I have been a Cubs fan since childhood, ever since my father took me to a Chicago bowling alley and introduced me to former Cubs catcher Gabby Hartnett. I do not begrudge the White Sox and Sox fans their current status. Simply put, through nature and nurture, I am a powerless Cubs fan.
My current gripe is not with Dusty Baker; he has proved himself a superior manager through the years. It is, as Rick Morrissey pointed out (Tribune, July 2), the suits and ties in the front office who seem adept at blaming others for their dismal decisions. You cannot buy yourself a winning baseball team. What happened to good organization, good minor-league clubs from which you drew your future players, good scouting and the inspiring presence of a Ron Santo, a Billy Williams, an Ernie Banks?
There was a time when the faces of a team changed little. When a new face appeared, such as Dick Ellsworth, that face rose from your minor-league organization. There was a time when players were childhood heroes who represented competitiveness, sportsmanship, love of the game. Steroids and million-dollar contracts have left us with distant myth and a yearning for something likely gone forever.
