By all indications, nobody at Wrigley Field during Game 6 of the National League Championship Series was rooting harder for the Cubs than Steven Bartman.
As a youth league and high school second baseman, Bartman’s hero was Cubs infielder Ryne Sandberg. As a 26-year-old Northbrook resident, he was so passionate about baseball that he took time off from work to coach an elite youth team.
His friends describe Bartman as a quiet man with a good sense of humor, a finance major who acted in school plays at the University of Notre Dame, who recites baseball arcana with the precision of the most well-educated student of America’s pastime.
“He wasn’t just a fan–he knew the game,” said Gary Cohen, a friend and next-door neighbor.
On Tuesday night, natural physical instinct took over. Seated in the front row of the stands running down the left-field line, Bartman reached out to snag a Marlins foul ball as Cubs left fielder Moises Alou closed in to attempt a catch. When Bartman knocked the ball away, Alou banged his glove and pointed toward the bewildered-looking fan.
And with that reflexive act, Bartman’s life–and in the minds of some, the fortunes of the Chicago Cubs franchise–were forever altered.
After the foul ball that might have been the second out in the 8th inning, the Marlins went on to score eight runs and force a deciding Game 7.
The Billy Goat curse had struck again, in the least suspecting of all forms–an unassuming, bespectacled Everyman who simply wanted to catch a foul ball hit almost right to him.
(The Tribune did not identify the fan in Wednesday’s edition. The newspaper is publishing his name now because Bartman issued a public statement that explained his actions and apologized.)
Moments after the play, thousands of fans at Wrigley chanted a profane insult at Bartman. In the grandstand sections near Bartman, angry fans pointed at him, shouted curses and hurled cups of beer and bags of peanuts.
As security guards struggled to impose order, the din around Bartman grew louder and angrier. Many in the stands shouted they wanted Bartman dead, and one later shouted, “Lynch him!”
In the bottom of the 8th inning, Cubs’ officials opted to remove Bartman for his own safety. Escorted by off-duty Chicago police officers, Bartman covered his face as he was led to the security office amid a chorus of jeers and insults and thrown objects. A few minutes later, guards let him go and he departed, unrecognized, through the stadium’s front gate.
By Wednesday morning, Bartman was the subject of intense ridicule across the country, on Internet sites, on national TV, on talk radio, on the lips of Cubs faithful far and wide. Even Gov. Rod Blagojevich, a lifelong Cubs fan, piled on, calling Bartman’s attempt to catch the ball “stupid.”
“When you are five outs away from a potential world championship, you gotta be thinking about your team, not yourself,” Blagojevich moaned.
Television crews swarmed the home where Bartman lived with his parents and police were called to keep order. At Wrigley Field on Wednesday night, one fan carried a placard chastising Bartman as the “Goat Boy.” Another fan carried a sign reading, “America’s Most Wanted” above his photo.
E-mails of an Internet posting featuring Bartman swirled. Satirizing a credit card commercial, it showed a photo of a headphone-wearing Bartman sitting by himself in the stands after the controversial foul ball. Over the picture, it read: “Cubs hat: $15. Headphones: $45. Front Row Seats: $200. Costing Your Team Game #6: Priceless.”
Talk show host Jimmy Kimmel sent pizza to Bartman’s house. Florida Gov. Jeb Bush suggested Bartman might want to seek asylum in the state that houses the Marlins, and a Pompano Beach, Fla., retreat offered Bartman an all-expenses paid, three-month stay.
Bartman, meanwhile, went into seclusion for his own safety, family members said. And by evening, family and friends rushed to his defense.
“It’s been a tough 24 hours. The whole thing has been surreal,” said his brother Martin, 35. “He’s really hurting right now. I love him so much I’d give up a piece of my anatomy for him.”
Kevin Melchior, a college friend, said, “His name must be mud in Chicago. He’s a huge Cubs fan. His entire family is. Why did he do that?”
Bartman answered that in a written statement released by his family late Wednesday afternoon: “I had my eyes glued on the approaching ball the entire time and was so caught up in the moment that I did not even see Moises Alou, much less that he may have had a play. . . . I am so truly sorry from the bottom of this Cubs fan’s broken heart.”
The youngest of four siblings, Bartman grew up in a family of “avid, avid” Cubs fans, according to his brother and friends. Bartman carried a deep love of baseball, and he played second base for Notre Dame High School in Niles and in a highly competitive college dormitory league at Notre Dame, where he graduated in 1999.
In high school, he won academic achievement awards, served on the student council, acted in plays and was a member of the National Honor Society.
After college, Bartman worked as an associate at the Lincolnshire office of Hewitt Associates, a global human resources outsourcing and consulting firm. He is among thousands of employees who handle calls from employees about their benefits.
Melchior, his college friend, said Bartman worked for Hewitt in large part because the company was sympathetic to his coaching schedule, which often took him out of state.
Known to players as “Coach Bart,” he was one of two coaches of the 13- and 14-year-old Renegades, a youth league team in Niles on which Bartman had played. The squad went 49-25 last year and team members described him as a dedicated coach who was intense, yet nurturing.
“Most of us are upset about this,” said former Renegades player Anthony Sperindeo, 16. “We all look back at this and say, `Why did this happen to such a nice guy?'”
Added Roger Shimanovsky, whose 15-year-old son, Matt, was coached by Bartman: “He’s really not a dummy; he’s a victim of circumstance. . . . He didn’t give up eight runs.”
Peter Stubbs, a college classmate and baseball teammate on the Keenan Hall dormitory league baseball team, said the hearts of many former classmates have been aching for Bartman, especially because of his love for the Cubs.
“He’s always had a really good sense of humor. I hope that’s coming through now,” Stubbs said.
If his high school yearbook is any sign, perhaps he can. Bartman wrote: “I’ve learned no matter what happens, whether positive or negative, to be true to myself and everything will be cool.”
Cubs players were effusive in their defense of Bartman, saying they were ultimately responsible for the loss. Alou said he “felt bad” for Bartman because it is a natural reaction for fans to try to catch a ball.
Manager Dusty Baker even tried–and failed–to use Bartman as a rallying cry for his team in Game 7: “We’ve got to win for that kid. For us, it’s just a ballgame. For him, it’s the rest of his life.”
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Fan’s statement
“There are few words to describe how awful I feel and what I have experienced within these last 24 hours. I’ve been a Cubs fan all my life and fully understand the relationship between my actions and the outcome of the game. I had my eyes glued on the approaching ball the entire time and was so caught up in the moment that I did not even see Moises Alou, much less that he may have had a play. Had I thought for one second that the ball was playable or had I seen Alou approaching, I would have done whatever I could to get out of the way and give Alou a chance to make the catch. To Moises Alou, the Chicago Cubs organization, Ron Santo, Ernie Banks and Cubs fans everywhere, I am so truly sorry from the bottom of this Cubs fan’s broken heart. I ask that Cubs fans everywhere redirect the negative energy that has been vented toward my family, my friends and myself into the usual positive support for our beloved team on their way to being National League champs.”
