I guess this is probably not earth-shattering news to many of you, but for me, it is heartbreaking. And the thing is, I think he's a good pitcher. I think he's one of two or three reliable people in the Cubs bullpen. There have been plenty of under-performing pitchers on the Cubs staff--obvious to anyone who has seen any games this year.
But I'm through with trying to understand why the Cubs do the things they do. Seriously, as a Cubs fan who went to something like 70 games last year, I'm done. I'm done throwing my money away. And even as I write this, I know I'm lying. In the words of Brokeback Mountain, "I wish I knew how to quit you."
I don't think Bowden was the next Cy Young. I don't think he's a superstar. But what stupid people often forget is that we don't need a team of superstars. Look at frickin LA's teams. They have plenty of superstars, and they're colossal failures. What you need is someone who will get the job done. And that's what Bowden has done this year. No, he doesn't have a .000 E.R.A. But look at the Cubs' bullpen. SERIOUSLY.
And this brings me to the plight of the Cubs fan. We get attached to the Michael Bowdens. We meet them because they're so accessible. We find out they have families. We find out they're hometown kids who grew up Cubs fans and then get to play for their team. We find out they spent their offseason playing in the Dominican Republic to get better. We talk to them about the rules of baseball and they define terms for us that make no sense, and they do it patiently, like we are children, not irritatedly, like we are stupid. We drive to Iowa to see them play after they are sent to AAA, and we make sure we are there for their first game back when they are called back up to the big show.
Time passes and we greet each other by name and don't even bother asking for autographs anymore. We tell them they should smile with their teeth showing, and then they start to. We bring them birthday presents and write them encouraging letters. And then they write us back and give us game-used stuff. We stand with them by the dugout during rain delays and they make fun of our hats. We watch as they, day after day, patiently sign autographs for several dozen fans who may not even know their name. We watch them struggle on the mound, and we watch them strike out the side. We have special handshakes. We run into them walking down Sheridan and their face lights up when they recognize us, and they take out their earbuds to have a conversation.We tell them about our friend's family whose cousin died, and they listen and ask questions and care, even though they don't know our friend's family and even though they don't really know us besides our first names.
And then, on a Sunday afternoon after a game, we see them walking out of the clubhouse, and we don't know they've just been designated for assignment, but they probably do. We watch, a little surprised, as kids call out their name and they don't even look over, and we reach out for a fist bump, and we see a sad smile, and we get the fist bump and a meaningful look that we will remember for a long time, because we will later realize that this is probably the last time that we will ever interact with them. We cannot write them a last letter because there's nowhere to send it. We can't tell them how much it means to us that a professional baseball player took time our for us so many times, and that that player is the reason we came back for 70-plus games. We have no closure. We can't say goodbye.
Michael Bowden, I know you will never read this, but I want you to know that when I am old and gray, I will tell the story of you to my grandchildren, or at least to my siblings' grandchildren, and I will show them all the pictures we took, how you said the first one was way too blurry and you wanted a good one, not knowing that I would take so many, many more of us in the next year. I will tell them how we asked you if you were a Christian, and you smiled and said, "Yes, I am!" I will tell them how I visited you and Blake Parker in Iowa and you accused me of stealing sunflower seeds from the bullpen. I will tell them how you made me feel important as a fan. I will show them your shoelaces that I am positive will still be hanging from my rearview mirror, even years and years later, because it is my favorite thing I ever received. I will tell them how Angela and I always asked you what your favorite Bible verse was, and on the last day you wrote it on the shoelace you gave Angela. I will not tell them how you liked her better than me, because I choose to believe you liked us equally, even though she got the Bible verse AND a letter...
I know you'll get picked up by another team--I'm not worried about that at all. I'm just so sad, so sad down in the pit of my stomach. And, because you're not a robot, I think you're probably pretty sad, too, and that you might be wondering what you're going to do now. And I don't think I can go to Wrigley if you're not there, at least not for a while.
And here are some of the pictures of us:
Until we meet again, Michael Bowden, I wish you all the best, and you're in my prayers.
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