I'm Calling You Out, Cubs "Fans"

As someone whose first spoken word after "Momma" and "Dada" was "Cubbies," this is painful for me to write:

Cubs fans are assholes.

Okay, there's still a core group of die-hard Cubs backers who are cool - knowledgable and passionate about the team. But based on my most recent experience, they're becoming an endangered species.

The people who surrounded me and my Dad in the grandstand at Wrigley on Memorial Day were among the most clueless, disinterested, self-involved dimwits to ever attend a sporting event. These "faux fans" were so bad, they made the Chablis-sipping, show-up-in-the-third-leave-in-the-sixth Chavez Ravine crowd shine by comparison.

It started even before the game did, when Fergie Jenkins threw out the ceremonial first pitch.

The guy to our direct right, decked out in a few hundred bucks worth of Cubs regalia, offered up this cogent observation: "Who's he?"

Hello? The guy's wearing a Kerry Wood jersey and he doesn't know who the hell Ferguson Jenkins is?

My dad, cheerfully naive, thought this moron actually wanted an answer and began to explain, "Jenkins was a pitcher for the Cubs during - "

At that precise moment, the guy turned away from my dad and starting yelling for the beer guy.

It went downhill from there.

Of the hundreds of people directly surrounding us, I'd say maybe five percent were actually watching the game - the rest were involved doing anything and everything but.

A quick glossary of the basic groups:

The "Hey, I'm at the Cubs game! Am I on TV?" Fan. Had Rene Descartes been alive today, he would have revised his maxim: "I talk on the cellphone incessantly about nothing and/or play Zuma, therefore I am."

The "ADD" Fan. Apparently, sitting still for more than thirteen seconds is physically impossible for these folks, who seemed to be strategically placed in the center of every aisle, forcing dozens of spectators to stand up each and every time to let them pass. Their perpetual movement created a head-churning continuous loop of mini-Waves.

The "Look at my Tits!" and its partner, "Look at my Pecs!" Fan. I lost count of "hottie wannabes" in low-slung Juicy Coutures who paraded up and down the stairs like contestants in a third-rate beauty pageant. Now, I know, this actually would have been okay had any of them been remotely attractive. But trust me, these women were to beauty what Jay Mariotti is to reporting.

The "I'm in My Living Room" Fan. These guys were the best. For no apparent reason, they'd just stand up and have conversations. More curious, their activity seemed timed to directly coincide with something happening at the plate. (I missed seeing Derrek Lee hit his homer when one group decided to stand and have a debate on whose turn it was to buy the next round of beer and nachos.)

The "My Children Will Have a Baseball Experience At the Expense of Everyone Around Them" Fan. And by baseball experience, I mean throwing crayolas at each other, fighting over Frosty Malts, playing Gameboy, and having "Where the Wild Things Are" read loudly to them by their mother while Matt Kemp was hitting a single. (If I had pulled half the stunts these kids did when I was their age, my dad would have hauled my ass out of the park in a nano-second.)

The "I'm Only Here for the Seventh Inning Stretch" Fan. This group counted for the majority of those in attendance. Utterly disinterested in any aspect of the game except stuffing their faces and mainlining beer, they suddenly came to life when the words, "Ah-one, ah-two, ah-three..." rang through the park. In fact, moments after the song was finished, about 25% of them got up and left.

There have always been idiots at Wrigley (every team has 'em) but over the last few years, they've reached critical mass on the North Side and, like a virus eating a host from the inside out, they now threaten to overtake and consume the place I love.

It didn't used to be this way. Despite what you Sox fans believe, Wrigley was a blue-collar stronghold. Hardworking fans shelled out limited discretionary income for season tickets, knew their team inside out and stuck with them through thick or thin.

But what seemed like our strength has become our undoing.

For years, while Red Sox fans wept and cursed God for their fate, we Cubs fans maintained a Zen-like calm. It's not whether you win or lose, we reasoned, it's about the beauty of the game.

I'm finally starting to understand that the Red Sox fans had it right. If you don't get mad when your team loses year after year after year, at some point it just means you've stopped giving a shit.

And that's what's happened here. How ironic that gradually, the "experience" at Wrigley has become more important than the game itself.

It's why the legendary Jack Brickhouse is all but forgotten while Harry Caray, a third-rate announcer who couldn't pronounce players' names sober much less in his preferred crapulent state (and a friggin' Cardinals fan to boot!) has a statue.

For Cubs fans, it's become (Old) Style over Substance.

And that's a damned shame. I hope things will change but the law of the Tipping Point suggests it won't. I fear the park will forever be overrun with frat boys and gentrifiers looking for a buzz and a chance to say, "I went to Wrigley this weekend."

If so, I have an idea for who should buy the team: Disney.

They should turn Wrigley Field into a theme park. Kinda like the Harlem Globetrotters meets Pirates of the Caribbean. The game would be the same every time. There would only be three innings played with twenty minute breaks between them - enough time for people to get their drinking and binge eating done. The first inning would have an opposing player hit a home run, allowing a lucky fan in the bleachers to throw the ball back. The Cubs would follow in the bottom of the first by loading the bases and getting a grand slam, allowing fans to scream and cheer! Then the game would skip directly to the middle of seventh inning, so fans can sing "Take Me Out To the Ball Game," followed by another hit-fest for the Cubs and more cheering! And then we'd skip to the top of the ninth, where we'd have our ace reliever pitch nine smokin' Ks to end it. Cubs win! Cue "Go, Cubs, Go!" - now everybody sing! It's a beautiful day for a MLB Authentic Cubs baseball jacket. Let's buy two!

Meanwhile, from here on out, I'm going to stay home and watch the Cubs on HD. Sadly, it feels more real to me than going to the park does now.