On the whole, Chicago Cubs fans are a gentle bunch.
That willingness to boo that gives White Sox supporters a little extra bite? It just isn't our style.
That penchant for mass collective sarcasm that Yankees fans have perfected? Not our cup of tea.
Sure, once in a while, we have a "getting drunk and throwing garbage on the field" problem. And certain segments of the bleachers are reputed to have a bit of a racism problem.
But we don't have an anger management problem.
It's time to work on that.
You see, this whole "Friendly Confines, friendly folks" routine is sending the wrong message. It says we're OK with the status quo. It says we're cool with the one-and-done playoff appearances, fine and dandy with the 101 years and counting since we won the You Know What.
There's a difference between wanting a championship and demanding one. Right now, we're still stuck on the former.
That's understandable—after all, insisting upon a title from a team that took a century to make consecutive postseason appearances is a bit like insisting upon a backflip from an infant who just learned to walk.
After the 2006 nightmare, we mustered the gumption to call out the Tribune Company for running the Cubs like a cash cow instead of a big-market contender. Management responded with an encouraging (if ill-executed) spending spree.
We got Lou. We got a pair of a playoff berths. We got this thing moving in the right direction.
But we haven't quite got it right yet. As the North Siders have stumbled through a disappointing first third of the season, we're falling back on old, forgiving habits.
We're hemming about how Alfonso Soriano is bound to heat up soon.
We're hawing about how Milton Bradley will find his groove as soon as he gets healthy.
We're making excuses for why Derrek Lee has as many home runs as Mike Fontenot. We're convincing ourselves that Rich Harden will come back guns blazing (and stick around for the rest of the season).
And we're still filling up Wrigley like nobody's business, to the tune of a 96.1 percent attendance rate—No. 3 in baseball.
Admittedly, in an era of $60 tickets purchased months in advance, expressing displeasure at a franchise by staying away from the ballpark in nearly impossible. It's unreasonable to expect fans who dropped a pretty penny on seats for a should-be contender to scrap their plans because Geovany Soto forgot how to hit.
But if we must go, let's not be shy about voicing a little vitriol toward the home team when the ugly foibles of this lineup—a stunning inability to handle soft-throwing lefties, a doomed love affair with sliders in the dirt—rear their ugly heads.
And for the love of Ernie Banks, let's try not to repeat our lemming-like pilgrimages from 2002 or 2006, when we rewarded teams that lost 90-plus games with the fifth- and second-best attendance in baseball (by percentage), respectively.
That kind of behavior simply tells the new ownership that we'll buy whatever they're selling, that we'll pony up for whatever product they put on the field, no matter how miserable it may be.
So raise some hell.
Bring a paper bag to the park to slip over your head every time Soriano strikes out with men on base.
Bring a list of teams that have won a playoff game since 2003 (I count 19). Or a list of teams that have won a title since '08 (you're going to need a big poster for that one).
Bring a sign with Bobby Abreu's stats on it.
Voice a little vitriol when your $140 million club lays a $140 million egg.
Or stay at home and glower through the power of the purse.
It's not easy. It's not in our nature to be disagreeable. But we've got to hunker down and work on that "I won't be happy until we get a parade" scowl.
We've got to stop welcoming knee-jerk signings and mind-boggling roster moves with open arms.
We've gotta get angry. We've gotta get frustrated. If we want to put this unpleasant waiting game behind us once and for all, we've gotta get mean.
And we've gotta mean it.
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