It seems to be an era in which the unthinkable has become routine. Sammy Sosa hits 64 home runs, the next-to-last one an inside-the-park gallop around the bases last Saturday like a kid in a Little League game, yet still finishes nine behind Barry Bonds and his record 73. Jon Lieber, traded for the disgraced Brant Brown not three years ago, withstands the pressure of being the Cubs’ ace and wins 20 games. The Cubs’ entire staff cuts its earned run average by a run a game to climb to fourth in the National League, yet pitching coach Oscar Acosta is relieved of his duties before the end of the season. Finally, the Cubs do indeed play into October, but without making the playoffs, thanks to the added week of rescheduled games brought on by the terrorist attacks on September 11 and, of course, to their own ineptitude.
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Even so, the Cubs and their fans were blessed with such moments that it seemed they should have been something more at the end. Sosa, for one, was a marvel, especially considering that not a year ago his future in Chicago was uncertain. Signed to an extension and challenged by manager Don Baylor to become a more well-rounded player, Sosa did just that. With the help of Baylor’s fitness guru, Mark Newton, he took off pounds, added speed and strength, and enjoyed what might have been his best season. His 64 homers were two shy of the 66 he hit chasing Mark McGwire in 1998, but he drove in a career-high 160 runs and amassed over 100 walks for the first time in his career. He led the league with 146 runs scored, and his .328 batting average was well above his .308 of 1998. His play in the field was outstanding, his added speed and quickness allowing him to expand his range. Yet what made the strongest impression on me was how before each game, wearing that no-earflap catcher’s helmet during batting practice, he would crank out shot after shot, line drives pulled down the line or sent soaring into the right-center-field gap, as well as titanic cannonades dropped on Waveland beyond the left-field fence. Though on a given day he might have seemed a little more focused, charged up a little extra–as on the night McGriff arrived in town–his production never diminished below some minimum level of excellence. He was a machine. Yet Sosa being Sosa, he was never less than human, as on the night the Cubs returned for their first home game after September 11, and Wrigley Field was all lit up and shining like a national campfire upon the flag-bedecked apartment buildings that surround it, and Sosa homered for his 59th of the season and rounded the bases brandishing a little George Foreman-size U.S. flag. Unfortunately, the Cubs lost that game, and they lost again when Sosa hit his next homer to become the first person ever to hit 60 three times, and that loss eliminated the Cubs from playoff contention.
Kerry Wood returned from arm troubles rumored to be career threatening in September to duel turncoat Greg Maddux and the Atlanta Braves in a game the Cubs desperately needed. Wood looked marvelous, taking a 2-1 lead into the sixth, only to watch reliever David Weathers allow the tying run. Fireballing Kyle Farnsworth gave up the game winner, a windblown homer by Andruw Jones. But Wood kept going, winning two later games to finish 12-6. His injury is what had thrown the Cubs’ rotation into disarray, and a later injury to closer Tom Gordon did the same to the bull pen. The Cubs lost five in a row in early September, and another four in a row later in the month when they could least afford it–in Houston and Pittsburgh. That stretch sealed their doom and they staggered home, though not without throwing a scare into the Astros by winning three of four at Wrigley in what should have been the last series of the season.
I was thinking of Harris as I sat in the press box last Sunday for the final game of the season and gazed out at the sailboats on Lake Michigan–a favorite Harris view even in the tightest of contests. It wasn’t that the game wasn’t interesting. It was captivating, even though the outcome was meaningless. The Cubs threw their new pitching phenom, Juan Cruz, at the Pirates, and Cruz looked almost as impressive as Tavarez had the day before, slinging the ball with that big, whip-armed motion of his toward the plate, sailing fastballs away from left-handed hitters and sliders away from righties and generally dropping a lovely curve over the plate whenever the hitter least expected it. He left after five innings–the minimum required to earn the victory–having amassed eight strikeouts and a 2-1 lead, the second run coming on Sosa’s 159th RBI of the season in the first inning. The bull pen could carry him home.
