Neuqua
12-25-2003, 01:31 AM
As most of you know, I am as diehard of a Cubs fan as there is. People actually called my cell phone on the night the Cubs lost in the NLCS to tell me that everything would be alright. At the time, I hated Steve Bartman. It was so easy to just point the finger at him as the reason we threw away a 3-1 lead in the NLCS.
It has been a few months and obviously my senses have come to me. As Marm can attest, the name still bugs me when its brought up but that has more to do with my dissapointment in the ending to last year's dream run, and not with the individual himself.
I came across this article tonight, and thought maybe a few other of my fellow Cubs fans would like to read it. Honestly, I feel bad for the guy now. Can you imagine being in his place?
Linky (http://chicagosports.chicagotribune.com/sports/columnists/cs-031223morrissey,1,7520910.column?coll=cs-cubs-utility)
Bartman shines by avoiding the spotlight
December 24, 2003
I'm guessing Steve Bartman is going to wince when he sees his name here.
He probably has been doing a lot of wincing lately. Harry Caray's restaurant recently bought itself a huge amount of publicity by purchasing the baseball that Bartman deflected in Game 6 of the National League Championship Series. The restaurant plans to destroy the cursed ball, and you can be very sure it won't be a private burial.
The attorney who caught the ball and auctioned it off to the highest bidder is about $95,000 richer, before those pesky taxes. He doesn't want his name made public because, you know, who wants to be associated with Bartman, other than in a financial way?
Wacky radio stations in Marlins country picked up a lot of mileage out of offering Bartman free hotel accommodations and endorsement opportunities. There has been talk of a TV movie.
It seems as if everybody has been trying to make a name (or money) off Bartman—everybody except the person named "Bartman."
There's a very good reason for this: He has rejected the great American pastime of cashing in on notoriety. He could have been the Kato Kaelin of baseball, could have done the nationwide tour, could have donned his turtleneck, sweatshirt, Cubs cap and headphones and made some serious coin. But he didn't. He could have gone on Oprah and asked for public absolution. But he didn't.
He hasn't said a word publicly since issuing a statement soon after Game 6. You might remember the way the TV helicopters were hovering over Bartman's home back then.
Bartman has hit the mute button on himself. When Harry Caray's raised the possibility of his taking part in the ritual ball execution, the Bartman camp said he wasn't likely to respond to the offer, let alone accept it. A spokesman said Tuesday there are no indications Bartman will try to profit from his Game 6 celebrity.
A very cool thing indeed.
A cynic might point out Bartman's approach is more a matter of self-preservation than a matter of principle. And it's partly true. Who would want to subject himself to the abuse that goes with being the guy blamed for blowing up the Cubs' season? But then you look at all the creeps who have come out of the woodwork over the years and you know there are lots of people who would trade on their infamy at the risk of public derision.
I give you Jessica Hahn, Linda Tripp and Princess Diana's ex-butler.
Two months after the incident, it seems pretty clear this isn't going to blow over for Bartman. There's too much in it for everybody else.
It started from the very beginning, on that fateful night at Wrigley Field. In the name of the "public's right to know" (and not to sell more papers?), one newspaper outed him as if he were a serial killer. Columnists eviscerated him, as if a fan (and not Alex Gonzalez's subsequent error) lost the game for the Cubs. It's a miracle that harm didn't come Bartman's way because of the flame-fanners.
All the details of the game eventually will fade away except for that one sequence—the ball dropping from the sky, a flock of hands reaching up to grab it and Moises Alou having a meltdown after Bartman did the deed.
People seem to remember the eight runs the Cubs later gave up only as an example of cause and effect, not of tired pitching and poor fielding. It was Bartman's fault, they say. They are knuckleheads, I say.
The Cubs are cursed. Anyone who has spent a decent amount of time in Chicago holds that truth to be self-evident. You don't go 95 years without a World Series title and believe it's only because of bad bunting or bad managing. You believe it's because of goats and deflected foul balls.
And that's exactly why Bartman can't escape this. He was no more the culprit in Game 6 than was a beer vendor. Anybody could have stuck a hand up to catch the ball, but it was Bartman's hand for a reason. That's the way the tale was supposed to be told. He wasn't evil. He was simply convenient. We're big on convenience.
He's a punching bag, even if he doesn't deserve the body blows.
But we expected that. What we didn't expect, in this day and age, was for someone to turn his back on financial opportunities and "Good Morning America" appearances.
Good for you, Steve Bartman. Happy holidays, and may your 2004 be nondescript.
It has been a few months and obviously my senses have come to me. As Marm can attest, the name still bugs me when its brought up but that has more to do with my dissapointment in the ending to last year's dream run, and not with the individual himself.
I came across this article tonight, and thought maybe a few other of my fellow Cubs fans would like to read it. Honestly, I feel bad for the guy now. Can you imagine being in his place?
Linky (http://chicagosports.chicagotribune.com/sports/columnists/cs-031223morrissey,1,7520910.column?coll=cs-cubs-utility)
Bartman shines by avoiding the spotlight
December 24, 2003
I'm guessing Steve Bartman is going to wince when he sees his name here.
He probably has been doing a lot of wincing lately. Harry Caray's restaurant recently bought itself a huge amount of publicity by purchasing the baseball that Bartman deflected in Game 6 of the National League Championship Series. The restaurant plans to destroy the cursed ball, and you can be very sure it won't be a private burial.
The attorney who caught the ball and auctioned it off to the highest bidder is about $95,000 richer, before those pesky taxes. He doesn't want his name made public because, you know, who wants to be associated with Bartman, other than in a financial way?
Wacky radio stations in Marlins country picked up a lot of mileage out of offering Bartman free hotel accommodations and endorsement opportunities. There has been talk of a TV movie.
It seems as if everybody has been trying to make a name (or money) off Bartman—everybody except the person named "Bartman."
There's a very good reason for this: He has rejected the great American pastime of cashing in on notoriety. He could have been the Kato Kaelin of baseball, could have done the nationwide tour, could have donned his turtleneck, sweatshirt, Cubs cap and headphones and made some serious coin. But he didn't. He could have gone on Oprah and asked for public absolution. But he didn't.
He hasn't said a word publicly since issuing a statement soon after Game 6. You might remember the way the TV helicopters were hovering over Bartman's home back then.
Bartman has hit the mute button on himself. When Harry Caray's raised the possibility of his taking part in the ritual ball execution, the Bartman camp said he wasn't likely to respond to the offer, let alone accept it. A spokesman said Tuesday there are no indications Bartman will try to profit from his Game 6 celebrity.
A very cool thing indeed.
A cynic might point out Bartman's approach is more a matter of self-preservation than a matter of principle. And it's partly true. Who would want to subject himself to the abuse that goes with being the guy blamed for blowing up the Cubs' season? But then you look at all the creeps who have come out of the woodwork over the years and you know there are lots of people who would trade on their infamy at the risk of public derision.
I give you Jessica Hahn, Linda Tripp and Princess Diana's ex-butler.
Two months after the incident, it seems pretty clear this isn't going to blow over for Bartman. There's too much in it for everybody else.
It started from the very beginning, on that fateful night at Wrigley Field. In the name of the "public's right to know" (and not to sell more papers?), one newspaper outed him as if he were a serial killer. Columnists eviscerated him, as if a fan (and not Alex Gonzalez's subsequent error) lost the game for the Cubs. It's a miracle that harm didn't come Bartman's way because of the flame-fanners.
All the details of the game eventually will fade away except for that one sequence—the ball dropping from the sky, a flock of hands reaching up to grab it and Moises Alou having a meltdown after Bartman did the deed.
People seem to remember the eight runs the Cubs later gave up only as an example of cause and effect, not of tired pitching and poor fielding. It was Bartman's fault, they say. They are knuckleheads, I say.
The Cubs are cursed. Anyone who has spent a decent amount of time in Chicago holds that truth to be self-evident. You don't go 95 years without a World Series title and believe it's only because of bad bunting or bad managing. You believe it's because of goats and deflected foul balls.
And that's exactly why Bartman can't escape this. He was no more the culprit in Game 6 than was a beer vendor. Anybody could have stuck a hand up to catch the ball, but it was Bartman's hand for a reason. That's the way the tale was supposed to be told. He wasn't evil. He was simply convenient. We're big on convenience.
He's a punching bag, even if he doesn't deserve the body blows.
But we expected that. What we didn't expect, in this day and age, was for someone to turn his back on financial opportunities and "Good Morning America" appearances.
Good for you, Steve Bartman. Happy holidays, and may your 2004 be nondescript.