putouts on 313 chances with nine assists and five errors, all of which comes out to a .984 fielding average.  For anyone out there who can’t do the math, Engel had 54 more chances and 56 more putouts.  To this layman’s eyes, those numbers mean our centerfielder possesses considerably more range than theirs.

But wait.  Only one centerfielder hails from the East Coast, where everyone, whether coach and manager or reporter, thinks all talent resides.  So, Jackie Bradley Jr. it is.  All I can hope is that Engel has absorbed enough of the South Side to appreciate the Chicago adage—Don’t get mad, get even.  I’d start in spring training, Adam.

A Saturday Game, the Parking Lot

 It has to be NCAA D-III football when you stop on your way back to the car so the visiting team can get back to its bus.  Do players and parents meet in the lot after an Ohio State-Michigan game?  I doubt it.

Yesterday was Seniors’ Day at Elmhurst, and, according to the rules of being a father-in-law, my presence was expected, maybe even desired.  I can only imagine what the parents of those seniors were going through as they made their way onto the field, listening to their sons’ accomplishments over the course of a college career and remembering other times at other places.  There was high school, Pop Warner, the backyard.

The Vikings of North Park University—the cause of my postgame traffic jam in the parking lot—lived up to their team name, coming and conquering by a score of 36-19.  No matter.  I got to sit behind the Bluejays’ mascot, Victor E., and told the oversized bird, Down in front!  I bet that kind of thing doesn’t happen at Camp Randall Stadium.   

There might’ve been 30 people on the visitors’ side, each person a true fan and/or parent.  You sit in the November cold because it’s your kid and you love him.  They fill up Camp Randall for somewhat different reasons.

This is not to deny that D-I sports or the pros have their share of committed fans.  The difference comes at the receiving end.  Maryland didn’t care about Jordan McNair any more than Rick Pitino ever cared about anyone but himself.  That’s the nature of bigtime college sports, not everywhere perhaps but in plenty of places.  If anything, it’s worse in the pros.

Reading Willie McCovey’s obituary, I was reminded that the Giants nearly moved to Tampa.  Gosh, the White Sox nearly moved to Tampa.  All you fans who loved McCovey or Luis Aparicio, thank you, but business is business.  What’s that?  You’ve convinced enough politicians to fund us a new stadium?  Why, in that case let’s celebrate by coming up with McCovey Cove.

I’ve come to appreciate the traffic jams in parking lots at D-III schools.

David, Goliath and the College Football Machine

 

 A few years ago, my now son-in-law Chris was a football graduate assistant at Syracuse and had a chance to do the same at Maryland; graduate assistants are the new indentured servants, if only the NCAA cared to investigate.  But the boy wanted to come home to the Midwest and his homerun-hitting sweetheart, so he missed the tragedy-scandal that has befallen the Maryland football program.

Had things had gone according to the school regents’ plan, Terrapins' coach D.J. Durkin would’ve been back at the helm, this despite the fallout resulting from the death of football player Jordan McNair after a grueling spring practice session.  There’s a line of thinking common in certain football circles that connects pain with gain.  My nephew once had a high school coach tell his players to suck it up during a summer practice, unless they wanted to join the “grass fairies,” his term for soccer players.  Maybe the good news is this kind of thinking seems to be on the decline.

Anyway, public outcry set in motion a series of events this week that have led to Durkin’s dismissal and the resignation of the regent (also board chairman, naturally) who wanted to keep him on.  Oh, and Illinois Wesleyan played UIC yesterday in basketball.  In other words, an NCAA D-III team dared take on a D-I opponent, and the Spartans did pretty well for themselves.  They outrebounded the Flames 34-30 in an 83-67 loss.

Really, it’s not winning that counts, but how you play the game, and where.    

Refund, Please

With the baseball season over, I thought it would be a good time to see how my baseball magazines did on their predictions.  Not too good, it would seem.

Athlon Sports had the Astros and Yankees in the ALCS, with the Astros moving on to win a second straight World Series against the Nationals. Lindy’s had the Yankees winning the AL and the Dodgers the NL; they also had the Angels’ Mike Sciosa as AL Manager of the Year, always a neat trick for a team that finishes under .500 (80-82).  Street and Smith picked the Yankees to win it all, in this case over the Nats.

Here are some other funny predictions: Aaron Boone of the Yankees and Dave Martinez of the Nationals as managers of the year (Street and Smith); Austin Hays of the Orioles finishing second to Shohei Ohtani for AL Rookie of the Year (Athlon); and Francisco Mejia of the Indians as AL Rookie of the Year (another of Lindy’s “Fearless Forecasts”).  In case you were wondering, Hays didn’t make it out of AA, and Mejia hit .154 for the Indians, who shipped him to San Diego in July for pitching.  I’m sure the Padres hope their young catcher can hit better than the .185 BA he posted in 58 plate appearances.

Maybe I’m being unfair here and should wait to see how the magazines do on their Cy Young and MVP choices.  Nah.  Just give me a refund.  

Stretch

Willie McCovey was a National Leaguer and, outside of facing a Giants’ team in Strat-O-Matic or SF coming to Wrigley Field, I never really paid that much attention to him.  When Harmon Killebrew or Mickey Mantle could hit a homerun to break your White Sox heart, there was no need, really.

So, I was utterly surprised to read in McCovey’s obituary today that he made his major-league debut on my seventh birthday.  I had cake, McCovey had two triples off of Robin Roberts.  My God, he batted between Willie Mays and Orlando Cepeda that day in 1959.  How could a team with so talented a core win all of one pennant, and no World Series?

McCovey made the last out in the seventh game of the 1962 Series, a screaming line drive to Yankees’ second baseman Bobby Richardson with the tying and winning runs in scoring position.  That out, a ball hit so hard, always bothered him.  That career—521 homers, 1555 RBIs, a .270 BA—more than made up for it.