Out of Left Field, Another Nightmare

Insulted and incriminated by Chicago Cub fans for decades, the curse exacted a stunningly evil revenge Tuesday.

The curse became one of them.

Short, bespectacled, Cubs’ cap on his head, coat draped across his face, the curse was hunched over and shaking as he tried to escape his seat the way Mrs. O’Leary’s cow once tried to escape a fire.

An angry mob of hundreds followed the curse through the chaotic Wrigley Field concourse, pushed by decades of venom and hours of beer.

“Give me a piece of him!” shouted one man.

“Let’s pummel him!” shouted another.

The curse, sitting down the left-field line, had earlier grabbed a foul ball and certain out from Moises Alou, which had led to an eight-run inning for the Florida Marlins, turning a 3-0 lead into an 8-3 loss in Game 6 of the National League championship series.

The curse had grabbed it even though the Cubs were five outs from advancing to their first World Series in 58 years.

The curse had grabbed it even though Cub fans, among the most supportive in sports, are famous for throwing balls back.

The curse was now grabbing three security guards for his life.

“Get him! Get him!” fans shouted as they rained bottles and trash and invectives upon his cloaked face as he was hustled into a secured office.

The curse wouldn’t give his name or answer questions, and could you blame him?

Outside on Waveland Avenue, thousands more angry fans gathered for a glimpse of the man they believe may have sent them into another century of misery.

Jim Cuthbert, a longtime fan from the suburbs, was outside because he had been ejected after he dashed down 20 rows to the fan and confronted him.

“After that play, I had enough,” Cuthbert said. “Ninety-five years and this idiot gets in the way? I yelled, ‘What’s wrong with you!’ He was smirking, high-fiving his buddy.

“I yelled, ‘What the hell is wrong with you? Do you know what you just did?’ ”

As the mob ran from police truck to police truck, scanning the insides with flashlights to see if the man was being transported away, the scene became more surreal.

“They better get him out of here now, or he’s gonna die,” said one ordinary looking man in an ordinary looking Cub jacket.

How this fan affected the outcome of the game will be debated for the next 95 years. But his actions, and the Cubs’ subsequent reactions, were clear.

It was the eighth inning, Cub starter Mark Prior was cruising with a four-hit shutout and a 3-0 lead. There was one out. There was a runner on second.

Luis Castillo, the batter, had battled Prior for seven pitches before lofting a foul ball down the left-field line.

Alou raced over and stuck his glove over the brick wall, one row into the stands. The ball floated down toward the glove until, at the last minute, the fan’s bare hands knocked it away.

Alou immediately began screaming and pointing at the fan. Most of the 39,577 fans joined him.

On the next pitch, Castillo walked. Three pitches later, Ivan Rodriguez hit an RBI single. One pitch later, Cub shortstop Alex Gonzalez botched Miguel Cabrera’s grounder, loading the bases.

On the next pitch, Derrek Lee tied the game with a two-run double, Prior was lifted, and the Marlins scored five more times against the shaky Cub bullpen to finish them.

And now the fans were really howling, an entire stadium chanting curses toward one man before he finally departed through the mob.

So what do you think?

The fan did nothing illegal. There was never even a question about interference. The ball had crossed over into the stands. He was not ejected. This was not Yankee Stadium and Jeffrey Maier.

Should this fan, not paid for his baseball skill or knowledge, be blamed for the mistakes of those who make millions and should know better?

Did that fan walk Castillo? Did that fan muff that grounder? Did that fan enter the game as Kyle Farnsworth did and allow a three-run double to Mike Mordecai?

Of course not. That’s the reality.

But after all these years, and all this losing, the Cubs and their fans often rationalize their despair in legends and myth.

And in that matter, this will be a doozy.

Cub fans nationwide will unfairly cite the fan for placing doubt back into an organization that has been dogged by it for a century. Much as they did Leon Durham and his booted grounder in 1984, they will blame the fan for opening an apparently finally closed crypt just enough for the demons to escape.

“We have to forget about this one,” said Sammy Sosa afterward. “If we go home and think about it, we will not sleep all night.”

It was apparently already too late for that.

“What the fan did changed everything,” said Alou afterward. “I was 100% sure I could have caught that ball. I got there. I timed it perfectly. I jumped perfectly. I kept my eye on the ball. And then a hand came in front of the ball.”

Once he saw how the fan was threatened, Alou said he had second thoughts about being so demonstrative in his displeasure.

“The more I think about it, the more I feel bad for him,” he said. “Every fan, in every park, reacts to a ball by trying to catch it. Fans don’t go to school on what balls to touch and what balls not to touch.”

But then, Alou still thinks it changed the game, and understands how the fan will pay.

“Hopefully he doesn’t have to regret this the rest of his life,” said Alou. “Maybe we can take the load off him tomorrow and win the game.”

Or maybe not.

Maybe because, in their minds, they’ve already lost Game 7.

Maybe because, after seeing it living and breathing and running scared for his life on Tuesday, they now officially buy into the curse.

“I don’t believe in none of that crap,” protested Alou late Tuesday, sitting amid a crowded clubhouse that was ghostly quiet.

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Bill Plaschke can be reached at bill.plaschke@latimes.com.