Bauer's Blast

I intended to write this article after the Cubs season ended. I procrastinated. Then it slipped my mind and my brain was filled with the holidays and a new addition to the family (a dog). So for months this letter lie in the deep recesses of what little intellect I have after an eight year college stint. For all the true Cubs fans who endured the 2007 season, I dedicate this to you… and the man in the pink hat.

I, like any Cubs fan, went in to last season with the same peppered optimism that a true supporter should. There were new additions to the line up like Marquis, Soriano, Lilly and DeRosa. There was the solid core of Zambrano, Lee and Ramirez. Then there was the promise of youth in Hill, Theriot, Soto and Fontenot. It was all capped off by the hiring of one of my favorite coaches, the man I affectionately call “Uncle Lou,” the combustible Lou Pinella. So that being said, how did I become fascinated by the man in the pink hat?

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It started early in the season and right after I bought a GINORMOUS HD TV. You could tell that the team was not going to be a juggernaut but you had the feeling that they could do alright. However in an early May game, as the Cubs squandered a 3-2 lead in the ninth inning versus the woeful Pirates, I noticed him.

The thing about HD is it’s a double edged sword, you see everything! That is not so good when you see just how much makeup is on your favorite news girl…but I digress. I started to become aware of a large barrel-chested man sitting in the first row, just to the right of the catcher, who on that pathetic day was Michael Barrett. What initially caught my eye was the bright pink Cubs hat. A give-away I’m sure for Cancer awareness but the man wore it proud even though it looked odd on him as his white hair poked out from beneath the cap. He also wore a dark green polo, which I can only assume was his company’s polo because he wore it to every game and let’s be honest, if you’re sitting in first row you have to have some bank (Bank, i.e. Cash, Greenbacks, cheese, green etc.).

As the ninth inning wore on, fans stood with the important pitches but the man in the green polo sat with his arms folded, as if to say “I’ve seen this a million times.” When Pittsburgh tied it up to force extra innings the fans booed but all the man in the pink hat did was wave one arm out in the air in disgust, as if he were waving away a fly. When the game ended in the 15^th inning, he grabbed his members only looking jacket and stomped out like a grizzled veteran.

I’m not sure why he caught my attention but from that day on, game after game, I looked for the man in the green polo and the pink hat. Maybe I noticed him because as all around him became hysterical he did not. Maybe it was the fact that he didn’t have a cell phone attached to his ear as he waived at the camera like the endless stream of self important gas bags that normally sit in those rows. However if he missed one game I was worried that he had fallen ill, only to have him return at the next game, his nephew/son/grandson, it was some young guy, next to his side. My wife thought I had lost it as I pointed him out at the beginning of each match up.

So I explained it to her. That man represents all the men in my life that brought the beautiful game of baseball to me. His stoicism built on the roller coaster ride that is the Chicago Cubs. He had seen sweet swinging Billy Williams. He watched Beckert, Banks, Jenkins and Santo as the team that should have been ultimately collapsed. 92-70 just wasn’t enough in 1969. His support tested time and again in 1984, 1989 and finally in 2003 as a man named Bartman will forever be a scapegoat for a team that buckled due to errors and pitching. He remembers when Santo was not a colorful broadcaster battling as his body fails him but a young strong third baseman, clicking his cocky heals. He winces at the thought of the Shawon-o-meter. He remembers when Harry Carey called Cardinals and Sox games before becoming an icon and a caricature of himself.

His celebration is only a high-five. His camel-like ability to never leave his seat (maybe due to Depends undergarments) is a sheer marvel. He is like those that brought the game of baseball to me and made me a fan. His lack of emotions and the scowl on his face might as well have been that of my father, my grandfather or my uncles. Having him there reminded me of those times I sat with my dad and watched WGN, as I went nuts when plays went good or bad and my father just nodded his head. When I sat in disgust as my favorite player, Bill Buckner was relegated to the bench and eventually left for Boston, my father put his hand on my shoulder and told me its part of the game. As I went through trial and tribulation he watched me turn into the Cubs fan I am today. Seeing the man in the pink hat took me back to those times.

As the hot stove league starts to warm up and the talks of a future Cub’s lineup featuring Brian Roberts at second base and Japanese outfielder Kosuke Fukudome comes to fruition. I have the same peppered optimism I’ve always had. The pitching may not be enough, the hitting may go into a slump, the team could overcome all and FINALLY win the World Series but in Chicago there will be Nachos, Ivy, Beer, “Uncle Lou” and the Cubs… and the man in the Pink Hat. If for some reason he’s not there this season, I’m sure that he’s made the game of baseball special to someone, the way our fathers have made the game, more than a game to us.

For the Cubs, hope springs eternal.

Bauer

P.S. – I have the over/under on the Swampratt having to hit the dump button on Joel and Coach at three times a day thanks to Fukudome!