The 152 Addison Street bus was standing room only on the way to the Cubs game a week ago Sunday, even 90 minutes before the first pitch. Upon arriving, fans were in line for tickets with brooms in hand, as the Cubs threatened to sweep the Montreal Expos after winning the first two games of the series. Outside the ballpark it seemed like any other weekend game on an April afternoon, as if the eight-month baseball strike had never taken place.
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No-shows, however, are not the most troubling aspect of fan involvement in the new poststrike era of baseball. While the faithful are back–as shown by that crowded bus and those brooms–the less devoted fans are staying away in droves. In their place is a rabble–there is no better way to describe it–eager to show its displeasure with the sport in general and the players in particular. The players have gone out of their way to mend their relationship with fans–which was deteriorating long before the strike–with tactics such as making themselves more available for autographs. At Wrigley Field that Sunday afternoon there were four–count ’em, four–Cubs standing next to the dugout and signing autographs only minutes before game time. The faithful have been made to feel wanted. But other fans have submitted players to razzing that is excessive by all previous standards. And the mood of the fans in general has been surly and confrontational.
When a 51-minute rain delay struck Comiskey Park the night of the Cubs-Sox exhibition game, dozens of fans jumped onto the field to try to belly slide on the wet infield tarp–including, at one point, about 10 or 15 in a blitz. Another reminder of the uncertain relationship between fans and teams was offered as we left Wrigley Field that Sunday. Ushers were at the gate giving out magnetized schedules, which normally would have been presented to fans on entry. The Cubs shifted that policy after fans by the hundreds (if not thousands) had thrown their schedules onto the field the day before. In a New York incident that received big play in Sports Illustrated, three fans wearing “GREED” T-shirts ran onto the field in the middle of a game, threw fistfuls of dollar bills at the players, and performed a “fan power” salute at second base before they were ushered away.
The Sox demonstrated not only how the quality of play can suffer during an eight-month layoff but how the environment surrounding the game has been poisoned. For instance, the Sox have oftentimes looked distracted in the early going, on the mound and in the field. Ordinarily, the manager would be blamed for such a persistent lack of concentration. But were other things to blame here? The Sox lost Julio Franco to Japan when the free-agent designated hitter became fed up with the strike and went to the nearest place he was guaranteed a paycheck. The best the Sox could replace him with was Chris Sabo. They tried to lowball Mickey Tettleton, a left-handed hitter with 30-homer power, and Tettleton went elsewhere (for no more money than Sabo signed for, as it turned out), even though he would have been a much better fit behind Frank Thomas as the cleanup hitter. Did the Sox lose interest in winning because they perceived that management had? Such questions are the major fallout from the strike and the continued antagonism between players and owners.
