Showing posts with label Paul Sullivan. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Paul Sullivan. Show all posts

Saturday, January 22, 2011

Quade to Treat Players Like People

Last weekend Mike Quade said something that, while repulsive to some, was actually quite brilliant. Here's the quote, courtesy of Paul Sullivan:
"Are you going to deal with 'Sori' the same way you deal with (Blake) DeWitt?" he said. "No."
Steve Rosenbloom thinks that's ridiculous.
Maybe he was intimidated by big-money players. Maybe he wanted them to say nice things to help him lose the interim tag. Whatever, the fact is he didn’t bench Ramirez when he gave up on some defensive plays and generally played dodgeball in the field. Nor did he bench Soriano for an utter and typical lack of hustle out of the batter’s box. What’s worse, Soriano’s stylin’ came in Quade’s first game. Soriano stayed in the game. Soriano was in the lineup the next day. Message to Cubs players: Become a big-money veteran.
There's a reason Steve Rosenbloom works on his own. He and other like-minded (is it right to use the word mind about someone who refuses to think?) individuals opine that the only way to communicate to players is by benching them. Fredi Gonzalez is apparently one of those people. That's how he handled Hanley Ramirez. It worked out well. I'm sure the righteous indignation made his final month of employment the very best ever.

Maybe in some phase of the Industrial Revolution, it made sense to treat every laborer exactly the same. Keep everyone at the factory in place. Forget individuality. The commoners can have their dignity when they go home, but at work you treat them like two year olds and put them in time out when they're naughty.

But this isn't 1832, and the Cubs aren't children. Enlightened employers realize that impartiality doesn't require blanket uniformity. Respecting the individuality of each team member calls for some amount of personalization in the way you relate to them. That holds true for any workplace. The need for specialization is even more pronounced in baseball.

Think it's important to treat everyone exactly the same? Why on earth would Quade do that? The Cubs don't pay everyone the same. Alfonso Soriano makes about 45 times as much money as Blake DeWitt. If Mike Quade wants to use playing time to send a message stronger than that, he'll have to bench Soriano until the year 2078. If he wants to send a real message, however, he needs to communicate like an adult.

Some people viewed Starlin Castro's benching last year as a punitive act, but I think Quade's decision was a bit more sophisticated than that. A player will respond to his own mistakes much differently when he's 20 than when he's 35. The time off gave Castro a chance to slow down his reaction and deal with it thoughtfully (or "reflect," as Quade put it). I don't know if it was the right move, but it was a thoughtful one, not the loud-mouthed, drill-sergeant approach Rosenbloom is calling for.

Benching Ramirez and Soriano would do nothing but disrespect them. Beat reporters, columnists, and bloggers have no obligation to show respect to players, but Mike Quade does. Treating multi-millionaires (or $400,000-aires, for that matter) like children isn't macho, it's mindless. I'm glad Mike Quade understands that.

Thursday, January 13, 2011

Cubs Refuse to Sell Tickets to Game with Yankees

Wally Hayward—executive vice president, chief sales and marketing officer for the Chicago Cubs and proud owner of the longest title of anyone whose occupation is not British royalty—says that if you're planning on seeing the Yankees play at Wrigley in mid-June (and the Cubs will be there too), you'd better buy as many tickets as you can to the Cubs' Pick 13 Plan that, as of . . . right now, will go on sale in an hour. The reason? He claims the series will probably be sold out by the time individual game tickets go on sale in February (no date yet announced).

According to Paul Sullivan, Hayward doesn't expect the single-game crowd to see any tickets trickle down their way:
Hayward said season ticket renewals are ahead of last year, and that the Cubs expect to sell out the New York Yankees series before individual tickets become available to the public.

"People who do wait for that on-sale date will most likely get shut out," Hayward said.
I find this extremely interesting, since . . . well, just look at the picture.
I see Friday tickets. I see Sunday tickets. I smell baloney.
 I'm curious to know how the Cubs plan to sell out the series against the Yankees through a combination of season-ticket sales (and I'm sure Hayward is being absolutely forthcoming about the strength of those) and this Pick 13 promotion that offers bleacher tickets and "bowl" tickets (their term for the reserved sections, which, in true Wrigley style, aren't configured to resemble a bowl so much as a trough) to just two of the three games.

The only conclusion I can muster is that the Cubs will not be selling tickets to the Saturday, June 18 game. Just won't sell them. No deal, Burns. Take your interleague lust and shove it.

Monday, March 8, 2010

The Cubs Best Outfielder Is Ivy



I love this commercial. It features a lot of the things I loved most about my first trip to Wrigley. The things I loved back in 1981 when my idea of advanced baseball wisdom was the fact that Ivan DeJesus wasn't pronounced I-vuhn de-JEE-zus. The scoreboard changed by hand. The brilliant colors. The flags. The ivy. Harry Caray. He was real then, not a statue, and there were no light standards protruding from the Wrigley Field rooftop. But at that time, I had no idea who the players were. Honestly, at my first Cubs game, my familiarity with the game (and our seats) was so poor, I wasn't even sure where the infield was. It didn't matter. Just being there was enough to make the experience, the Wrigley Field experience, a religious conversion of sorts.

I hate this commercial. Like the other facets of the Chicago Cubs 2010 marketing campaign, not a single player makes an appearance. It's all ivy and blue skies and icons. It tells me I should love this team because of something bigger than any one person. It reminds me that the Chicago Cubs are all about feeling good and loving life and having fun. 2009 was a freak storm, an erroneous blip, a flaw in the baseball diamond. 2010 will be good again. It will be pure and Milton Bradley free. Pepin le Bref will be a messenger of joy. And the quality of the baseball being played in these hallowed halls need not factor into the equation.

Don't manipulate me, Chicago Cubs marketing staff. I'm a fan, and that's not changing. But don't try to tell me the baseball itself doesn't matter. That's the wrong message to send. Show me Cub homers. Show me Cardinal strikeouts. Show me prospects whose stars are still rising. More importantly, show me an owner willing to pay the price of winning a World Series. I've had your back this offseason, Tom Ricketts. I won't be so kind if you play this whole season on the cheap.

UPDATE: A million bonus points to Jodi for pointing out that the commercial is probably for WGN, not the Cubs specifically. What's more, the sale leveraged transfer of the team means those two entities are no longer under the same umbrella. My fault. Mea culpa. Mia Farrow. Let's not forget, baseball makes me stupid.

Monday, December 14, 2009

Hendry Should Brush up on French History



The Chicago sports media have been reporting ad nauseam that the Cubs can't make a free agent signing until they move Milton Bradley. Some say it's the money. Some say it's the uncertainty of the layout of the team. I say hogwash. We all know the Cubs have more money than you can shake Sam Waterston at. And it doesn't make a ton of sense for Jim Hendry to postpone free agent signings for fear of running out of holes on his roster. Right now, no one is offering the Cubs anyone for Milton Bradley, let alone any player worthy of occupying an everyday position.

The Cubs don't lack the funds or the foresight to sign the players they want—Mike Cameron and/or Marlon Byrd, Joel PiƱiero, and Alfredo Amezaga are among the candidates—but somehow they seem intent on broadcasting to the world that they lack flexibility.

Ever since "Milton Bradley" and "must trade" became redundancies, Jim Hendry has looked like a trapped coyote without enough fortitude to gnaw himself free from the jaws of Milton Bradley's contract. No GM who sees him in that light will ever want to A) take home a Milton Bradley steel trap, or B) help Hendry salvage any of his $21 million leg. The metaphor's falling apart, so I'll move on.

It's time for a French lesson. I give to you, Jim Hendry, the legend of Carcassonne:

In 760, “Pepin the Short”*, King of the Franks, took most of the south of France back from the Saracens, except for Carcassonne. True to its reputation, it remained an impregnable fortress. After a long siege, the Franks had good reason to think that the inhabitants of Carcassonne would soon starve and surrender. But Dame Carcas, the widow of the Sarrasin lord of the castle, devised a plan to save the city. She had a pig fed with the last sacks of grain the inhabitants could find. When the pig was fat enough, it was thrown over the city’s ramparts. At the sight of such a well-fed fat animal, the astonished assailants concluded that the inhabitants still had enough food in stock to stave off famine and weren’t about to surrender any time soon. And so they gave up and quickly lifted the siege. Dame Carcas rang all the bells of the city all day long to celebrate the victory. Legend has it that Dame “Carcas sonne” (Dame “Carcas rings”) is where the name of the city came from.

If Hendry wants to change the way other teams view his situation, and if keeping Milton Bradley really is impossible, he needs to throw a big fat pig over the wall. Give a free agent way too much money. Make a trade for a guy you can't afford to sign to an extension. Do something no one not named Steinbrenner would be willing to do.

Hendry needs to show the rest of Major League Baseball that he has plenty of options, plenty of money, and no intentions of getting screwed over. A fat free-agent contract (something worth about 2 or 3 John Grabow's) would send a message that the Cubs can afford to keep Milton Bradley and they aren't preoccupied with moving him—even if the exact opposite is true.

Do that, and maybe then a GM who cares more about OPS than congeniality will extend his grubby little paws in the direction of Milton's death grip.



*Paul Sullivan shall heretofore be known on this site as Pepin le Bref.

Thursday, October 1, 2009

Why Was Paul Sullivan Ejected?



According to his Milton Bradley diary torrent of lies hatred font twitter stream, Tribune Cub beatdown artist beat writer Paul Sullivan was ejected from his Wrigley Field bleacher perch less than an hour into Game 1 of yesterday's Dante's Inferno Circle 6 dungeon of retribution doubleheader against the Pirates. Here's a sample of his tweets from yesterday's game (in reverse chronological order):



  1. Unahppy totals from 13 hours at Wrigley Field: 18 innings, two Cubs losses, 3 cups coffee, 2 diet pepsi's, one bleacher ejection.

     from web




  2. Guy in D-Lee shirt in RF bleachers catches throw from Fuld, falls into basket. Bleacher security promptly escorts him out. I feel his pain.

     from web




  3. Sitting in the Bill Veeck seats in top section of CF bleachers. Plenty of room to stretch out for Game 2. Stop by and say hi.

     from TwitterBerry




  4. Craig Lynch, legally blind reporter for Sun-Times, was asked about Fukudome's error, which was somehow ruled a double: "I didn't see it."

     from web




  5. Cubs announce crowd of 34,362, though only about 9,500 showed up and only one was escorted out of the bleachers.

     from web






  6. Uh oh. Ronnie Woo spotted me. Now he's yelling He Was Out Woo in my ear after Blanco tag at second. Bad day gets worse.

     from TwitterBerry




  7. It's 2 p.m. and Ronnie Woo is in Section 216. Avoiding Section 216.

     from TwitterBerry




  8. Ejected from Wrigley Field bleachers and it's only 1:38. Cubs security escorts me out in front of eyewitnesses. Oh the indignation.

     from TwitterBerry


In his twitness, Sullivan didn't give an explanation for what actions, words, or evil spells may have prompted the ejection from the bleachers, nor did he allude to his removal in his rundown of the doubleheader sweep. And considering it was Paul Sullivan who wrote all these tweets, there's a very real chance it's all made up to begin with.

So I'm begging anyone who was at game 1, all 7 of you, to please provide details. But in tribute to Paul Sullivan's propensity for quoting unnamed sources, don't let the facts stop you. I'd love the truth, but I'd do the dance of joy for a good unfounded theory on what he may have done to get booted.

Thank you in advance for helping me take out some frustration on a guy who helped make this season much less bearable.

Monday, September 28, 2009

The Cubs' Last Gasp



There is one last step in the grieving process: acceptance. I just want to say, I'm not quite there.

I don't pretend to think the Cubs have a realistic chance of winning the rest of their games. Or the Rockies losing the rest of theirs. Or the Braves cooling off dramatically. Or the Giants and the Marlins both failing their way through the final week. Obviously that's way too many individually far-fetched and collectively impossible contingencies to hope for.

But the off day shared by the Cubs and Rockies has given our playoff chances one more day on life-support. However faint the pulse, however rattling the breaths, this dying vegetable of a season is not yet clinically dead.

I've gone through all the other stages of grief. I can't deny the fate of this team. I lack the strength to appropriately arouse my anger at Paul Sullivan's feeble excuses for journalism. I have lost all bargaining power. I'm done trying to be positive. But I'm just not ready to check the box next to Acceptance.

I'm going to enjoy the gigantic deep breath that is this off day. And on Tuesday, I'll hope the Cubs can make it through one more day. I won't even think about Wednesday.

Holler if you're with me.