Wrigley overtakes The Cell as nuthouse
Recent incidents in, around ballpark make The Cell appear sane
Hey, you. Yes, the dope throwing a baseball on the field at the same time 14 other dopes throw baseballs on the field. You are not the story. You think you're the story, in part because the media have overdosed in romanticizing the fan experience at Wrigley Field. But in truth, you're just an assclown who could hit someone in the head, including a Cubs player.
And, you. Yes, the frightening excuse for a human being who sold a crude and racially insensitive t-shirt at a stand across from Wrigley. You are not the story. You think you're the story, because in your pathetic little world, making fun of Kosuke Fukudome with images of a slanted-eyed cub from the official team logo and oversized Harry Caray glasses -- with ``Horry Kow'' spelled out in Japanese -- somehow is good business. But in truth, you and the idiots who bought such garbage need one-way tickets to another planet.
(Tom Cruze/Sun-Times)
And, you. Yeah, the derelict who fell into the left-field basket on Opening Day. You are not the story. You think you're the story, like a lot of people who sit in the bleachers and realize the TV cameras always are on because, you know, only the cool kids sit out there. But in truth, you deserve to be ridiculed by YouTube surfers who note that your shoe remained in the basket after you were pulled out.
The problem with the Friendly Confines is that they've become relentlessly unfriendly and increasingly obnoxious and stupid. Fueled by alcohol, ego, 100 years of institutional futility and a blind belief that an entire universe revolves around their expensive butt space on the north side of Chicago, in the state of Illinois, in what is supposed to be the clear-thinking heartland of America, a lot of Cubs fans seem to think they're bigger than the players, the manager and the games. Wrigley always has been a carnival of kookishness with its share of crazy fan episodes -- the day in 1995 when pitcher Randy Myers wailed on a charging fan, the night in 2000 when several Los Angeles Dodgers climbed into the stands and chased a fan who'd stolen the cap of catcher Chad Krueter or, of late, the night last season when a fan trotted onto the field to chat up Bob Howry after he allowed a three-run homer. Then there was a certain fan who reached for a foul ball and changed the course of sports history, though I won't name him because a failing Tribune columnist -- lacking creative juices and originality -- will keep counting how many times I mention the fan.
But this season, Cubdom has entered the twilight zone. Never mind that their boys are out to an 11-6 start, riding Derrek Lee's smoking home-run bat. Barely a day passes without a fan making news, and if it's a reflection on society generally wigging out in the 21st century, also understand that Wrigley is supposed to be above such lunacy. It is marketed as a shrine and fan-friendly tourist attraction, yet it's much closer to an raucous beer garden filled with just enough jerks to spoil the reputation of a much larger percentage of good fans. If Sam Zell still wants to sell naming rights, he might try a rehab clinic.
Betty Ford Center at Wrigley Field.
To me, Cubdom's best tradition is throwing back the ball after the enemy hits a homer. Well, after Cincinnati's Adam Dunn hit one Wednesday night, no fewer than 15 batting-practice balls littered the outfield from all directions. What if one had hit Fukudome, who must wonder what kind of wacky country he's living in? This obviously was a preconceived prank, and I can't blame the venerable Reds broadcaster, Marty Brennaman, for reacting with alarm. Pat Hughes, the Cubs' radio voice, mentioned it in passing. Not Brennaman.
``See, this is the kind of thing, quite honestly, that makes you want to see the Chicago Cubs team lose,'' said Brennaman, whose son, Thom, used to work for the Cubs as a radio broadcaster. ``Far and away, the most obnoxious fans in baseball in this league are those who follow this team right here. Throwing 15 or 18 balls onto the field, there's absolutely no excuse for that. And that is so typical of Chicago Cub fans. It's unbelievable.''
From there, Brennaman launched a tirade about why he roots against the Cubs, which has become the focus of angry locals who have turned him into a pariah and, amazingly, shifted the focus from unpopular Dusty Baker. Consider the back-and-forth between Brennaman and partner Jeff Brantley:
Brennaman: ``All winter, they talked about this team winning the division, and my comment was, they won't because at the end of the day, they are still the Chicago Cubs and they'll figure out a way to screw this whole thing up.''
Brantley: ``And then they'll have no one to boo but themselves.''
Brennaman: ``Well, they never blame themselves.''
Brantley: ``They blame the goat.''
Brennaman: ``They blame that old billy goat.''
Brantley: ``Anyone who blames a goat for that long a losing, that's silly.''
But what shouldn't be lost in the byplay is Brennaman's dead-on criticism of the bad fans. Cubs management, reacting quickly, ejected at least eight of the ball-heaving folks. The front office also is commended for having the horrible t-shirts yanked from the souvenir stand, which should please Fukudome, who had expressed concern about the symbolism. Still, on Friday, as Nate McLouth chased a ball that Fukudome hit for a triple, a drink from the bleachers came close to dousing the Pittsburgh center fielder. Will it ever end? Or is someone else plotting another 15-ball onslaught?
``It's something I hadn't seen before," said manager Lou Piniella, who is increasingly blown away by what he sees at Wrigley. ``What's amazing is, they beat each other up trying to get these balls in batting practice. They scrape their knees and elbows, and I've seen some fistfights out there. And all of a sudden, they give them up rather easily.
``Look, I'd never seen that before, and hopefully we won't see it again."
A day later, Piniella was defending the fans in the wake of the Brennaman attack. ``Marty's a Cincinnati guy, obviously, he's rooting for the Reds," he said. ``I don't think our fans are obnoxious. I think they get into the ballgame. They enjoy coming out to a ballgame, and that's why they draw here the way they do. It's a fun environment, and they get into it.''
I wish Piniella wouldn't have been so forgiving. He's trying to remain in the fans' good standing, of course, knowing anything less than his full support might doom him to Lee Elia status. But when he gives them a pass, he opens the floodgates to who-knows-what?
Other than walking the course at Augusta National, fresh in my memory from last weekend, no sight in sports is more numbing then entering the front gate at Clark and Addison, climbing the steps behind home plate and seeing nothing but green. It's vital that the Cubs preserve Wrigley as a precious slice of Americana and not let madness become the ballpark's foremost identity. I have no problem with booing, drinking a couple of beers and plunging into a rocking time. But lately -- and brace yourselves -- Wrigley has traded places with what suddenly is a kinder, more sedate ballpark.
In the name of William Ligue, would you believe U.S. Cellular Field has become saner than Cubdom?
Consider it a call for reform.
