Joe Maddon

It's hard to see anything clearly without the passage of at least a little time. It has a way of settling the raw emotions that frequently cloud an event, its causes and ultimate impact. Which is why we should be grateful for a thing called history. It puts things in perspective.

Take Joe Maddon's dismissal from the Chicago Cubs last Sunday.

Initially, I was upset. I was a fan. Maddon exuded an affable charm as he molded his young Cubs and inspired his veteran ones to a world championship in 2016. He led the Cubs to successes not seen since the Great Depression—which, if you're counting, was over eighty-years ago.

And to his bosses gratification, he kept the turnstiles spinning.

But things evolve quickly, and while he was the ideal manager to shepherd that team to the top of the National League Central and baseball in general, he wasn't the guy to keep them there. Rumors of an overly-permissive clubhouse made their way through the MLB grapevine, and it soon became obvious these Cubs were satisfied.

Houston Astros pitcher Dallas Keuchel observed as much even before the 2018 season began, stating “We're not the Cubs” when asked about his team's ability to repeat in the American League West.

Many teams came of age alongside these Cubs. The Cleveland Indians. The Los Angeles Dodgers. And the aforementioned Astros. All sustained a far-higher level of competitiveness than did the Cubs. Their managers were able to transition from inspiring youthful teams to motivating and preparing them for the mounting challenges of staying on top.

It was something Maddon couldn't do.

After GM Theo Epstein's ultimatum essentially turned Maddon into a lame duck, the Cubs got sloppy. Mental mistakes on the basepaths. Home run-or-bust at bats, especially with men in scoring position. And fielding more typical of a company softball game than a major league baseball one.

None of those are the hallmarks of a team laser-focused on winning a title.

The front office shorted Maddon on bullpen support and the farm system dried up without ever yielding a starting pitcher. But I can't vanquish the thought that if Maddon had kept these guys in fighting trim, they'd be vying for a World Series slot tonight.

Alas, he did not. These Cubs grew fat and lazy, and for that Maddon must be held accountable. 

Nevertheless, you will always have a place in our hearts, Joe.Good luck to you.

Greetings from Brigadoon

If this were a nineteen-forties movie instead of a blog, it'd open with a black and white shot of a printing press, furiously running off newspapers. Crisp, buoyant music would accompany the scene.

Papers at every stage of their creation would be shown, right up to the point where they're bundled up and tossed on delivery trucks by thickly-muscled guys chewing cigar butts and wearing ivy caps.

From the center of the frame a tiny front page emerges. It is spinning. It stops only when it dominates the screen. Cubs Win Series! Fans Dancing in Streets!

Alas, this is a blog. Not a movie.

Cue to a sleepy older guy in a worn Cubs t-shirt and sweat pants bathed in the bluish white light of a computer monitor. There are no printing presses or delivery trucks. Only a hasty mea culpa being banged out on a fifteen-year-old keyboard.

Remember that scene in Moonstruck when Cher tells her mom she's going to get married? Freshly wakened, mom asks “Do you love him?”

Cher: “No.”

Mom: “Good. When you love them, they drive you crazy.”

See, that's how it is with the Cubs and me. I love them. And in the aftermath of their game 4 loss, I was crazy. Convinced it was over. Kaput. Fini. If they didn't feel confident and comfortable in Wrigley Field, where would they?

My previous post, Blind Until I See, was my inner Cub fan doing what all Cubs fans do. Dialing up the defense mechanisms and steeling myself for yet another dose of soul-shredding agony. How was I to know that freed of the pressure cooker Wrigley Field had become, they would spread their wings and play like the 2016 Cubs?

I have never been more delighted to be wrong.

Being a bad prognosticator means never having to go hungry, because when all else fails you'll always have your words to eat.

Blind Until I See

At least one more game remains to be played. But it is over. Over in the same sense that a body has expired by the time it is interred.

They have surrendered in everything but fact.

All the right words were said. This was a generation either ignorant or immune to history.

But like a diver descending to uncharted depths, the further one goes the greater the pressure. It is paralyzing. It crushes interlopers.

What team could shoulder the weight of generational expectations? Ignore the foreboding and all-too-familiar signs of imminent collapse? Resist facts as insistent as they are abundant that this cannot happen?

Must not happen.

Will not happen.

The cult lives on. Baseball's take on Deadheads have been hardened by another layer of failure. Rain will not douse the candle of their faith. 

Contrary to popular belief, hope is not a poison.

Cub fans celebrate New Year's Day in Autumn.

Have a happy 2017.

This Just In

At 9:46 PM CDT on October 22, 2016 Yasiel Puig hit an Aroldis Chapman pitch to Cub shortstop Addison Russell. Russell fielded the ball, threw it to second baseman Javier Baez, who then stepped on second and subsequently fired to first baseman Anthony Rizzo for a game-ending double play.

This means the Chicago Cubs have won the 2016 National League Championship Series over the Los Angeles Dodgers 4 games to 2, and are headed to their first World Series since 1945.

In other news, an unidentified male with reddish skin and horns and carrying a pitchfork has been admitted to a local hospital with what appears to be frostbite.

More details as they become available.