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.

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.

Sometimes You Just Have to Laugh

The Chicago Cubs are a professional baseball team. In the majors.

The best news for the Cubs on Friday was that Carlos Zambrano got hugged.

The best news for Cubs fans on Friday was that Jim Hendry knows they suck and has for quite some time.

The second best news for Cubs fans (and it was a hard-luck runner up) is that several teams (all of them in the NL West, for some reason) have interest in Ryan Theriot. Being on their team. I know, right?

The Cubs haven't won a World Series since the year the Baseball Writers Association of America was founded (1908). Think I'm jaded against the beat writers? Now you know why.

17-2.

Zambrano Fails to Apologize to Starving Children

When do they get their dinner, Carlos? And when do they get their apology?

I said yesterday that Carlos Zambrano said all the right things in his apology to the fans and his general statement that everything about his dugout tirade was wrong, but that was before I had all the facts. It has since come out that Zambrano has yet to apologize to the Cubs as a congregation. He hasn't even embroidered all his shirts and jerseys with the scarlet A for Anger as ordered by Pastor Morrissey.

Sure, Zambrano has apologized to players individually, but what about the team as a whole? What about the Wrigley Field ambassadors? What about the children? Never mind the convenient fact that Zambrano has been separated from the Cubs by an average of 1,000 miles since he was suspended. That doesn't change the fact that he's apologizing in the absolute wrong order.

The first person he needed to apologize to was obvious, but whether he did that or not is between him and DeRosa. After that, he should have apologized to Derrek Lee. Okay, he did that, too, but only once? Another 99 are in order, and they should all be in public and/or under the supervision of a priest. Next comes his teammates, coaches, agents, and every innocent bystander.

Next he should have apologized to the media, starting with the white guys. Sullivan, Morrisey, Telander, Wittenmyer, Kaplan: these guys feared for their lives when Zambrano's rage boiled over. No, he didn't hurt anybody—this time—but he looked like he wanted to. The fact that he made his apology in an interview with Pedro Gomez won't be lost on them. You could cut the racial tension with a knife, which is exactly what the Chicago sports media is afraid of.

But the most overlooked group on Zambrano's apology waiting list, with its chronology screwed up beyond even Quentin Tarantino's comprehension, are the millions of starving children around the world. While they looked on in horror, the biggest, whiniest, most spoiled child of them all went out to dinner with the manager of the opposing team. Zambrano stuffed his petulant face with dinner, completely deaf to the rumbling empty stomachs of those less fortunate than himself.

But himself is all Zambrano thinks about. He's sorry. He was wrong. He is embarrassed by his actions. He is trying to improve the way he handles his anger. Selfish, racist, diva. This apology was all about him. The families of the victims of the Hindenburg disaster? Never even crossed Zambrano's mind.

Chicago Journalism 101: Emotion Police

Might as well let it out, Carlos. The media will say it for you if you don't.

Carlos Zambrano has been demoted to the bullpen. Say what you will about the move's usefulness to the team, but it's a demotion nonetheless. Anyone with a Sesame-Street-level grasp of psychology knows that this would upset any professional pitcher. No pitcher greets a demotion to the bullpen with a "Hooray!" Pitchers who get promoted from AAA to the bullpen might be quite happy about it, but they'd be even happier if their organizations told them they would be starters.

I know this is simple, but since quite a few people in the Chicago media seem so oblivious to the facts, let's go over what we know once again: Carlos Zambrano was a starter. Management demoted him to the bullpen. Not a soul alive needs to interview him to know that he's upset about it.

But the Chicago media did ask him about it. In the same way they insist on asking athletes how they feel after losing in a championship game, reporters are contractually obligated to ask Big Z how he feels about the demotion. I don't begrudge them asking, necessarily. They have to write something. But I hope they understand it's a stupid question that serves as nothing more than a litmus test of Carlos Zambrano's professionalism.

And Carlos answered. He's not "happy happy," but he's happy. Are they happy? Not at all. The print journalists have been relatively quiet about Z's responses, but the radio and television guys are going nuts trying to drum up "insider" stories about how angry Zambrano is and what the ramifications will be. Will he demand to be traded? Are the Cubs provoking him on purpose? Why do the Cubs feel the need to bend over backwards to pacify Zambrano? Will Jim Hendry wake up with Ryan Theriot's head in his sheets? Does Big Z like Carlos Marmol or does he like him like him?

Let me get this straight just one more time: Zambrano gets demoted. Everyone in the world knows that will make him angry. Reporters ask him if he's angry, and he very professionally, responsibly, and respectfully lies for the good of the team and to the disappointment of those who want to see him erupt so violently that O'Hare has to close until Hendry finds a suitable setup man.

I don't get it. Z passed the test. He's controlled his anger well enough to pitch and to avoid spouting off to the media. So the columnists, analysts, and hosts who rant about Zambrano being an over-emotional diva have nothing to complain about unless they're actually suggesting Zambrano shouldn't be angry.

If I'm following this right (which would be somewhat lucky, because I can't stomach these moronic, sanctimonious imbeciles long enough to actually follow their logic) they used to criticize Z for not controlling his emotions. Now they're lambasting him just for having emotions? Gotcha.

Personally, I think it's time for the media to learn a little lesson in emotional health, courtesy of the aforementioned Sesame Street. And there's an important lesson for us as well in what makes the media angry: not paying much attention to them.

Over Bartman? Hardly.

For about two hours this morning, the big story among Cubs fans was the announcement that ESPN has commissioned a Steve Bartman documentary. The small matter of Ortiz and Ramirez getting leaked on, or something, took a lot of the focus off of things that happened in 2003. Giggle.

But within that brief window of mass interest/disgust regarding the Bartman story, I couldn't help but laugh when I read the scores of tweets and reader comments expressing how very little anyone cares about the Bartman story anymore. Phrases like "We're over it," "No one blames Bartman," and "Who cares?" popped up quite a lot.

The public sentiment was, Leave Bartman alone. The story is over, and we have moved on. How dare you, ESPN, exploit this poor man and torture the Cubbie faithful by bringing up something that happened 6 years ago?!? I understand the thinking, but it's a lie.

Cub fans (and those who pity them) are still bringing up the Goat from 1945. When we long for the good old days, our hearts have to stretch back to 1908. Six years is like a fortnight in Cubbie years. Some other things we can't let go of: Bruce Froemming robbing Milt Pappas; Leon Durham letting that ball go through him; the lights; the 7th inning stretch . . . the list goes on. Cub fans don't get over anything, least of all trauma.

If the volume and intensity of negative response is any indication, Steve Bartman will always be a strong ratings grab. But before you accuse ESPN of tormenting Bartman, consider this simple fact: he is a die-hard Cubs fan who is resigned to the fact he will never go to Wrigley again. Due to fear of the press? Fear of ESPN? No. Bartman knows better than to surround himself with Cub fans. Imagine that. Knowing you'll never go back to Wrigley because of who you are. For those of us not named Ozzie Guillen, that would suck.

So I'm curious to see the documentary. I don't want to know where Bartman is now. I don't want to relive the horror of the cursed foul ball. I just want someone to explore what it is about the culture of Cubs fans that causes such deep, spirited, emotional reactions to such minute details as a fan reaching out for a foul ball.

There is a mental block contaminating the minds of Cub fans and Cub players. It's a natural curse no one can deny. I don't think we should be afraid to prod it.