Commentary : Under Lights, Will the Cubs Still Be the Cubs?

Morganna the Kissing Bandit and the Chicago Symphony Orchestra didn’t come back. Ernie Banks and Billy Williams weren’t planning to throw out first balls from the pitcher’s mound. A man who saw his first Cubs game in 1904 was not there to hit the power switch and lead a capacity crowd in a chant of “Let there be lights.”

When the Chicago Cubs tried again Tuesday night to play their first official night game in the 72 years of Wrigley Field, it was a decided anticlimax. That’s to say, Cub-like: goofy and prone to mixups; charming but flawed; full of good intentions but bollixed by fate.

The question now changes. Under the arcs, if only 18 times a year, will the Cubs still be the Cubs? That is, will they remain an anachronistic, eccentric team of lovable losers who commit their bloopers in daylight in front of truant children and retirees? Will the Cubs still be the only players in baseball who are automatically and axiomatically forgiven for any sin simply because of the name on their jerseys?

Let’s not forget that from 1900 to 1945 the Cubs were one of the most feared and respected teams in baseball, winners of 10 pennants. It was only when the major leagues switched to night baseball-- and the Cubs alone didn’t go along -- that the North Side team achieved its current slapstick identity. The majors went to lights between ’35 and ‘48; in that exact period, the Cubs slowly devolved from champions to tailenders.

One episode on Monday night perfectly summarized what the Cubs have been since World War II. After two hours of rain delay, full of organ music and drunks running on the field to be tackled by cops, four Cubs had a bright idea. They’d really have some fun. Dash all over the infield tarp, do belly flops, slide over the mound, roll over the bases, even bump into a brick wall. What a collection.

Al Nipper: who claims a sore elbow. Jody Davis: who’s gotten fat and has a stiff foot. Greg Maddux: who’s tied for the National League lead in wins. And, last but far from least, Les Lancaster: who is on the disabled list recovering from an appendectomy just 15 days ago.

Yes, a Cub who can’t pitch because a scar is healing on his abdomen was doing bellyflops. “I thought it stunk,” fumed Manager Don Zimmer, who was back in his office and couldn’t intercept his merry pranksters.

“I thought it was funny,” said Cubs third baseman Vance Law. “If I hadn’t been in the game, I might have gone, too. Can’t somebody have some fun?”

Oh, the Cubs seldom miss their fun. This season, they have six National League all-stars, plus another .300 hitter and power pitcher Rick Sutcliffe. That ought to add up to pennant contention. Instead, the team began Tuesday night 53-56, 13 games behind in fourth place.

In a sense, the Wrigley family’s resistance to lights symbolized the entire franchise’s lack of commitment to competitive seriousness. Let’s get home for dinner. That attitude -- pretending that your business, your product, is really just kid’s fun -- has some charm. But it also gets threadbare, like the old country houses of poor aristocrats who won’t give up a gracious antiquated lifestyle for the sake of succeeding.

Every Cub for decades has known that day baseball was a disadvantage, though it is practically a blood oath not to admit it. “When I pitch here during the day, I’ll lose eight to ten pounds,” says Sutcliffe. “When I pitch at night in Los Angeles or San Diego, I’ll lose one pound. Maybe even gain a pound if I drink a lot. ... Andre Dawson has a perfect body on opening day. But by the end of the season, he’s down 10 to 15 pounds.

“Day ball can wear you down.”

For years, Las Vegas oddsmakers have factored the Cubs’ disadvantage into their line in the first game or two when the team goes from a day homestand to night games on the road. Every Cubs hitter must readapt to batting at night. Many here have suggested that the Cubs finish each homestand with a night game in hopes of easing the transition.

“When you get home from the road real late on Sunday night, then have to get up and fight the rush-hour traffic to get to Wrigley Field for a Monday day game, it’s physically tough,” said Cubs General Manager Jim Frey. “We think we’ll use some of those 18 night games for situations like that.”

Still, the Cubs are committed to 63 day games a year for the next 14 years. That’s seven of every nine games and already the moaning has begun here that the Chicago Tribune Co., which bought the team six years ago and started fighting for lights immediately, will fall in love with night ball and start logrolling in the legislature for more night games long before 2002.

Psychologically, many Cubs already long for the good old days. The family men can lead a normal life 81 days a summer and the bachelors can give full attention to partying.

“This is one of the best ballparks,” said Dawson. “They’re trying to turn it into a stadium.” Added Sutcliffe, “I believe in tradition and that sometimes the best things come in small packages -- the friendly confines, the fan’s friend.”

Baseball, even pro baseball, should be fun. But it shouldn’t be a joke. The Cubs, for more than 40 years, have consistently stumbled across that line. Clinging to all-day baseball is one of the key reasons. The beauty of Wrigley Field will no more be diminished by lights than are the charm of Fenway Park, the poetry of Dodger Stadium or the grandeur of Yankee Stadium.

The Cubs’ problem now, and perhaps for the next 14 years, isn’t that the club will play an occasional game under the lights. The difficulty, which neither the team nor the town has faced, is that the Cubbies will basically continue to labor under their long hot summer disadvantage.