A lone Cubs fan recently stood against a fence near the players’ parking lot outside Wrigley Field, watching as attendants valet-parked luxury sedans and sport utility vehicles.
A second fence blocked any chance for autographs, but the fan seemed content to catch small glimpses of Cubs players in their casual attire. The scene stood in sharp contrast to a relationship that sprouted between players and fans in the mid-1960s and culminated 40 seasons ago with the 1969 Cubs.
“It’s a new era,” said Ron Santo, who hit .279 with 337 home runs in 14 seasons as a Cub. “It’s different because these ball players today don’t relate like we did. There are certain ones that care, and they’ll sign. But most of them now, after ballgames, they just get their briefcase and head out.”
Today’s relationship between players and fans is distant, even at the Friendly Confines. Players rarely sign autographs before games, while stadium ushers check ticket stubs before allowing fans to walk the final 10 rows toward the field during batting practice.
Want to have a conversation with a baseball player? You might have to stand in line for hours at a promotional appearance, or sign up to follow a player’s comments on “Twitter.”
White Sox second baseman Chris Getz, Yankees outfielder Nick Swisher and Giants left-hander Barry Zito are among those who send updates to their fans in messages of 140 characters or less.
“Having breakfast … getting ready to head to the field soon,” Getz wrote last month.
Many of the 1969 Cubs would talk for fans for two hours, not two sentences. The team’s clubhouse was below the left-field bleachers, and players often would emerge to chat with the “Bleacher Bums.”
“When we would come out and take batting practice, there would be people lined up, and everybody on our team signed [autographs],” Santo said. “We knew the Bleacher Bums by their first names. The relationship was fabulous – we related to the fans as much as they related to us.”
Most of today’s Cubs players still speak glowingly about their fans and show their appreciation whenever possible. But in the era of 24-hour sports networks and sports Web logs that post unflattering pictures of players enjoying the nightlife, players tend to keep a safe distance between themselves and their fans.
Amicable Cubs reserve player Micah Hoffpauir said he enjoyed interacting with fans on the field.
“If you’re in left field, you throw a ball into the stands every inning,” Hoffpauir said. “If you’re in right or center, you throw one into the stands every other inning. I’ll always tip my hat to them when I go out, give them a wave. You want to be friendly. You definitely want them on your side.”
Hoffpauir is not recognized too often in his private life.
“I can still get by under the radar,” he said. “I like that.”
Yet many of the ’69 Cubs enjoyed a bond with fans that continued on and off of the field. The Cubs finished 92-70 but wilted down the stretch as the New York Mets captured the pennant, which still stings 40 years later.
“When we didn’t win, it was very difficult,” Santo said. “We had the best club in the National League, and the Mets came out of nowhere. But because of the entertainment that we gave those fans and the closeness with those fans, they’ve never forgotten us. It’s 40-some years and you wouldn’t believe it. You would think we had won the World Series because that’s how much they remember all of us.”
Longtime Cubs shortstop Don Kessinger agreed. He fondly remembered long conversations between players and fans throughout the late 1960s and early 1970s.
“We all regret very deeply that we were not able to bring a pennant to those great fans,” said Kessinger, 66, who still watches the team on WGN from his home in Mississippi. “It’s always ‘Maybe this year.’ One of these years, it will be. Obviously, I’d like to see it for the players and I’d like it for the organization, but most of all, I’d love it for the fans.”
Written by Tom Musick