Should the Cubs Try to Sign Albert Pujols? The Insiders Answer.

The question is simple. Should the Cubs try to acquire Albert Pujols in light of the negotiating deadline in his rear-view mirror? He's reportedly asking for something in the neighborhood of $300 million over 10 years. That's a really nice neighborhood. Anyway, I asked this question to a group of Cubs insiders to get their opinions, and here are their answers:

Carrie Muskat, cubs.com: Pujols is under contract with the Cardinals. Making an offer now would be tampering.

Paul Sullivan, Chicago Tribune: Yeah, the Cubs need to give $30-million contracts to more old guys.

Phil Rogers, Chicago Tribune: Only if they can sign Tony LaRussa as well and trade the Wrigley Building for the Gateway Arch. But it's unclear whether St. Louis would go for that.

Rick Morrissey, Chicago Sun-Times: I'll answer that question with another question: would you trade Flintstone vitamins for anabolic steroids? Would you plant an old, overripe watermelon in the ground and use a falsified birth certificate for fertilizer? Do you read my column instead of prescription drug warning labels? I'm not saying he's juicing and lying about his age and doomed to suck. I'm just saying.

Rick Reilly, ESPN: Signing Albert Pujols to a $300 million contract would be riskier than tightroping across the Grand Canyon on the final thread of talent still remaining in Alfonso Soriano's career.

Bruce Levine, ESPN Chicago: Should they sign the best player in baseball? Of course. But can they? The last I heard, the Ricketts family had to ask to borrow money just to clean the bathrooms at Wrigley.

Judd Sirott, WGN Radio: OF COURSE THEY SHOULD! HE'S A DIFFERENCE MAKER! DO YOU KNOW HOW HARD IT IS TO SHOUT ABOUT WHAT KOYIE FREAKING HILL IS DOING ON THE FIELD? THIS ISN'T AS EASY AS IT SOUNDS. I NEED SOMEONE TO ACTUALLY DO SOMETHING GREAT TO KEEP THIS VOLUME UP FOR MUCH LONGER.

Steve Rosenbloom, Chicago Tribune: Do the Cubs need another overpaid diva from another country? The question answers itself.

David Kaplan, WGN Radio: Albert Pujols is the best in the business. If you have a shot to bring him to the North Side, you take it. I want a World Series for the Cubs as much as anybody, and no one can ensure that that happens better than Jose Alberto Pujols. And when Prince Albert hoists the World Series trophy in the parade through Wrigleyville, and he needs a new best friend to share the moment with? I'll be there.



Editor's note: the following contributors did not return requests for comments. Answers were supplied on their behalf: Carrie Muskat, Paul Sullivan, Phil Rogers, Rick Morrissey, Rick Reilly, Bruce Levine, Judd Sirott, Steve Rosenbloom, David Kaplan

103 Things That Won't Happen in 2011 (but I'll hope for anyway)

It has been 102 years, 4 months, and 2 days since the Cubs last won the World Series. I round up to 103 years because that's the minimum amount of time we can expect to have elapsed between Series-clinching wins for the Cubs. Some people don't like that approach. This keeps me up at night. That's not the point.

Yes, that's a gang symbol. North Side!

The point is it's been a long wait. The intersection of realistic people and people who expect the Cubs to win the World Series this year is the empty set. And at this point, I don't care. As the late Ethan Hawke once said when asked which of his movie's soundtracks most exceeded the film in terms of quality, critical reception, and revenue generation, "Reality Bites." So here's a list of 103 things that won't happen this year. But I want them to (well, most of them), and I'll go ahead and pretend that's realistic.

103. The Cubs will sign Albert Pujols when free agent season commences and he'll give them the "Screw you, Cardinals" discount.
102. Carlos Marmol will save 50 games.
101. Starlin Castro will have a 25-game errorless streak.
100. Todd Ricketts will throw six bench players in the trash and pay for them out of his own wallet.
99. Angel Guzman will pitch. In the majors. Effectively.
98. They'll open a Starbucks in my house.
97. Bleacher ticket prices for all home games after July 1 will be lowered to $10.
96. Rudy Jaramillo will learn to control the wind.
95. Aramis Ramirez will hit 30 home runs.
94. Before the All-Star break.

Just Something About Cubs, Cardinals on a Saturday

I usually hate Cubs/Cardinals games,

but Saturdays are the exception.

I hate it when the Cubs play the Cardinals. I've called it the worst rivalry in sports. Beating the Cardinals usually comes more as a relief than a cause for great joy. If the Cardinals win, I hear it from their fans. If the Cubs win, I hear about how many championships the Cardinals have won since the Cubs' last World Series. I believe it's more than one.

I also hate it when Cubs games are televised on FOX. I don't like the announcers. I don't like the graphics. I don't like the way the entire broadcast seems to find the elusive mix of patronizing affection and professional disdain for everything associated with the Chicago National League ball club. The games take longer. They never seem to start at a good time. I'm whining, I know, but baseball on FOX is stupid.

But for some odd reason (maybe something to do with a certain game in which a certain Hall of Fame Cub second baseman hit two home runs off a Hall of Fame ex-Cub and then-Cardinal closer) I have a strong, strange affinity for Saturday afternoon Cubs/Cardinals games, even the ones broadcast on FOX. There's a mystique about them. As much as I like to say the Cardinals suck, on these Saturday afternoon telecasts, I renew my respect for the franchise and their fans, even if for only a three-hour period.

Carlos Zambrano is usually good for something memorable.
Something positive? We'll see.

It feels like the Olympics. Or a Rocky movie. Somehow the teams seem both more familiar than usual and more superhuman. It's as though I'm watching people I know elevate themselves to some Valhallan stage where every pitch carries eternal significance, every at-bat an audition for immortality.

Maybe that's a bit much (a bit, you ask?) but that's how it feels. Any other day it's just the irritating tradition of surviving the attacks or suffering at the hands of the despised Cardinals, but on Saturday afternoons . . . it's altogether different.

The other factor contributing to the feeling that this more than just another weary game against another superior opponent on the way to the finish line of another dismal season is that Carlos Zambrano is pitching. It's been quite awhile since that signified the likelihood of a start that would last into the 9th inning or a Wrigley scoreboard peppered with harmless white zeros. (Yes, I know they're playing at Busch. Leave my imagery alone.) But today in enemy territory against the Cardinals' ace, Chris Carpenter, I have the feeling Zambrano might just rise to the occasion. I don't think he will. Actually, the part of my brain that controls the typing is all but refusing to type this next part: I feel like he's going to pitch a gem of historic proportions.

I have zero logical foundation for that feeling. None. Zambrano's velocity is down. His control is shaky. His emotions are monitored on a moment-by-moment basis. But this is Saturday. Against the Cardinals. On FOX. And my stupid, irrational, unreliable, foolish, desperately optimistic gut is telling me we might look back on today as the Zambrano game.

My brain is saying it will be known as one of those Pujols games.

Thank DeRosa for Small Sample Sizes

The truth hurts. So lie to me, Cubbies.

There's a reason baseball is so fun to watch. Well, there are 225,658 reasons baseball is so fun to watch, but one of my favorites is the way it can take so long for the true balance of talent to bear itself out. Albert Pujols is as good a hitter as you'll find, yet he makes outs in 53% of his plate appearances; despite that ridiculously good average, there were 15 games in 2009 in which he didn't reach base. Tim Lincecum yielded a .206 batting average to opposing hitters last year, but there were two games in which he gave up 10 hits.

The numbers of any one game or any handful of games is likely to tell you a big fat lie about how good any one player or team really is.

Some games are more accurate depictions of talent than others, but you don't really know which ones are telling you the truth until the season is over—and even then, most teams change composition over the course of the year, usually in an effort to get better, but often times due to injury, a player or team will get worse.

Statisticians can tell you the truth about any team, or at least a fair, objectively calculated, more-accurate-than-your-eyes judgment of a team's potential. But watching a game has a way of reinforcing your hopes or deepening your fears. The Cubs drop 3 of 4 to the Mets, they suck, and I knew it. The Cubs sweep the Brewers, and they are the offensive juggernaut to put an end to the juggernaut business. Their pitching is outstanding. Carlos Zambrano is in the bullpen because the Cubs have at least 8 Cy-Young-caliber pitchers.

I don't care about what's accurate. It's fun to watch the Cubs put a beating on the Brewers. It's a small sample size, but it's beautiful to behold. I might be furious, depressed, or elated when the sample reaches 162 games, but for this weekend I'm loving the lie.

Cubs Win! Time to lapse into apathy

Cubs win. Let's celebrate with chilled champagne! Or just . . . chill.

I'm ecstatic the Cubs won. Tyler Colvin got his first homerun of his major league career. Marlon Byrd hit his second as a Cub. Randy Wells and the bullpen combined to shutout the high-powered-ish looking Atlanta Braves offense. I missed most of it. All of this is history now.

But now that we've established the Cubs won't go 0-162, it's time to complete the cycle of emotional futility. It goes like this:

Stage 1: Despondency of Defeat. After another year of not winning the World Series, Cub fans spend the tail end of the season longing for football season to start or (if we're lucky enough to postpone the demise of our hopes and dreams into October) we spend the end of the postseason pondering the perennial pain that is Cubbie failure. This is not a happy time.

Stage 2: The Winter of Our Discontent. Baseball is over, the hot stove isn't all that hot, and we long for the baseball season to help us recover from the dismal outcomes of the gridiron. Pain turns to numbness, regret turns to restlessness. And then talk turns to improving the team.

Stage 3: Hot Stove Cooking. This is the warmup time for our hoping mechanism. Maybe the Cubs will sign Albert Pujols. Maybe they'll trade John Grabow for Albert Pujols. Maybe we'll have a fire sale that results in the Cubs rebuilding with an entire team of Albert Pujols clones. There's plenty of time for griping about the deals that are made and bemoaning the rumors that never materialize, but it's the place where positivity gets its first major foothold of the offseason.

Stage 4: Groundhog Day. We know it's not spring yet, but Jim Hendry moseys out of his hole at Cubs Convention and tells everyone how much more suffering we'll have to endure. There might be more snowstorms and there might be more deals, but we're not all that hopeful or fearful of too many of either. We start premature imaginations of spring even thought it's 12 degrees outside. We buy game tickets and start looking at lawn furniture. Then we wait.

Stage 5: Spring Training Twitterpation. Spring training baseball is here! Hooray! There is baseball! The snow is melted, the trade rumors are dead (except for those filthy piles of plowed snow and Heath Bell theories), and the soggy brown grass of last year's hopes begins to green with the promise of next year becoming now. Ultimate joy!

Stage 6: Spring Training Thaw & Corresponding High Pollen Count. Uh, yeah, after that first spring training game we all realize that practice baseball is really pretty tedious. A week or so in we're almost allergic to it. We swear it's a good idea to open our windows and go for long walks to breathe in the fresh baseball, but it aggravates our sinuses every single time. We need real baseball.

Stage 7: Opening Day. Baseball is back. Spring break is broken. We're all on Sao Padre Island, and none of us get sunburns. There is drinking and merriment and music galore. Maybe Steven Tyler and James Taylor show up somewhere, but it gets a little weird, and then we realize that maybe it would be nice to just sleep in our own beds with no strange people along for the ride.

Stage 8: Overwrought Optimism/Dread. Depending on the results of the first game or two (or 14), this is either the honeymoon or the hangover. The Cubs win their first game, it's the year. 162-0 until we finally lose one, prove me wrong. World Series. OR. The Cubs lose their first game(s). The season's over. Worst. Team. Ever. Jim Hendry is the reincarnated Billy Goat come to curse us forever, so help me De Rosa.

Stage 9: Back to Life, Back to Reality. Here we are now. The Cubs have lost. The Cubs have won. No game is the end of the world. No game is the solution to all our problems. There are just a lot of games, and they are enjoyable in their slow, loping pace. The breakneck race through baseball infatuation enters the "oh, yeah, I love you in a Lockhorns kind of way even though your meatloaf sucks" phase really quickly. I love it for what it is, and now I'm ready to take baseball for granted again.

Stage 10: Well, you know, it's just a long, circuitous orbit back to Stage 1.


Hey, I'm just glad we're in Stage 9 again. It really is my favorite stage. The losses still stink, but there's "plenty of baseball left" for several months. And the wins are still pretty fantastic. Not "break out the champagne" fantastic, but still a lot of fun.

M.V.Lee

Derrek Lee will not win the 2009 NL MVP award. Barring a completely unforeseen positive test of some kind (like discovering he's half machine) the name Albert Pujols is already engraved on that trophy. So don't take this as an argument that DLee deserves it over his 1B counterpart in St. Louis. However you define "MVP," whether it's the league's best player, the best player on a winning team, or the most indispensible player for any team, Albert Pujols is pretty much the runaway winner in every category. Heck, Prince Albert even wins the contest of which player makes his teammates better. Look at Matt Holliday's stats before and after joining the Cards this year, or check out Aaron Miles' 2008 numbers.

I won't provide links to either set of stats, as I believe both are technically to be considered malware.

But I did want to take a moment and praise D-Lee for being the lone offensive bright spot for the Cubs this season. Without him, I genuinely shudder to think where this team would be. Here's the stat that says it best: Derrek Lee has a very distinct shot at doubling the RBI output of the 2nd-place run producer on the 2009 Chicago Cubs.

Derrek Lee: 96 RBI
Alfonso Soriano: 55 RBI (he's probably driven in his last run)
Aramis Ramirez: 49 RBI (the biggest threat at preventing this feat)
Ryan Theriot: 49 RBI (the pace has slowed of late)
Kosuke Fukudome: 48 RBI (always tough to double up)
Milton Bradley: 39 RBI (for the sake of parallelism, I feel the need to comment here)

I don't want the heart of the Cubs order to stop producing runs to help Derrek make them look even more impotent than they already do. But if a player drives in twice as many runs as anyone else on the team, his value is inarguable. Derrek Lee owns 16.9% of the Cubs RBI this year, roughly one in every 6. (In case you're wondering, Pujols has driven in 20.1% of his team's RBI . . . without him, the whole NL Central might be in danger of retraction.)

Things are bad this year. But for Derrek Lee, at least, it's been all good. When the Cubs return to Wrigley, he deserves a standing O (for being the Only source of Offense in '09).

Day-Off Reflections: 2003

2003 gave us false hopes. Allow me to let it happen again.

Bring up the 2003 Cubs and three names come to mind instantly: Mark Prior, Kerry Wood, and Steve Bartman. Not exactly a flood stream of happy memories.

So I'm going to ask something of you that you've probably asked of yourself hundreds of times: forget the 2003 postseason and the 2004 SI cover jinx ever happened. If you can't afford that much therapy, just pretend you can forget those things ever happened. Because once you set the dismal end aside, you might remember that 2003 was a dizzying, thrilling, spin-you-round-till-you-toss-your-cookies carnival ride.

The 2009 Cubs have now played 122 games. At this point in the schedule (after a 5-10 loss to the Dodgers) the Cubs were 64-58 and in 2nd place, a 1/2 game behind the Astros. Not a shock that the Cubs wound up winning the division, based on that position alone. But at a couple of points before and after the 122-game mark, the outlook was about as bleak as it is now.

Game 101. After getting swept at home in a 2-game series against the Phillies, the Cubs dropped one game under .500, putting themselves in 3rd place and 5 1/2 games out of the division lead. Things were really bad. Twenty games later, the Cubs were in 1st.

Game 135. The Cubs were shutout 2-0 by Doug Davis and Milwaukee, putting them back in 3rd place, a mere 3 games over .500, and 2 1/2 games behind the division-leading Cardinals. With only 27 games left to play, things looked really bad . . . again. Eight games later, the Cubs were in 1st.

Game 149. The Cubs dropped a heartbreaking 1-0 loss to the Reds, putting them 2 games behind the Astros and 9 games over .500. Things weren't hopeless, but with 13 games to play, it looked bad.

Game 155. A loss to the Pirates kept the Cubs 1 1/2 games behind the Astros, who lost to the Cardinals with 7 games to play. Darkness.

Game 159. Todd Van Poppel's Reds beats the Cubbies, bringing them into a tie with Houston. Three games to play. Totally nervous.

Games 160 and 161. A rainout forces the Cubs to play a doubleheader with the Pirates—and the Cubs sweep! The Astros lose to Milwaukee, and the Cubs clinch the National League Central! There is much rejoicing throughout Cubdom! Exclamation points are overused, and no one cares!

Are things as bad now as they were then? It's pretty tough to answer that question objectively, since I want the answer to be, "No, they were worse then, and there's no way the Cubs can lose!" Being 8 games behind the Cardinals right now stinks. However, I would rather be 8 games back chasing 1 team than 5 games back chasing 2.

I use this rule of thumb: to calculate how far back in the standings a team is, I combine the number of games they trail every team in that race because you need all of those teams to lose. On July 24, 2003, the Cubs were 5 1/2 games behind the Astros and 2 games behind the Cardinals. I look at that as being 7 1/2 games out of first. As I said before, it only took 20 games for the Cubs to overtake first place after that point (which they would later relinquish and reclaim multiple times).

So the big question remaining is, are the 2009 Cardinals superior to the 2003 Cardinals and Astros? No, they're not. In fact, he 2009 Cardinals aren't even as good as . . . the 2009 Cardinals.

Let's be realistic: Matt Holliday is hitting .394 with a .457 OBP and .688 SLG since joining St. Louis. With Oakland, those numbers were .286 / .378 / .454. I can't guarantee anything, but it is highly likely that Matt Holliday won't continue to put up the numbers he's currently posting with St. Louis. Albert Pujols makes his teammates better, but unless he's sharing HGH, he doesn't make them that much better.

The Cardinals will probably slow down a bit. Past Cubs teams have shown the ability to close a big gap in a short amount of time. The big question is, can this year's Cubs team feast on the smörgåsbord of suck laid out before them in the coming weeks?

I don't know. But I don't feel like a total idiot for hoping they do.

Pictures courtesy of MLB, Sports Illustrated

Pujols Impressions

When I saw the situation, I knew and everybody in the world knew what was going to happen. Bases loaded. Two outs. Albert Pujols at the plate in the 10th. Cardinals leading 8-7. 0-2 count. . . . Against the Mets.

The grand slam came as a shock to absolutely no one. It wasn't the game winner, but it was assurance to Cub fans everywhere that A) the Cubs would have to share 1st place with the Cardinals for one more day and B) Albert Pujols is ridiculous.

Now some people claim there's no way Albert Pujols is on steroids. To me, that's the cry of hope drowning out the voice of reason. But it doesn't matter. Pujols is playing on a level playing field against other men who all want to win, to succeed, to put up gaudy numbers, and to be the best. And right now, those other men look like boys. In their eyes, Albert Pujols is in another league of manhood.

In the eyes of my son, however, Albert Pujols is just a funny name. At the Cubs game last week in which Randy Wells seemed to be coating his pitches with fly-ball repellent, I was trying to teach my almost-six-year-old son one of the finer points of the game. Koyie Hill was up with two outs, and even on their way to a 12-0 win, the Cubs would really like to see him reach base so that Randy Wells could bat this inning and turn the lineup over for the next. Randy Wells, I said, isn't the best hitter in the world.

"So who is the best hitter in the world?" my son asked.

Here I faced the first of several moral dilemmas: Do I tell my son the truth, or do I let my disdain for all things Cardinal cloud my answer? Reluctantly, I blurted out the truth: "Well, I hate to say it, but he plays for the Cardinals. It's Albert Pujols."

Instantly, my son burst into irrepressible belly laughter. Between loud giggles and desperate gasps for air, he managed to repeat with inquisitive hilarity, "Poo holes? Poo holes?!!?"

And then came the next moral dilemma: Do I laugh with him at Albert's unfortunate given name, or do I tell him to A) not make fun of people for their names and B) avoid the scatological humor (a lesson at which I'm a horrible example)? I did my best. After all, my wife was watching.

"Son," I said, trying to suppress my own giggle-snorts, "I know it's a funny sounding name, but it's not nice to make fun of people's names like that. Be nice, and use nice words."

He laughed. A lot. He's a restless little boy, and that joke kept him in his seat for three innings. (When he needs to make someone laugh, he'll ask, "Hey, do you know who plays for the St. Louis Cardinals?" I can't stop him.) But he did soon ask me if . . . that guy, was really the best hitter in the world.

Next dilemma: Do I tell him about steroids? Do I take advantage of my son's impressionable mind by filling him with more anti-Cardinal prejudice? Or do I gloss over what I believe to be reasonable suspicions to protect that part of his innocence left untouched by Pujols jokes? I tried to be honest:

"Yeah, he's the best. Some people think he cheats, but it's pretty hard to prove either way."

"How could he cheat?"

"Taking special medicine. Kind of like if Harry Potter took Felix Felicis before a Quidditch match."

"Oh." Then he paused and reflected for a moment, thoughtfully, deeply. "Poo holes! Bwah!"

That Pujols grand slam brought back this story, because I realized so much of baseball is our perspective. What are we watching? What do we hope to see? What do we fear? Our expectations and biases and viewpoints can drastically alter what we see and how we experience the game.

There are still two full months of baseball left, but Cub fans are scoreboard watching as if 101 years hang on every game. It's probably not the best approach. It's exacerbated by the virtual tie with our nemesis.

Even the rivalry brings out some of the worst in us: the urge to demean and deride the other team and their fans (guilty); the temptation to stick pins into our Matt Holliday voodoo dolls (I'm waiting); the tendency to equate the Cubs with good and the Cardinals with evil. Even the steroids issue often hinges on the damage a new revelation would inflict: I'd get some satisfaction seeing a using Cardinal outed, but I would instinctively defend any Cub who got named.

I guess it just helps to remember that these are people. Not gods, not devils. It's best not to worship them or hate them. Sit back, enjoy the game for what it is, and turn your attention and passion to things that truly matter.

Like teaching your kid to stop shouting, "Poo Holes!!!" in mixed company.