Last Saturday night marked the 50th anniversary of one of the most dramatic events ever shown live on network television: the tragic ring death of welterweight champion Benny “Kid” Paret at the hands of challenger Emile Griffith in a title bout held at Madison Square Garden on March 24, 1962.

No viewer of that ABC broadcast will ever forget the image of Paret trapped in a corner absorbing 29 uninterrupted punches from Griffith, 18 in six seconds. Referee Ruby Goldstein seemed as stunned as viewers at this incredible barrage, and when he stopped the fight too late Paret was near death as he slid down the ropes.

Although no one knew it at the time, when Peret collapsed to the canvas he took a big part of network and public interest in boxing with him. Anyone who witnessed this spectacle was affected by the result, and as millions of viewers sat stunned at the brutal scene they had witnessed in their own living rooms, sponsors and network executives must have been squirming.

It would be many years before another prizefight appeared on a network broadcast, and never again would boxing become a regular part of prime time television. The risk of another Paret-style tragedy was simply too great, and once the networks wrote-off professional boxing, the fight game became largely irrelevant to sports fans and almost invisible to the public at large.

A similar precipitous fall from grace was seen 13 years later in the world of thoroughbred racing, following the ill-fated match race at Belmont Park between the undefeated filly Ruffian and 1975 Derby winner Foolish Pleasure. Gut-wrenching images of the filly’s breakdown midway through a race she was leading contributed to network and fan abandonment of another major sport, one that may never fully recover from the fallout of that tragic event.

Hard to believe, but little more than 50 years ago the three most popular sports in America were baseball, boxing and racing - not necessarily in that order. Of this venerable trio, only baseball has retained some of its former glory.

Sustaining baseball’s popularity with the American public over the last half-century has been a delicate operation, ever-dependent on constant television exposure and some sophisticated life support techniques that include multiple tax breaks, two generations of taxpayer-built ballparks, and the ability of cable operators to bundle the costs of regular season games into a basic package that gives every consumer who wants TV access the unwritten obligation to contribute to baseball’s general welfare fund.

Meanwhile, baseball’s elites have given fans decades of diminished performance through overexpansion and multiyear contracts. The net result has been to redefine baseball’s central purpose and attraction, formerly known as the pursuit of unpredictable game results fairly achieved by the best talent available to each team over a 162-game span.

Today, with salaries that guarantee even mediocre players financial security for themselves and for generations of their offspring, career preservation often trumps the need to win. This tendency is especially evident both in the way pitchers are handled, and in the way they pitch.

Baseball has been transformed into a world where five or six-run leads are never safe from the consequences of an unwritten ban on pitching inside; from hurlers who are too dependent on strikeouts; from slap hitters who run-up the count more to get into the opponent’s bullpen than to get on base; and of course from the strict observance of pitch counts to satisfy both the demands of player agents and those of the front office.

As we enter the 2012 season, some gaudy attendance figures and the recent $2 billion selling price of the Dodgers tell us that baseball isn’t exactly on the precipice, certainly not in the way boxing and racing were before two shocking events gave networks the opportunity to pull the plug.

In fact, if baseball ever does fall to irrelevance the likely cause will be the terminal boredom it produces among fans with its continued pursuit of the five-inning start as a standard for modern pitchers.

We can be confident that Bud Selig and at least some owners love those 12-11 contests that take 3:20 to finish. After all, they give Bud a chance to say his brand of baseball gives substance to the axiom that “The Game Is Never Over…,” while those long games give owners precious minutes of quality time to sell more beer and team junk.

Meanwhile, Budball 2012 certainly demonstrates the truth as expressed long ago by another Wisconsin legend, Vince Lombardi, because in modern baseball winning certainly isn’t everything.

…and the audience I saw it with seemed more than willing to give it five. Most actually applauded as the screen credits rolled.

Brad Pitt gives another excellent performance, and if his acting in this role truly reflects the way Billy Beane conducts business, Beane may be just the dynamic leader we need to defeat Cubness and Wrigleyism.

Although the film is filled with glib assumptions that promote the idea of sabermetrics as gospel, it is extremely well-written and acted, and has only a few dull spots toward the end. Maybe the best baseball film since "Pride of the Yankees."

And it is at the end that we realize why Beane has kept himself in baseball’s ultimate backwater, and why he now may be ready to leave for the right offer.

The good news: Each of the Cubs’ 10 worst seasons have occurred in transitional years, when either a new administration was experimenting with wholesale roster changes, or when a failed management team was marking time or dumping salaries while waiting for the axe to fall.

The bad news: Although Mike Quade’s crew is likely to claim its rightful place somewhere in the middle of this exclusive list and join the 2006 Cubs as the only post-1982 entries on the Bottom 10, there are few signs that either Mike or Jim Hendry are in danger of losing their jobs, a reality that may put the 2011 Cubs in a special category: Better than Houston, and Plenty Good Enough for You!

When reviewing these 10 historically-bad seasons, don’t be surprised to spot the names of certified baseball geniuses like Leo Durocher, Dallas Green and Frankie Frisch, along with the usual suspects like El Tappe, Wid Mathews, Charlie Metro, and Phil Wrigley who even today, 34 years after his death, remains a major player in team operations.

Durocher and Green are on this list only because of the turmoil they caused by rapidly rebuilding the Cubs in 1966 and 1982 while sifting through the debris of systems they inherited from the Wrigleys. In both cases, once they were done working their magic, each man had transformed the Cubs into contenders.

Maybe the best example of the rock-bottom worst in Cubs baseball is the 1966 squad, known to some as the greatest 103-loss club in baseball history, and to others as simply the worst team ever to wear the Red and Blue. Examining that terrible year in perspective, it’s easy to see that it was a predictable short-term setback, the clear result of Leo blasting through decades of Wrigley inertia and burning away the oil slick left to him by Phil Wrigley and John Holland.

During that dreadful first year, Durocher in his own words “backed-up the truck” to make trades that brought Randy Hundley, Bill Hands, Adolfo Phillips, and Fergie Jenkins to the Cubs. At the same time, Leo and his staff used their Year One to give first and second year players from the Cubs’ system a chance to develop. Some, like Don Kessinger, Glenn Beckert, and 20-year-old starting pitcher Ken Holtzman, ultimately became All-Stars.

The ’66 Cubs were set at only two positions, with Ron Santo and Billy Williams as the club’s building blocks, and the team’s record reflects this upheaval, both at the 90-game mark (a franchise-worst 29-61), and at the end of the year (a 59-103 last place finish that tied the 1962 squad for the worst-ever Cubs season.)

As our 2011 Cubs enter the All-Star break with a 37-55 record after 92 games, it may be a good time to take a look at those Bottom-10 Cubs squads that completed 90 games with 36 or fewer wins. A full-season record is shown below for each of these memorable clubs and, if you can stand it, a capsule description of each team appears after the standings.

             All-Time Bottom-10

        At 90 games     Full-Season

1966........29-61          59-103

1957........31-59          62-92

1981........32-58          38-65 (103-game season)

1949........33-57          65-89

1953........33-57          65-89

1960........33-57          60-94

1962........33-57          59-103

1901........35-55          53-86 (139-game season)

2006........35-55          66-96

1982........36-54          73-89

2011........36-54            ???

1966 – Tied with the 1962 squad for the Cubs’ worst-ever full-season record, this crew had four and – assuming Ronnie gets in – possibly five Hall of Famers. Sometimes referred to as the most talented club ever to lose more than 100 games, four of these five Hall-of-Famers would travel with Leo on the road to Hey Hey, Holy Mackerel and the unforgettable 1969 season.

1957 – Phil Wrigley cleaned up at both ends of his baseball empire during the 1956-57 off-season, first by selling his AAAA Los Angeles Angels to Brooklyn Dodgers owner Walter O’Malley for more than $3,000,000, then by moving his LA management team to Chicago to help him run the Cubs. New faces with the Cubs included former Angels President John Holland as general manager, and PCL pennant-winning LA manager Bob Scheffing as the Cubs’ new skipper. Holland moved quickly to clean house, while Scheffing experimented all season with jerry-rigged lineups that often had Ernie Banks playing third base. To his credit, Scheffing eventually had the Cubs playing nearly .500 baseball over the last two months.

1981 – “God Help Us” read the sign held up by bleacher fans, in letters large enough to be read from any low-flying aircraft. These were the Last Days of Wrigley, and the fire sale was on to reduce payroll, presumably at the Trib’s request. Once salary-dumping operations were completed by mid-June, the media giant that had long held a financial stake in the team bought the Cubs outright from Bill Wrigley for $20.5 million and, likely, a promise to keep the Wrigley name on the ballpark.

A player strike that started that same month saved this Cubs team from a probable 52-110 final tally, along with the infamy that goes with any “Worst-Ever” title. Now, Joey Amalfitano, Joe Strain, Tim Blackwell, and Steve Dillard are left only with thoughts of what might have been.

1949 – This was the season when Phil Wrigley realized that the old ways of doing business simply would not work, which made him even more determined to keep using them – with a couple of notable exceptions. Although he still had no intention of playing night games at Wrigley Field, or bringing black players to the Cubs, by 1949 he was willing to spend money building a farm system. Along with this important change, Phil also reached beyond his usual list of cronies to hire a new manager and general manager. Unfortunately, his choices of Hall of Famer Frankie Frisch as field manager and Wid Mathews as general manager proved to be disastrous.

1953 – A forgotten year, yet certainly one of the five most significant in Cubs history, almost entirely the result of Boston Braves owner Lou Perini moving his young and talented team to brand-new County Stadium in Milwaukee at the end of spring training.

With a contending National League team just 85 miles north of Chicago, thousands of Cubs fans either rode commuter lines or made the short drive up Route 41 to instantly transform the Braves into one of Chicagoland’s two favorite teams, second only to the Go Go White Sox of Minnie, Chico, Billy, Jungle Jim, and Little Nell. By early summer, the Cubs could say “We’re Number Three,” as Wrigley Field attendance fell by 250,000 in a year when the NL average was only 927,000. As the Cubs operated in red ink for the first time under Wrigley ownership, Phil moved decisively to cut costs and change direction in several ways.

His first, and likely most damaging move, was to dismantle the Cubs’ farm system from Springfield, MA to Visalia, CA, while restoring his valuable Los Angeles franchise to its previous status: not a farm club, but instead a self-contained enterprise, no less important to the Wrigley empire than the Cubs.

By September, Wrigley at last was ready to bring black players to the Cubs, finally promoting Gene Baker from LA and purchasing Negro League star Ernie Banks from the Kansas City Monarchs for $35,000, partly on the recommendation of Buck O’Neil.

Perhaps the most substantial legacy of this seminal year was Wrigley’s rollout of his famous “Beautiful Wrigley Field” radio and TV advertising campaign, a subtle product of his promotional genius that was reinforced daily by Cubs announcers who used the phrase repeatedly during all game broadcasts. In time, this campaign would lead to the longstanding phenomenon of Wrigley Field as a ballpark that may be more important to the financial health of the Cubs franchise than the team itself.

1960 – Genius though he was at grabbing free publicity, Phil Wrigley still was no Bill Veeck, and when master showman Veeck returned to his hometown in 1959 to lead the Sox to their first pennant in 40 years, Cubs attendance took another hit. Right before the 1959 World Series, Wrigley’s response was to fire Bob Scheffing, the best Cubs manager since Charlie Grimm, before announcing that the new Cubs manager would be… Charlie Grimm. Unfortunately, by 1960 Charlie was five-years into semi-retirement as one of Phil’s ever-present baseball advisors. At age 61, he decided to call it quits as manager after 17 games, which inspired a legendary publicity stunt by Wrigley when Phil replaced Grimm in the dugout with Cubs announcer Lou Boudreau while moving Charlie upstairs to take Lou’s spot in the WGN broadcast booth.

1962 – In the wake of the massive publicity coup Wrigley engineered with his Grimm-for-Boudreau swap, Phil decided to go all-in for 1961 with an even more audacious reach for free news space as he launched his incredible College of Coaches scheme. Just when great players like Santo, Williams, Dick Ellsworth, Lou Brock, and Ken Hubbs began to produce for the Cubs, the club became baseball’s laughingstock as “the team without a manager.”

For 1962, in the spirit of “too much ain’t enough,” Phil decided to ignore the near-universal demand that he end the farce and hire a manager. As a result, in Year Two of the College, the 1962 Cubs would set an ongoing franchise standard for failure at 59-103. Like their counterparts four years later, this team also had Hall of Fame talent, including Banks, Williams, Brock and Santo.

1901 – In this last year of the Chicago Orphans, Frank Selee arrived from Boston to build and manage the nucleus of the 1906-1910 Cubbernaut. By the end of 1902, the first year of the “Cubs,” Selee had recruited rookie Joe Tinker to play short, moved rookie Johnny Evers from short to second, moved Frank Chance from catcher to first base, and installed Johnny Kling as his first-string catcher.

2006 – In what may always be known as the Year of Neifi, Jim Hendry survived a final-game purge that sent Andy MacPhail and Dusty Baker job-hunting, as new team President John McDonough apologized to fans for a most-disappointing 66-96 season. In season-long slow-motion fallout similar to this year’s Cashner-Wells double-whammy, management seemed unable or unwilling to fully-compete after D. Lee’s early-season wrist injury. Listening to Ron and Pat describe Lee’s collision with Rafael Furcal was more than enough to let Cubs fans know this would be one more season lost before it really began.

1982 – Left to his own devices, there can be little doubt that Dallas Green would have led the Cubs to more than one World Series, and very likely to a World Championship. Unfortunately, as a true “baseball man” not suited to working with Trib execs, his six-year career with the Cubs ended before he could complete the job. Like Durocher, the trademark of his first year was an immediate full-scale assault on Wrigleyism that included several deals, including his most famous: Ivan DeJesus for Larry Bowa and Ryne Sandberg. The positive effects of Green's approach can be seen in the team's final record of 73-89, which reflects the Cubs 37-35 record to close-out the year under manager Lee Elia.

Or, at least, that's the slogan being used to sell bison dogs at Wrigley Field, as reported by my oldest daughter Kathy, who was in Chicago today on a cross-country trip when she decided to stop by the game against the Rockies and see for herself what it is that inspires the remarkable devotion to team and ballpark that makes Cubs fans such a national story.

Although she never actually was tempted to buy a bison dog, she did call me in the top of the fifth to report that a vendor in the upper deck along third kept shouting “Bison dogs, they’re… BETTER THAN HOT DOGS!”, the last phrase spoken with a hint of desperation as he moved slowly through the aisles, sweating bullets from lack of sales and the heavy load he was carrying.

Speaking of someone who carries a heavy load, I’m sure Tom Ricketts will be glad to hear that Ms. Ernaga, a New Yorker born and bred, would happily vote to keep Wrigley Field operating in its pure and unadulterated form.  However, he might not agree with her opinion of rooftop developments. “Were there bleachers on top of the buildings the last time we saw a game here?” she asked, thinking back to a glorious afternoon in 1989 when, down 9-0 in the seventh, the Cubs staged their biggest rally since 1930 to defeat the Astros 10-9 on their way to the playoffs and a league-best won-loss record in that first full year of lights at Wrigley.

Twenty-two years is indeed a long time, and I had to think for a moment to remember the way it was back then, with only very modest bleachers on a couple of the Sheffield buildings. “I thought so,” she said. “I’m sure I would have remembered if what I saw today was there in ’89 – that’s exactly the sort of thing you remember as a kid.” She was six years old that first time she saw Wrigley Field, and her comment reminded me of the first game I saw there, also when I was six, looking out at those same buildings, wondering whether they were part of the playing field, and hoping to see Dee Fondy hit one over the Baby Ruth sign.

Kathy’s take on the modern rooftops: “Cute, clever but contrived. In a way, they bastardize the ballpark experience. They’re just another reminder of all the little things going on here to make money.” Hey, what can I say? She’s her father’s daughter. "The Cubs’ team gear has to be the cutest in sports, but the 50/50 raffle – what's that all about," she said. “A raffle’s OK for charitable causes, but since when do the Cubs need to rely on charity?” I didn’t have the heart to tell her about last fall's trial balloon for $200 million in public subsidies to rehab Wrigley.

The best part of Wrigley may be the seasoned citizens who serve as ushers and guides, she added. “I had a bratwurst in one hand, beer in the other, with my ticket on top of the hot dog as I held it up slightly for the usher to read. His immediate response was to ask 'Are you trying to bribe me?'” Both laughed at this gentleman's comment – a remark and a reaction that probably wouldn't be made in jest at either Yankee Stadium or Citi Field.

Admittedly not a real baseball fan, Kathy says her appreciation of Wrigley Field and its’ general ambiance had little to do with what transpired on the field today, although she was happy to see her won-loss record at Wrigley move up to 2-0. “Wasn’t it Pena who had a pretty good day?” she asked. “I don’t know, I’m always sort of surprised when they can’t catch the ball, like a dancer who falls off point, but then I wonder if I’m being unreasonable… Anyway, I could see most of the fans around me really weren't focused on the game,” she continued. “That’s what made it so nice – you really don't need to see every play in order to enjoy yourself here.”

“It’s like that George Carlin routine of baseball versus football: There really is something poetic about baseball, especially in a place like Wrigley Field.”

Following the crowd through the exits recently, I couldn’t help but think of the Ricketts family, and how the friendly gang from Creighton University certainly knows how to put on a show and give fans their money’s worth. Despite my earlier misgivings, I now can state with confidence that Joe and his kids seem adept at handling any difficulties they face in their sideline ventures, as they combine a sensitive approach with cold facts and logic to produce a product that is well worth our entertainment dollar.

Before you jump to conclusions and try to curb my enthusiasm by pointing to the Quade promotion, Hendry retention, Pena signing, Garza trade, or even the Silva catch-and-release as examples of the family’s mismanagement, I have one suggestion for you: Go see “The Conspirator,” a Civil War drama that may still be playing at your local 12-plex. As you likely know, this movie was the maiden effort of the Ricketts-owned American Film Company and, despite its lack of car chases, bathroom humor, or gratuitous sex and violence, it still holds up well in providing two hours of compelling entertainment.

The movie’s quality undoubtedly is due in great measure to its world famous director, Robert Redford, who some fans may recognize from his Opening Day appearance at Wrigley Field. By virtue of his well-earned reputation for excellence, Redford was able to attract an all-star cast to The Conspirator, using actors who, perhaps, worked at discount rates to appear in a high-concept film, or who simply wanted a chance to work with the great man.

Of course, Redford’s fame and status as an award-winning director and actor are more than enough to get his films booked in movie theaters all over the world, and we can be fairly certain The Conspirator will make money for Team Ricketts, in addition to jump-starting the family’s filmmaking endeavors. And just think – all Joe Ricketts had to do in order to succeed in the arcane world of moviemaking was to hire the right guy to manage his enterprise, then let him operate without interference.

Although it’s only speculation, we can be fairly certain that while searching for “The Conspirator’s” director, Ricketts never really considered hiring the head of the drama department at Creighton to get his movie off the ground. Even though that faculty member likely knows more than Robert Redford about stage acting, directing, and production, he or she would have faced almost insurmountable obstacles as director of “The Conspirator,” in terms of recruiting Hollywood talent, winning respect from colleagues, mastering the technical aspects of moviemaking, and convincing distributors and theater owners to show the film.

Fortunately, Ricketts made the obvious choice and picked the best person available to make his movie a success. Of course, this leads us to wonder what might have happened two years ago, if Team Ricketts had consulted with longtime owners like Ted Turner and the Steinbrenners before making their billion-dollar purchase. Perhaps George and Ted would have been honest enough to advise the family that Major League Baseball is tough on outsiders, no place for on-the-job training in top management, and requires a team leader with the special knowledge and reputation that can only be acquired through decades of successful major league service.

As we sift through the debris of the Cubs’ ongoing 70-year run of mediocrity, it's easy to spot three narrow blips that reach toward the top of the charts. These reflect productive activity by the Cubs during three short eras: the first, led by Leo Durocher from 1967-72, the second by Dallas Green from 1982-89, and, most recently, the Lou Piniella Era that ended last summer. Today, these three men represent the type of leadership needed more than ever to break through the decades-old Wrigley-Trib inertia that has the Cubs playing in heavy shoes.

Just as in moviemaking, the surest way for the Ricketts family to succeed in the closed world of big league baseball is to hire one man with leadership qualities, Major League contacts, and demonstrated MLB success, then give him a free hand to run the team from either the front office or dugout, as Stick Michael did in the 1990's for Steinbrenner, and Bobby Cox did for 20 years in Atlanta.

Unless the unlikely duo of Quade and Hendry can manage a miracle in this year’s weak Central Division, this postseason will be the time for Team Ricketts to repeat their sound moviemaking decisions, as they re-staff the Cubs’ front office and hire the best man available for the top spot. When the time comes, they could do worse than bringing-in Bobby Cox as a consultant to the screening committee. At 70, Bobby may even be a candidate for GM – after all, he's just a kid compared to the 75-year-old Bobby Redford.

As the fifth and final game of the 1972 National League playoffs came to a dramatic end, Bob Prince, the great Pittsburgh baseball announcer, understandably was distraught. Prince had just seen his defending World Champion Pirates blow a 3-2 lead in the bottom of the ninth inning and lose to the almost-ready-for-prime time Big Red Machine on a home run by Johnny Bench and a wild pitch by Bob Moose.

Struggling to keep his composure, and momentarily forgetting that he was speaking to a national audience on a network radio broadcast, Prince bewailed the fact that the Pirates, after all, did have a better record than Cincinnati during the regular season, and really deserved to be the NL champions headed to Oakland to face Charlie Finley’s A’s.

I don’t know if Bob’s comments brought him censure from NBC and the Commissioner’s Office for his indirect slam at the new playoff structure, but I’m sure many fans of that era shared his viewpoint, reflecting a consensus that the league championship rounds first played in 1969 were superfluous at best and, at worst, might result in an unworthy also-ran becoming World Champion - the dreaded “Cheese Champ.”

After all, in those first few years of league playoffs, almost everyone could remember a time when baseball pennants were fairly won over an exhausting 154 or 162-game season that guaranteed each World Series opponent held the best won-loss record in an eight or 10-team league, and had played each league opponent an equal number of times, home and away.

Back then, winning a league pennant and getting to the World Series seemed almost as good as winning the Series itself. But now, playoffs? We don’t need no stinkin’ playoffs was the cry of hardcore baseball fans. Even as they were unsettled by the relatively minor changes of 40 years ago, Prince and the baseball-viewing public could hardly have foreseen today’s postseason casino ball and its multi-level playoffs that now decide who gets to be called a champion. It’s a system designed to insure at least some wild cards and weak division winners will get into the World Series to compete with baseball’s elites, all made necessary to keep baseball solvent in an age of free agency, expansion, and enormous network television contracts.

Of course, in the decades since the ‘72 NLCS, baseball has seen several Cheese Champs get into the World Series, and occasionally win the whole thing. Perhaps the most wretched example of this came in the immediate wake of Bob Prince’s remarks, when an 82-79 Mets team defeated the far-superior Reds in the 1973 NLCS, before barely losing to the defending champion A’s in a seven-game World Series. More recently, the 2006 Cardinals gave off the odor of ripe munster as they wafted their way to a WS championship that even MLB and Fox might want to forget.

But although the purists among us may cringe at the memory of these Mets and Cardinals “champions,” as Cubs fans, we can’t deny ourselves the pleasure of imagining Q’s Crew sneaking into the playoffs at the top of the Central with a .500 or - even better - a sub-.500 record. If H & Q’s innovative “College of Pitchers” can just keep things together before Wells and Cashner return after the All-Star break, we should be ready to run the table. Then, after our Series win, we can all sit back and enjoy some fine Camembert to go with our victory beverage of choice, as we laugh away the insults of the baseball world beyond Cubdom. Eight years after our gut-wrenching loss to the Cheeseburgers in Paradise, we deserve no less.

1951 was a great year for Christmas in Chicago, especially if you were a five-year-old kid at Columbus School on the west side. Regular snowfall that year started right after Halloween, and holiday decorations in many windows went up early, along with rope putty to seal out some of the cold.

At Columbus, teachers in grades K through 8 had their students working in unspoken competition to put up the best Christmas displays, and soon every hallway was filled with color. Outside the school, however, there was only one special sign of the season: At the back of the building, near the top of the ancient four-story red-brick wing with the gothic entrance that once faced Augusta Boulevard, someone had placed a big lighted star in the east window, an object of wonder to kids from the early grades who spent recess in the small playground on that side of the school.

Our Miss Flavin, in her first year as a kindergarten teacher, had the difficult task of trying to keep 40 children from fighting or eating library paste, as she watched us cut and string garlands of construction paper. One busy morning, when she needed someone to deliver an envelope to the principal’s office across the hall, she deputized me and a kid named Raymond for the job. Armed with a hall pass, how did we repay her trust? Of course, we walked three flights up and a half-block east, taking a minor detour to see that magical star on the other side of the school. We knew she wouldn’t miss us.

Walking as quietly as we could across creaking floors through the wainscotted hallways of the old wing, we climbed up wooden stairwells until finally reaching the giant electric star at the top, where we stood looking out the window at the snow-covered playground and the traffic along Augusta, until somebody called up to us: “Hey, you boys. You come down here.” Turning to look, we saw our school janitor at the bottom of the steps, a man with a gray mustache who always wore a Cubs hat as he pushed a broom, sometimes quietly singing Italian songs as he worked.

“Who’s your teacher?” he asked, and when we told him, he ordered us to walk back with him to the kindergarten, where Miss Flavin and the principal stood waiting. As they thanked the custodian for finding us, Miss Flavin looked down sternly, and told us to say “Thank you, Mr. Cavarretta.” Then, once the principal and janitor left, she gave us a mild reprimand, along with some useful information: “You know, boys, Mr. Cavarretta’s son is a baseball player,” she said. “He plays for the Cubs.”

This information didn’t mean much to me at the time, but the following summer, as I watched my first-ever game at Wrigley Field, I heard my dad say that Phil Cavarretta was one of his favorite players and, when he pointed him out to me as old #44 put himself in as a pinch hitter late in the game, I was eager to tell my father that Phil worked at my school. With the logic of a six-year old, I tried to convince him that the player rounding first on a hit up the middle was the same man who swept the hallways at Columbus, but when my dad grimaced, shook his head, and lit up a Lucky at this news, I knew it was time to stop talking, watch the game, and follow the Cubs.

Fortunately, it wasn’t long after this mix-up that I began to understand baseball, and by the spring of 1954, when news broke that the talented Mr. Wrigley had fired Cavvy from his job as Cubs player-manager, I had no doubt why everyone at Columbus School was upset. Later, when Phil signed to play for the White Sox, I even temporarily changed my team allegiance. One day that spring, waiting in line by the boiler room for recess to start, I saw our school custodian – Phil's dad – standing next to me, and I had to ask: “Mr. Cavarretta, when are you going to get a White Sox hat?” He made a face and shook his head no. True to his word, when I left Columbus in 1957, he was still wearing a Cubs cap.

So, to Papa Joe Cavarretta and his son Phil, to Miss Mary Ceil Flavin and, of course, to my Dad, I say thanks for helping me see the lights on the road to Cubdom: Red and Blue forever!

As 2011 approaches, we should start preparing ourselves for the inevitable 50th anniversary tributes to the legendary Yankees of Mantle, Maris, Ford, Berra, Howard, Arroyo, Kubek, Richardson, and Hal Reniff. I realize the mere idea of Billy Crystal, Tim McCarver or Ken Burns taking us on more forced marches down baseball’s memory lane may prove to be a natural emetic, and for those readers made ill at the thought, my advice is to sit back, relax, and chew some Doublemint. Remember, as baseball fans, we are obliged to study and reflect upon the past.

After all, just like those lucky folks who follow the Yankees, Cubs fans also can look ahead to several important Golden Anniversaries in the coming weeks and months, commemorating events that run from the sublime to the ridiculous as products of phenomena that often defy description.

For example:

April 15, 1961 – The Al Heist Tax Day walk-off grand slam “Homer in the Snowin’” that beat the Milwaukee Braves 9-5. Like Gabby’s Gloamer in ‘38, this hit won a game that surely would have been called by the umps if another out had been made, in this case both because of darkness and the occasional snow flurry.

May 23 – Ernie Banks’ debut in left field. From Novikoff to Soriano – in the long and glorious tradition of outfielders allergic to bricks and ivy, one man stands out from the rest and, fortunately for Ernie, he returned to the infield on June 16th to play first base. Then, suffering from a knee injury, he took himself out of the lineup from June 23rd to July 1st, ending at 717 games his bid to break Stan Musial’s National League record for consecutive games played. Unfortunately, when Banks came back from this injury to play shortstop, he was no longer the superstar of the previous 6-1/2 years and, at age 30, he watched Williams and Santo become the team's most dominant players, an arrangement that would last for another decade.

May 28 – The Great Oscar Mayer Smokie Link explosion and fire that provided a Sunday afternoon crowd at Wrigley with the kind of sideshow that even Bill Veeck couldn’t script. What’s more exciting than a midget heading for the batter’s box? How about 40-foot flames from a hot dog cart scorching the bottom of the upper deck! In “the show must go on” tradition of those times, fans down the first base line just moved-in a little closer to home plate as the game continued, while the boys from Engine 78 put an end to the giant weenie roast.

July 17-18 – Cubs lose consecutive doubleheaders at St. Louis. Cards’ first baseman and future NL President Bill White goes 14-for-18 in this series, with six RBI.

August 11 – Spahnie’s 300th Win, a nifty six-hit complete game at Milwaukee good enough to defeat Cubs rookie left-hander Jack Curtis, who also notched a six-hit complete game. The Braves apparently were impressed enough with this effort by Curtis to trade Bob Buhl for Jack in early ‘62, a deal that ultimately paid major dividends for the Cubs.

September 10 – Lou Brock and Ken Hubbs arrive from the low minors to face Robin Roberts on a beautiful Sunday afternoon at Wrigley. The star-crossed duo was looking good at bat and in the field as the Cubs took a 6-1 lead into the seventh, before the last-place Phillies erupted for 13 runs. The final welcome-to-Wrigley score for the rookies was Phils 14, Cubs 6.

Of course, the most significant of all 1961 baseball anniversaries actually will occur this year, in a little over three weeks. It was on December 20, 1960 that Phil Wrigley gave us an early Christmas present with his announcement that the Cubs no longer would have a manager and, instead, play under a system of rotating “head coaches,” a plan that quickly became known as the "College of Coaches." From a baseball standpoint, the College was perhaps the single most damaging idea ever inflicted on a major league team but, as a publicity gimmick, it has endured.

Recently, I noticed Phil Wrigley’s Wikipedia entry cleverly assigns credit and/or blame for the no-manager concept to Cubs’ legend El Tappe, a prominent member of the College. To those P.K. Wrigley admirers who may be responsible for this vandalism, I say: Don’t be so modest – you’re not doing Phil or yourselves any favors.

The College of Coaches will be famous in baseball circles long after the ‘61 Yankees are forgotten, and the entire scheme bears the subtle hand of the master. I imagine Wrigley himself would be plenty upset to learn of this slight to his genius, and if a mysterious full-page ad on this subject appears in the Trib anytime soon, we may know for sure what Phil thinks in this semicentennial year.

The Giants’ World Series win Monday night was a uniquely unforgettable event for the millions of fans around baseball who had never before seen that franchise win a championship.  As sports media reminded us throughout the Series, the Giants were standing on a 56-year run of failure and, for most of the team’s followers, 1954 might as well have been 1908.

One big difference between those two years, of course, is that there actually are people still around who remember baseball in 1954, although few enough who post on sports blogs. Perhaps my recollections of the Giants’ win that year remain so vivid because ‘54 was the first season I followed baseball every day, and, to date, the only year I ditched the Cubs early to follow a winner in the National League – the New York Giants of Durocher, Mays, Mueller, Maglie, Irvin, Wilhelm, Antonelli, and the legendary former Cubs’ farmhand, Dusty Rhodes.

When that season began, I followed both Chicago teams, with no strong allegiance to either. In truth, I probably liked the Sox better – they were the exciting team in town, almost as good as the Yankees and Indians. Also, I was a big fan of the White Sox’ new backup first baseman, Phil Cavarretta, the Cubs great who recently had been fired as player-manager by P.K. Wrigley in a famous episode at the end of spring training in Mesa.

Of course, 1954 was Willie Mays’ Perfect Year. Just out of the Army at age 23, he nearly won the Triple Crown in the only season in which the Giants truly have dominated baseball since the days of John McGraw. For at least that one year, Willie ruled baseball the same way Michael Jordan would preside over basketball throughout most of the 90’s. And, in one instant similar to any of Jordan’s signature playoff moves, Mays in ‘54 topped all he had done before with The Catch, a pivotal play in Game One of the World Series that became his trademark and, perhaps, the most famous Series play of all time. 

Only a few weeks before The Catch, I was at Wrigley Field to see Willie cap a 4-for-4 day with a Waveland Avenue shot. Going to that game was a birthday present I gave my mother and, when Willie made it a special occasion for us with his home run, we both stood up to cheer. Sure, my mom loved the Cubs, but as I would see again many times with fans at Wrigley, as well as in Milwaukee and St. Louis, Mays at his best often brought opposing crowds to their feet.

Now, as the Giants prepared to sweep in Cleveland on this Saturday afternoon, October 2nd, I knew enough to try keeping quiet about my temporary allegiance as I sat watching the Channel 5 broadcast with my dad on our 12-inch RCA Victor table model TV set. Like any eight-year-old kid in Chicago, I had an almost natural dislike of New York baseball teams, something I normally shared with my father. But when the Giants built a big early lead that included a run-scoring double by Mays, I couldn’t help but yell out loud, much to his annoyance.

Later, maybe an hour after the game ended, I was helping him fire-up the Holland Furnace in the basement, as a cold front moved in right on schedule to mark the end of the baseball season. Still talking baseball, I’m sure we both already were looking forward to next season, and the possibility of a Chicago team playing in the ‘55 World Series. By ‘54, I knew his regular take on the Cubs by heart. Always realistic, it went something like this: “They haven’t been in it for almost 10 years. Don’t expect too much and you won’t be disappointed. Remember, a baseball team is a rich man’s toy.”

Now, it was starting to get dark, as we stood under the back porch, just outside the basement door. “I’ve got to finish up here,” he said, as he handed me a quarter, and told me to run over to Division Street to pick up the Red Streak edition of the Daily News. “Just make sure you get a paper that says something about today’s game.”

Walking up Leavitt Street, the classic fall aroma of burning leaves and coal dust marked the true change of seasons. Before crossing Division, I looked west through the haze toward a beautiful sunset. From several blocks away, I could see the dark outline of trees at the entrance to Humboldt Park and nearby, at Oakley, the even darker shape of the CTA carbarn where, 20 years later, the all-new Roberto Clemente High School would stand. Looking east, the Palmolive Beacon was casting bolts of light over the west side, as the movie marquee lights from the Biltmore and Strand began to mix with the colorful overhead neons from two-dozen taverns between Leavitt and Ashland, lighting the night as they advertised local beer in an alphabet that ran from Atlas Prager to Yusay Pilsen.

Across Division, the two old-timers who ran the newsstand had a fire going in a 55-gallon drum and, as I stepped up to the curb, I could see light from the flames illuminate a copy of the Daily News they had racked-up high on the side of the stand. “Giants are Champs: Win 7-4” it said. I must have been smiling a little as I put down my quarter and asked for the Red Streak. The man at the counter asked "So, did your team win?" When I replied yes, he said “I liked the Giants too. You know, I used to pitch for John McGraw.” Both men started to laugh, and I probably looked a little puzzled as I took my paper, They, indeed, were gentlemen who could remember 1908 on the west side, and as I walked away, I could hear one of them say “Next year, kid. Next year it’ll be the Cubs for sure.”

On a September morning in 1966, as the Cubs prepared to put a 59-103 exclamation point on the Terrible Twenty years of the Wrigley Reign of Error, I paid my dollar and joined 20 or 30 other fans in the left field bleachers waiting to see Kenny Holtzman face the Braves, a team that not only was completing its own Year One in Atlanta, but also a club that was in the midst of a stretch drive to finish the season over .500.

As I sat down in an almost empty front row, I was ready not only to get a close-up view of Durocher’s youth movement in action, but also to see an Atlanta team that included Hank Aaron, Eddie Mathews, Joe Torre, Rico Carty, and Tony Cloninger, as well as the original Dominican Dandy and Alou family patriarch – Felipe himself – who, at that moment, stood 20 feet in front of me, casually taking outfield practice in the last days of what would prove to be his career year.

Just then, a ball went over Alou’s glove to the base of the wall and, as he jogged toward me to pick it up, I took the opportunity to talk a little inside baseball with him: “Hey, Felipe,” I yelled down, “How come you guys are playing so good? What happened?” Looking up, Alou gave me an answer that I still remember almost every time I see a mediocre baseball team start playing .650 ball over the last few dozen games of a lost season. Smiling ear-to-ear and cupping his hand to his mouth while speaking in a stage whisper, baseball’s Original Alou offered an insight that should resonate with any current owner who may be shopping for a new manager: “We got rid of Bragan,” he said.

All you need to do is remove Bobby Bragan’s name and substitute that of your own managerial target, and you’ll not only see the surface wisdom in Alou’s candid comment but, if you take a moment to look a little deeper, you’ll realize that a mediocre team that suddenly starts winning after a late-season managerial change is mostly reaping the benefits of addition-by-subtraction. Under those circumstances, it makes almost no difference who fills-in as the new manager – the season is shot, the players are loose, and the games mean nothing more than a chance for everyone, including the new manager, to pad their resumes.

Of course, there are parallels between that long-ago Braves team of Aaron, Mathews, and Alou and the 2010 Cubs of Ramirez, Lee, and Soriano. For example, each club began the season with an established manager in his fourth year with the team, and each team experienced exceptional success after hiring a third base coach to perform clean-up managerial duty in August. The Braves under Bragan were 52-59, before staging a 33-18 stretch run under Billy Hitchcock, while this year’s Cubs were a staggering 51-74 under Lou Piniella before Mike Quade’s welcome 24-13 stint to close-out our own Year One under Team Ricketts.

I have no idea if Braves management back then saw Hitchcock as only an interim skipper before his sudden run of success but, in fact, Atlanta did wind up hiring Billy to manage in 1967, when he went 77-82 before being fired with three games left. I haven’t done the research to confirm that Hitchcock’s failure is typical of late-season managerial fill-ins who land a year-long gig but, as we contemplate what appears to be a growing resignation among Cubs fans to the idea of Quade in 2011, it may be useful for fans and owners alike to show healthy skepticism when assigning value to the success that even bad teams like the 2010 Cubs enjoy in the wake of a late-season managerial change.

As the Cubs’ new owners enter what may be Year Three of their due diligence to decide who should run their team, let’s hope they’ll see the Cubs recent success for what it most likely is: a nice way to end a dismal year. The Q-Bounce isn’t any more likely to carry-over to 2011 than the short-lived success of Billy Hitchcock’s late season run with the Braves in ‘66-‘67. Like Hitchcock, Mike Quade would be an easy target from Day One, and a losing record would signal the end for both Q and Jim Hendry at the finish of another wasted year. Even with an extra round of playoffs, 77-82 won't be good enough for the postseason, or for a fan base that will demand change.

Now is the time for ownership to show good faith by hiring leadership for the long term –  either Girardi or Sandberg in the dugout along with a new front office team, or, if absolutely necessary, Joe or Ryno, with Hendry given another contract extension. In other words, anything but a continuation of the present uncertainty that surely will lead to another lost season, where, come next September, some bleacher fan may be asking Fonzi the same question I asked Alou.

Video review of close plays sounds great in theory but, if and when it becomes standard practice, it very likely will force even the best umpires to refrain from using their own experience and initiative to make a bold borderline call. If this change takes place, umps actually may grow to welcome expanded replay as a simple way to avoid controversy. “By-the-book” may become the watchword, and – most importantly for us as Cubs fans – replay review and a companion reduction in umpire initiative may wind up eliminating one of the Cubs’ best hopes for ending a century of postseason failure.

The 2008 debacle shows us that, in addition to fielding the league’s best team, the Cubs also need significant breaks in order to navigate multi-level playoffs and overcome the franchise’s built-in handicaps.  But while a walkoff home run, spectacular outfield play, or 13-0 victory in a playoff series opener might be more than enough to send other teams on a roll, history shows that the Cubs will need something more.

That’s right, in order to overcome decades of mismanagement and Cubbie occurrences, our team ultimately may require the help of an umpire’s honest-but-controversial judgment call – the kind of decision that gives one team a shot of instant momentum and, at the same time, cuts the heart out of its opponent – a call that might indeed level the playing field for a Cubs team that, no matter how talented, likely will enter any playoff series assuming that the worst will happen.

Sure, the lack of video review means we won’t be able to appeal bad calls that go against us but, given the rotten karma that surrounds the Cubs from the moment the team begins any postseason competition, what have we got to lose by continuing the current system of umpire discretion? Just look at how well the traditional setup has worked for others: Going all the way back to the dawn of the Wild Card Era, remember when Baltimore appeared headed for a vital opening game victory at Yankee Stadium before Rich Garcia’s call on a Derek Jeter “home run” helped the Yanks overcome nearly 20 years of team futility and begin a 15-year run of success that continues to this day?

There may be no crying in baseball, but there’s certainly no shame in accepting a little unintentional help. Very likely, even the mighty Yankees needed that extra boost from a bad call to get over the legacy of the club’s lost generation. Who knows? Without Garcia and Jeffrey Meier, the Yanks might have blown that division series while provoking George to fire Torre and order his “baseball people” to start using Pettitte, Posada, Mariano, and even Jeter himself, as trade bait.

The White Sox are another well-known beneficiary of umpire initiative, as seen in Doug Eddings’ reaction to the famous Pierzynski Bluff, which saved the Sox in 2005 just when the team appeared primed for a typical Chicago collapse – potentially down 0-2 at the Cell and headed for the abyss in Anaheim. One stolen base and a Joe Crede walk-off hit later, and the Sox knew they were sitting at the right hand of the baseball gods, ready to run the table 8-0 and bring Chicago a much-deserved championship.

So, when it was time to put that 2005 Series win on the board, were the Sox and their fans ready to t’row it back because Eddings possibly made a bad call? Were the Yankees ready to demand replay review to make sure that every step of their '96 playoff run was legitimate? Certainly, our reaction would have been no different in 2003 if Mike Everitt, instead of making the safe, by-the-book call that he did, had stepped up to call fan interference on the Castillo popup simply because Alou was set to make the catch.

Had interference been called, remembering that play seven years later might lead us to think of how Everitt’s wise and courageous decision had kept some ignorant, but thankfully anonymous, fan from destroying Mark Prior’s momentum as our ace closed out the Marlins for the NL pennant. Someday soon, the Cubs and their fans are due for a momentum-shifting call to go their way in the playoffs. Here’s hoping that when that bold call is made, it doesn’t get kicked upstairs for review.

Once the proforma interviews of non-candidates are over, and the last possible ounce of publicity has been milked from a three-month buildup, I think most of us know who will emerge as the next manager of the Chicago Cubs. And, as that man plants one foot on the dugout steps next April Fools’ Day to let the crowd see him a little better as he leans forward to watch Carlos Zambrano throw the first pitch of the 2011 season, he not only will be taking one small step for himself, but also one giant leap into the unknown for the Cubs, the National League, and for the handful of other baseball immortals who secretly dream of managing a big league baseball team.

Surprisingly, as Ryne Sandberg begins next season as the 35th Cubs manager since the Hall of Fame opened its doors in 1936, he also will be the first-ever National League skipper to start his rookie year in the dugout as an established member of the Hall of Fame. In fact, since 1936, precious few HoF player inductees have managed under any circumstances: only Hornsby, Frisch, Lemon, Berra, Appling, F. Robby, Tony Perez and Teddy Ballgame. Except for Williams, each of these greats were short of HoF induction when starting out as managers.

Of the few names on this list, only Lemon and Berra reached the postseason in the years after the Hall opened, each twice managing New York teams in the World Series. Lemon, of course, lead the famous Yankees comeback in ‘78 to win it all, probably the greatest managing achievement by a sitting Hall of Fame player in the last 75 years. But of these immortals, only Williams and Sandberg carried Hall of Fame certification into a dugout from day one, so it may be worthwhile to compare Ryno today with Ted in 1969, as Sandberg prepares to launch himself into the same uncharted territory that Williams explored in his four-year managing soujourn away from the Florida Keys.

TED IN 1969:

• 51 years old, nine years after the end of his playing career.

• A media star and idol to millions, coast-to-coast. Generally regarded as second only to Ruth as a hitter.

• Last of the .400 hitters. Never hit below .310 until he was 41 years old.

• An indifferent fielder focused on Triple Crown stats only. Never known as a situational hitter.

• Hit .200 in his only postseason appearance. Most memorable hits were in the ‘41 and ‘46 All-Star Games.

• Still nursing a 30-year-old grudge against sportswriters and fans in ‘69.

• Sacrificed five prime playing years to military service, after being accused by Boston writers of draft dodging in 1942. Korean War combat hero.

• At one time, the highest paid player in baseball.

• Outspoken, irascible, notoriously profane, yet a man loved, respected and admired by teammates, opponents, and the public at large.

• Last time seen wearing a minor league uniform: Minneapolis, 1938.

• Managing Experience when hired: Zilch.

• Brought to Washington by a rookie owner and personal friend to oversee a bad team and rescue a dying franchise in a city indifferent to baseball.

• Personally down-to-earth, but constantly surrounded by idolaters and provoked by media. Ted’s hiring was treated by sports media as an event only slightly less-significant than the first Moon Landing or Elvis returning to Vegas.

• Despite the negatives seen above, achieved a very surprising 86-76 record in his first year as Senators’ manager.

RYNO IN 2011:

• 51 years old, 14 years after the end of his playing career.

• A legend in the Heartland, but generally unknown in media capitals, where casual fans likely are ignorant of his Hall-of-Fame status. Generally regarded as the best all-around second baseman since Collins, Frisch and Gehringer (except on ESPN and in parts of southern Ohio.)

• First 40 HR second basemen since Hornsby. Broke Rajah’s lifetime HR record for the position.

• Fielding records and Golden Gloves galore.

• Clemente-like performance in postseason games, with at least one hit in every contest. Lifetime .385 postseason average. Famous clutch performer renowned for the "Sandberg Game."

• Positive media relations, even in the days surrounding his first retirement.

• Sacrificed two prime playing years recovering from injuries, personal setbacks, and organizational mismanagement.

• At one time, the highest-paid player in baseball.

• Quiet, honest, notoriously polite, yet doubted by many who fail to recognize his integrity in sacrificing two years of multi-million-dollar income, or the sincerity of his HoF induction remarks.

• Last time seen wearing a minor league uniform: Des Moines, early this month.

• Managing Experience when hired: Last four years, with winning records in the Cubs’ system at Peoria, Des Moines, and Jackson, TN.

• Brought up to the big team by a rookie owner and fan to manage a mediocre roster with some talented youngsters who played well for him in the minors. Ryno’s personal appeal is expected to reverse downward trends in attendance at one of baseball’s showcase venues.

• Personally down-to-earth, a famous clubhouse prankster as a player, tough on umpires during his managing apprenticeship. His hiring will cause only a ripple in major media outside the midwest, and by mid-season, we too may forget that he’s a Hall of Famer.

• 86-76 sounds like a reasonable goal for ‘11.

Face it, for reasons good and bad, Girardi’s not coming here and Sandberg’s many positives are evident. Even if he fails, he will have taken one small step for that handful of Hall-of-Fame players who yearn to manage, a group that presumably includes our surrogate pitching coach who I hear just re-up’ed for another year in the front office.

Back when only baseball’s stars made anything approaching big money, the Players Association came up with the idea of staging two All-Star Games each year as a source of pension revenue. This practice began in 1959, during the pre-expansion age, when the 154-game schedule, countless double-headers, limited travel outside the northeast, and the tradition of daytime-only major events in baseball made this idea practical. It ended only three years later, following Game Two in ‘62 at Wrigley Field, when the double-ASG became a casualty of expansion, longer schedules, more team travel, network reluctance to disrupt daytime TV schedules and, very likely, lack of interest from the general public.

When is too much enough? Well, two All-Star Games may be a perfect example of wretched excess, but it sure didn’t seem that way on a hot and beautiful July 30, 1962, as I turned the corner at Waveland, walking east, and saw a crowd waiting to buy bleacher tickets already doubled-up at 10 a.m. Earlier that morning, I listened to a neighbor tell me what a waste of time it was to go without tickets and, as I looked for the end of the line, I realized he probably was right. To this day, I don’t know if some or all bleacher tickets for that game were supposed to be reserved, but with almost no movement on the line that morning, the unofficial word went out: “No more seats.” That rumor sent a few people home, before an official came out to mark a cutoff that was well ahead of me. As many more fans started walking away, I too was about to give up and head over to Henry’s for lunch.

Suddenly, and likely to his regret, that same official stepped back to announce that an unknown number of additional tickets now would be made available. His words instantly changed the air pressure along Waveland and produced the sound of a thundering herd from the west – a classic bums’ rush was about to achieve critical mass, and who was I to remain on the sidelines? Sure enough, the mad scramble paid off. Order was restored only after at least 50 of us rushed the line, bought tickets and headed up the ramp. Turning right at the concession stand, I saw the bleachers already packed, except, of course, for the Batter’s Eye section that had been closed since 1952. I looked around again and, incredibly, a smiling Andy Frain usher was holding open the chain-link gate to that centerfield section and beckoning me to step inside. Immediately, I headed down past rows of rotting bleachers to the best seat in the house, front row, slightly left of dead center, and watched batting practice as the rest of the Eye filled up behind me. Not bad for $1.50 and a few splinters.

It only took me another 48 years to figure out the reasons for my incredible good luck that day: the relative novelty of network sports broadcasts in color, the need for MLB to show its best face in the ASG showcase, and the eyesore those empty, rotten centerfield bleachers must have been to network and MLB executives looking at color monitors. All these things created the need for a short-term fix, and placing fans in the Eye provided an ideal last-minute cover to make Wrigley Field picture-perfect and ready for its first-ever close-up in a national telecast of an important game.

As for the ‘62 ASG game itself, the less said the better. Perhaps the highlight of the whole affair came in batting practice, when a large piece of paper gently floated down from the bleachers’ upper deck, and scored a perfect three-point landing in right center between Roger Maris and Rocky Colavito. A roar went up from the bleacher crowd: the paper was a Centerfold, and there was Miss July, in all her glory. Maris glanced down, smiled, then looked up to grab a fly ball. As he did, Colavito reached down to pick up this gift from a generous spectator, then folded it carefully before stuffing it in his pocket. It should be noted that Rocky later sent a seventh inning 3-run smash out to Kenmore Avenue, icing the game for a rare (in those days) AL win.

Today marks the 50th anniversary of my last and probably final appearance on the mound at Wrigley Field. No, I’m not Joe Schaffernoth or Marcelino Solis, or even one of those local guys from Lane Tech or Brother Rice who occasionally got 10-minute look-sees during batting practice back in the day. I’m only a longtime Cubs fan who happened to attend the May 15, 1960 doubleheader against the Cards at Wrigley Field, using box seat tickets I got as a birthday gift from a generous neighbor, who likely was reciprocating for the World Series programs and ticket stubs I scrounged up for him at Comiskey following Game Six in 1959.

If you’re a BCB regular, I’m sure you’ve seen other comments and video links that describe or show the final moments of the no-hitter Don Cardwell pitched in the second game of that 1960 doubleheader. It was Cardwell’s first appearance as a Cub, and the game itself was quite possibly the highlight of the Terrible Twenty years of unmatched failure recorded by the Wrigley Era Cubs after World War II. If you haven’t seen the very early WGN video of the ninth inning, look it up either here or on YouTube. The end of that game has been good enough for me to remember this anniversary almost every year since 1960.

As you know, the Cubs force you to savor every worthwhile event in order to keep from getting caught up in a world of “What Ifs?” and “Might-Have-Beens.” Those who have followed the team since the ‘60’s undoubtedly have asked themselves questions like: “What if Brock hadn’t been traded?” or, “What if Leo had rested his regulars?” or, “What if Kenny Hubbs had been a better pilot?” Less knowledgeable fans of that era might ask questions like “What if we give back Broglio for Brock?” or, “What if the College of Coaches becomes fully-accredited?”

The list is endless and, for the most part, unanswerable. That’s why, if you must dwell on the Cubs, one great way to work through a melancholy stretch like these first six weeks of 2010 is to ponder the team’s fascinating history, then go ahead and make up your own story lines that explore what might have been. Each of the events referenced in the following leads would have changed the course of team history dramatically, had they actually taken place. Of course, none of them did happen, and all reported quotes are, to the best of my knowledge, entirely fictitious.

I’m sure knowledgeable fans from any era may have a few more to add. As they say at Hackney’s, bon apetit...

December 12, 1915 – A new, modern and expanded West Side Grounds may be ready as early as the 1917 baseball season, Cubs owner Charles Weeghman announced today at a packed press conference held at the Morrison Hotel. “We are firmly commited to this central location,” Weeghman said. “Fans all over Chicago deserve easy access to see the Cubs play in a clean, safe, and historic environment.” he added, rejecting suggestions from reporters that the team might be forced to spend the 1916 season at the facility on Addison Street built last year for Weeghman’s short-lived Federal League team. “We’ll play at Comiskey until the new home of the Cubs is finished,” he said. “We found out the hard way that ballparks and residential neighborhoods don’t mix. Believe me, we won’t make that same mistake again.”

October 29, 1919 – Cubs owner Charlie Weeghman announced today he has assumed full control of team operations after purchasing all shares previously held by William Wrigley Jr., formerly the team’s largest minority stockholder. “1919 has been a great year for baseball, especially for me personally,” Weeghman told reporters as he described his plans for the 1920 season. “Seeing an underdog like the Reds roll over a great team like the White Sox this month has renewed my faith in the integrity of this great game.”

February 14, 1934 – A tentative agreement to sell the Chicago Cubs to Leland S. MacPhail was announced today by Cubs owner Philip K. Wrigley. MacPhail, who recently resigned as president of the Cincinnati ball club, addressed yesterday’s press conference held at the Wrigley Building, where his remarks increased speculation the Cubs may become the first major league team to offer night baseball. “Chicago’s my kind of town,” he said, “so I’m extremely confident night games will be welcomed in this community. But if we move ahead with our plans, they will be scheduled on only a very limited basis – certainly no more than 30 games next year.” In closing remarks, Wrigley acknowledged the public support he and his family have received during the 15 years they have owned the club. “Let me extend my heartfelt gratitude to each and every Cubs fan.” he said. “I’m just as sorry as you are that things didn’t work out. Each of us must remember that owning a professional baseball team is a public trust to be held only by those who know and love baseball.” he added. “I’m sure the Cubs under Mr. MacPhail will continue to operate on that principle.” On a side note, MacPhail introduced 26-year-old Walter “Red” Barber as the new and exclusive radio voice of the Cubs.

June 2, 1948 – A new fluorescent lighting system will be operational at Wrigley Field before the end of this season, Cubs owner Philip K. Wrigley said Tuesday. Wrigley apologized to fans for delays that resulted when light towers scheduled for installation in February were donated to CARE in support of the Berlin Airlift and Marshall Plan. “Mr. Saltwell of our technical group is developing a system that will make night games more attractive for all Chicagoans,” Wrigley said. “Meanwhile, the entire Cubs organization intends to meet its patriotic responsibilities.” In other Cubs news, the team announced the signing of 17-year-old Negro League sensation William Mays, Jr., who will report immediately to the Cubs AAA farm team at Los Angeles. “We fully expect Mays will be ready to play next season here in Chicago,” Wrigley said. “1948 may be a disaster, but with Willie on our roster, along with one or two other stars from the Negro Leagues, we should be ready to compete with anyone in 1949,” he added.

June 17, 1948 – Former Brooklyn Dodgers manager Leo Durocher has accepted an offer to manage the Cubs, replacing Charlie Grimm in time for today’s doubleheader with Cincinnati. “We’ve been looking for this opportunity for many years,” Cubs owner Phil Wrigley said in making the announcement. “Leo is my kind of guy, and I’m more certain than ever that with Durocher on board, we’ll see the Cubs back in the World Series by next year.” In other news, the Cubs announced the team’s 1949 home telecasts will be carried exclusively on WBKB-TV, Channel 2, with Whispering Joe Wilson and Cubs great Rogers Hornsby calling the games.

September 15, 1965 – Cubs owner Philip K. Wrigley is scheduled to meet with Mayor Daley and owners of the city's other major professional sports teams later today to discuss the city’s long-awaited plans for a domed lakefront sports palace to be occupied by the Cubs, White Sox and Bears, as well as a new NBA team. “I’m excited at the possibilities,” Wrigley said. “Every sports fan deserves the amenities that only a modern stadium can deliver. And considering the problems we’ve had competing these last few years, I think a change actually may also do the Cubs some good.” Wrigley dismissed the idea of placing his family’s name on any new facility. “Actually, I never really have been comfortable seeing my name attached to a ballpark,” he said. “Maybe it’s time for one of Chicago’s other major corporations to step up and contribute. I understand Zenith or Motorola may be interested in the naming rights once our plans are finalized.”

Nearly three years have passed since the first of Lou Piniella’s half-pennants was won on a beautiful Friday evening in Cincinnati. I’m sure many of you were there for that important occasion, and perhaps some of you also took a pregame stroll through the Reds Hall of Fame, with its special Pete Rose exhibit and its lifesize action figures of Rose, Morgan, Bench, et al, tastefully sculpted in gold polyurethane to immortalize the winning run of the 1972 playoffs and the rally that typified the magic of the Big Red Machine.

The museum was an enjoyable way to spend a half-hour, and when I spotted an official on my way out, I told him so, also mentioning how much I was looking forward to the day when the Cubs might give us a team worth commemorating. “I think you may have to wait a long time for that,” he responded. “The Cubs are too valuable just the way they are. Do you really think your fans would still be interested if they ever won?”

Looking him straight in the eye to make sure I wasn’t speaking with Thom or Marty Brennaman, I was about to say some unkind things about Pete, Joe, and Gold Star Chili. However, given this gentleman’s midwestern reserve, I decided to be a model citizen and just mutter “Yeah, I think we’ll handle it OK.” But the following evening, on the long drive home after watching Rich Hill’s bid for a no-hitter, the words of that Reds official kept coming back to me, like the taste of the Cheese Coneys I had the night before. The Cubs too valuable the way they are? What in Over the Rhine did he mean by that?

And then it hit me like a bowlful of 5-Alarm: He was right! As baseball’s most famous losers, the Cubs have developed a national and international following of millions who identify with the team’s compelling history of failure, fans who also draw strength and comfort from the consistency of an organization that defies the odds in a world of constant change. In a feat as remarkable as that of the great 19th century engineers who sent the Chicago River and its contents flowing toward St. Louis, the decades-long efforts of Wrigley, Brickhouse, and the marketing team at the Trib have been able to reverse the iron laws of business and produce a model we might fairly call “Winning by Losing.” The will of Phil, the skill of Jack, and the bottom-line focus of the Tribune stewards have locked big league baseball’s founding franchise into a never-ending – but extremely profitable – cycle of defeat.

Sure, a Cubs World Series win would temporarily intensify interest and move a mountain of team junk, but what happens after that? Unfortunately, in terms of building national interest among casual fans, the Cubs’ saga of defeat has become as important to MLB as the Yankees’ story of sustained excellence. Tell me, do any of us really follow the Bulls the same way we did before the Double Triple? Do the Red Sox have the same national cachet they enjoyed before their twin championships? Of course, chances are slim we’ll ever find out whether winning it all would diminish national interest in the Cubs – especially if the scheduled changes to Wrigley Field prove to be nothing more than cosmetic surgery to the clubhouse, restrooms, and luxury suites.

As we seek to understand the root causes of this team’s unparalleled failure, look no further than a ballpark that  carries in perpetuity the name of the family whose selfish interests and living legacy affect even the most basic team operations to this very day. Short power alleys, brick walls, no foul territory, and a limited night schedule all conspire to keep the Cubs trapped both in and on an uneven playing field, especially for pitchers and outfielders who must adjust their game to suit Wrigley’s antiquated layout at the start of each homestand. These handicaps give top free agents and draft picks the leverage to demand a “Wrigley premium” at contract time and, even with this added inducement, the best available talent usually goes elsewhere, leaving us locked into long-term mediocrity or worse. Also, no parking, limited signage, and opposition to the sale of naming rights at Wrigley deny ownership needed revenue, leading to perhaps the highest ticket prices in baseball.

As a new owner with a billion dollar commitment, what do you do when most of your revenue streams are fed by the very thing that keeps your team from winning? Certainly, Clan Ricketts should be commended for those ballpark improvements they already have initiated, but before laying-in foundations for the Triangle Building, they also should consider some even more important long-term improvements, such as enlarging and upgrading the playing field at Wrigley to meet modern big league standards. Ballpark dimensions elsewhere are modified routinely to meet new circumstances, and even Wrigley’s dimensions were changed repeatedly until 1937, before Phil Wrigley’s hidebound approach put the Cubs squarely on the road to calcification.

If this means getting the city to vacate rights-of-way or condemn nearby properties for added space, that will be the least that officials can do for an enterprise that brings enormous goodwill and revenue to the city. Operating the only venue in professional sports where the ballpark has become more important than the team requires a novel approach we might call Thinking Outside the Grid. Build a modern grandstand, expand the playing surface, plant ivy over fake brick crash barriers if necessary and, above all, be willing to combat the entrenched interests that benefit from Winning by Losing.

Whenever the Cubs face important changes, I find myself asking “What would Phil do?” Although it’s been difficult to know for sure since he left us in ‘77, with the help of a friendly medium I occasionally do get some answers. The last time I made contact was right after 2002, when he suggested moving Todd Hundley to first base and keeping Bruce Kimm as manager. “My kinda guy, my kinda guy, “ I remember him saying.

Because this may be the most important year in Chicago baseball since Bill Veeck snookered Junior Comiskey out of his birthright in ‘59, I recently decided to seek more wisdom from the original Dr. Phil. So, amidst the sickly-sweet smell of Juicy Fruit-scented patchouli oil, I watched my local savant rub her jyot and listened to her mantra as she repeated those words I suggested might prove most useful in channeling Mr. Wrigley: “Attention, attention please,” she chanted. When that didn’t work, I asked her to keep repeating “Hey Hey, Holy Mackerel,” also to no effect.

Finally, she looked up at me in disgust and said “Oh Jeez, come on!” Instantly, I heard the same strange voice I first heard in 2002. From the beyond, Phil sounded a little like Jerry Lewis on helium as he asked me what I wanted. Trying to keep a straight face, I could imagine how Pete LaCock must have felt on his famous trip to Mr. Wrigley’s office back in ‘75, but when I started to ask a question, he quickly interrupted me. “Who gives a pack of Altoids what you want?” Wrigley said. “You’re a pathetic Cubs fan, and an adult, I assume. Didn’t any grown-up ever tell you a baseball team is a rich man’s toy. Do I need to take out another ad in the Trib to make that clear?”

“No sir,” I responded, “just like you, I don’t think any ballplayer’s worth more than 200 grand either – even Bobby Murcer.” Although I couldn’t see his reaction, I certainly felt more comfortable when I heard him say: “Now you’re making sense – are you sure you’re a Cubs fan?” “Yes sir, Mr. Wrigley,” I said, “for more years than I can remember. I can even recall what Charlie Grimm used to say on the radio, every time Kindall or Zimmer would drop a popup.” After a short pause, Phil and I sounded like old drinking buddies as, together, we chanted Charlie’s signature line: “Oh man! Oh man! Oh man!”

 “You really have been around,” Phil said, “so here’s what I think we need for 2010. First of all, Theriot’s gotta go. I like the way he handles shortstop – probably the best since Ernie – but that was before he took us to arbitration. Now, I’d trade him to the Mets, even-up for Pat Misch. And there’s your fifth starter,” Wrigley continued, “Glenbrook boy – solid as they come.“

“Also, you may want to consider sending Piniella up to the radio booth and putting Santo back in the dugout. I understand Lou and Steve Lyons make quite a broadcast team,” he went on. “Oh, and one other thing,” Wrigley said, as my medium glanced at her watch to indicate my 15 minutes was about up, “tell that Ricketts gang to put in some more seats, especially around the bullpens. You just can’t put a price on good player-fan interaction. Especially if we make the playoffs.”  

Three current MLB managers are a lock for the Hall of Fame: Bobby Cox, Joe Torre, and Lou Piniella’s high school pal and ultimate clubhouse lawyer, Smilin’ Tony LaRussa. Several others, including Mike Scioscia, Terry Francona, Jim Leyland, Cito Gaston and – like it or not – Dusty Baker, probably are only a league pennant or two away from enshrinement.

And then, of course, there is Piniella himself, whose singular achievements in Cincinnati and Seattle place him squarely in line behind the three obvious inductees, and slightly ahead of those candidates who may have to wait like Dick Williams to one day, perhaps, be invited to sneak in the back door at Cooperstown. As he rests on the cusp, I imagine the last thing Lou wants is to spend his retirement waiting for the call that never comes, watching some of these other presently less-accomplished managers take their places in the Hall next to Stengel, McGraw, and Piniella’s old nemesis, Earl Weaver.

It’s sometimes assumed that the biggest reason Lou came to Chicago was to bask in the glory and certain HOF enshrinement that will be his if he can manage even a mere Series appearance by the Cubs. If he needed the money in 2006, he probably doesn’t need it now, so why else would he return after last year’s disappointments?

I think we can reasonably assume that Lou’s 2009 malaise was only temporary, most likely a byproduct of the stunning playoff failures of ‘08, and the even more stunning panic moves that he and Hendry made immediately prior to last season. By the end of that 8-game losing streak in May, Lou must have realized that Soriano, Soto and Z were in no condition to play for a championship, that Gregg was no closer, and that Bradley was every bit the head case he had been so many other places.

From that point on, I think Lou managed defensively, certainly not giving up on the team, but basically playing for 2010 and the new owner-in-waiting. By late May, he must have recognized that the 2009 Cubs had the perfect makeup to produce a 68-94 disaster which, combined with Piniella’s failures in Tampa Bay, might have sent Lou not only into retirement, but also to the back of that HOF managerial waiting line.

Make no mistake, 83 wins last year was an achievement that required Piniella to show enormous restraint on the field, in the clubhouse, and probably in the front office. In addition to saving his job, he caught a couple of breaks with the emergence of Randy Wells, and in the willingness of Milton Bradley to run himself out of town. Now, the stink of the ‘08 playoffs has worn off, team chemistry apparently is good, and at least Soto and Z are primed for a comeback. Even more importantly, Lou himself has every reason to be primed for his own comeback as a tactician and motivator.

HOF managers generally fall into two categories: Dynasty Builders like Mack, McGraw, Anson, Stengel and McCarthy, and Miracle Workers like Durocher, McKechnie, and Dick Williams. Oddly enough, three managerial miracles usually are enough for induction and, in Lou’s case, millions can verify the two he already has performed with the 1990 Reds and the 2001 Mariners.

Given his 45-year record of perseverance and the enormous personal motivation he must feel to succeed this year, the odds for his own comeback seem likely. In many ways his career as both player and manager is similar to that of Stengel – probably the greatest of all managers – who had his two best seasons at ages 66 and 68. But if I’m wrong about Lou, we should know early, when it will be Durocher ‘72 all over again.