On Suffering

Although TTMD's first post suggests that the only thing the White Sox and the Cubs hold in common is the distance between their respective stadiums, the truth is that of course other similarities exist. Two baseball franchises with such storied histories, sharing a single city, will naturally engender comparisons and contrasts to each other. For example, although the Red Sox used to get the press, the truth is that until 2005 the White Sox were the American sports team suffering through the second-longest championship drought ever. The longest, naturally, belonged (and belongs) to the Cubs.

Which brings me, like all Chicago sports fans, Greek playwrights, and nihilists, to the subject of suffering. There is simply no way to begin a discussion (or blog) about these two teams without acknowledging this elephant in the room. With rare exceptions, like fans of soccer teams whose stadiums collapse, there is no equivalent for the misery and cruelty heaped upon Chicago baseball enthusiasts. In 2005 the White Sox went 11-1 in the postseason, taking the playoffs by storm and winning the World Series in a decisive sweep over the National League Champion Astros. The last time the White Sox reached the Fall Classic, my father attended one of the home games. The year was 1959, it was his very first major league game, he was about to turn ten, and the Sox lost. In 2003, the Cubs came within six outs of the World Series before a series of defensive miscues and the most infamous moment of fan interference in baseball history (or, at least, since the crowd stormed the field in the Merkle's Boner game) cost them the pennant. In 1998, they were swept in the first round of the playoffs. In 1989, they lost to the Giants in the playoffs, and in 1984, when the Cubs needed to win one of three games to take the pennant, they were defeated in part due to a famous defensive error. The last time they went to the playoffs before that? 1945. (They lost.)

Last year, the Cubs were swept in the first round of the playoffs by a team that was outscored over the course of the season. That kind of added ignominy is the sort of thing that Chicago sports fans almost take for granted at this point; how can we complain that the mediocre team lost in the playoffs last year when even our best teams are regularly trounced in the postseason? It may not be scientific, but one way to know that your favorite team has a winning problem is when its Wikipedia entry, as does the White Sox', includes the subsection, "1922-50: The Lean Years."

So why does it hurt me so much to read a story about one-time Cub wunderkid Mark Prior restarting his career in San Diego?

I think that, ultimately, the source of my pain is that rarest of attributes in the Second City: naivety. When Mark Prior, the greatest college pitcher since Roger Clemens, owner of supposedly perfect pitching mechanics, and man-eating scourge of batters everywhere dropped unexpectedly to the Cubs in the 2001 draft, the possibilities seemed endless. Prior was immediately dubbed, "The Franchise," and all the hopes and dreams of millions of Cubs fans were placed on his right arm. One of my favorite baseball writers, injury expert Will Carroll, even went to great lengths in his first book extolling Prior's outstanding mechanics. I attended his very first major league game ever, a 6-inning victory over the Pittsburgh Pirates. He was the guy I was going to tell my kids about seeing, the prophet sent by the baseball gods to lead the Cubs to World Series glory with lightning bolt fastballs and earthquaking curves. He could even hit a little.

Instead, naturally, inevitably, the Cubs badly overworked his arm, he suffered through year after year of injuries, and left at the end of last season to resurrect his career in his home town of San Diego.

Rationally, of course, these things happen (see: Wood, Kerry), and Prior is no more likely to rejoin his Hall of Fame career trajectory than I am. But it still breaks my heart to think of Prior becoming even a league-average pitcher anywhere but Chicago. He was miraculously available with the second pick of the draft, he was destined to become savior, he was ours.

In case you are wondering who the first pick of the 2001 draft was, the guy the Minnesota Twins picked only because they did not believe they could afford to sign Prior - his name is Joe Mauer. If you are so inclined, you may visit him every summer at the All-Star game, where he will be starting at catcher for the American League.

Like I said, suffering.