One fan’s joy is another fan’s misery, and in Chicago it is the same fan.
In the week the Cubs confirmed the obvious, so did the Bears, the sweet and the sour in one bite.
It is possible the Cubs are not the dancing darlings of destiny they seem to be, and it is conceivable the Bears are not the ragged pile of incurable McCaskeyness they have been for so long, but, as the wise man says, that would be the way to bet.
Blame is more portable than wisdom, and certainly more familiar in these parts. The Chicago sports fan never is overburdened with competing or simultaneous delight, a handy feature that keeps things tidy and recognizable. Of the five major sports teams, never have more than one won championships in the same year.
Cubs soar, Bears stink. White Sox suffer, Bulls reflect. Blackhawks anticipate. And so it goes.
With only the edge of my tongue in cheek, I saw the Bears being better than this. My apologies to anyone who took me seriously. I should have known better than to kid the unkiddable.
On the other hand, I have been whooping on the Cubs bandwagon since the tank first was filled. In the end, no one other than the teams themselves has anything to do with the way things turn out. It is the curse of being a fan to think it does.
So, where to start. Easy to pick on Jay Cutler, who deserves it, and John Fox, who will get his turn eventually, and Ryan Pace, whoever he is.
Swapping out the incompetent for the inept is the Bears business model, which makes the lengthy tenure of Cutler all the more mystifying because Cutler is at least six years past his best moment.
Cutler has been around as a Bears player longer than was Mike Ditka or Gale Sayers, longer than Jim McMahon, longer than any quarterback save Sid Luckman.
When one thinks of long-lasting Bears such as Walter Payton, Dick Butkus, Dan Hampton, Mike Singletary and on down a short list, the common factor is an honest appreciation for their gifts as they played on more bad teams than good. They remain forever Bears.
Not so with Cutler, the lingering stain on the carpet, the unfillable pot hole, the odd sock that hangs around and around. How will Cutler be remembered? As the guest who wouldn’t leave, the man who came to dinner and drank all the good wine.
The Cubs do offer a teachable moment for the Bears, not just by having talent and direction and providing a pleasant way to pass the time, win or lose, but something too obvious to ignore.
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The Cubs were sold.
Praise for Theo Epstein and Joe Maddon and all the various award nominees on the Cubs is loud and distant, as if the wide world wishing it and predicting it could make it come true. Save a thought, too, for the Ricketts family.
None of it would be happening if the Cubs had not been sold to someone who wanted it to happen, who hired the folks to make it happen, who offered vision instead of nostalgia, who did not take devotion for approval.
Here we have the Cubs and the Bears. One family planning for tomorrow and one family watching yesterday on VHS.
The Bears history is a great part of their appeal, part of the lore of the game itself, how George Halas essentially invented the NFL, a player, an owner, a fierce figure in a fedora with snowflakes in his face.
How similar to the Cubs, a tale of equal romance, full of myth and heroes, of curses and sunshine, the threads that connect generations, failure as much an honor as an identity.
This not a new suggestion, selling the Bears, nor is it likely to happen, at least not until the McCaskey heirs examine their own interests. Maybe not even then.
And yet — barring the next Jim Finks dropping out of the mist — the Bears will continue to ride their birthright on toward a vanishing horizon.
Bernie Lincicome is a special contributor to the baiduhai.
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