“Nineteen-sixty-nine–I’ve heard enough about it,” said Don Zimmer. “And I’ve been asked enough about it, and my players have been asked enough about it, but in 1969 I was managing in Key West, Florida, in the Florida State League, and what happened to the ’69 Cubs–the fans remember it, and the ’69 players remember it, but these players wasn’t on that club, and it didn’t have no reflection on this ball club.” The Cubs’ manager stood at a lectern, answering reporters’ questions during a pre-play-off workout a week ago last Tuesday at Wrigley Field. The interview session was held upstairs in the grandstand at the Stadium Club, and all the while, lurking on the wall behind Zimmer’s left shoulder–quite humorous at the time, quite ominous now–was a framed poster of the 1969 Chicago Cubs.
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What makes the Cubs’ ensuing performance in the National League Championship Series so painful–what always makes it painful–is that they really should have won. Looking at the two teams preparing for play that bright, brisk, cloudless afternoon, one had the feeling that the Cubs were not only the better team–certainly the more balanced team–but also the better prepared team. Almost to a man, they gave off a feeling of quiet confidence; they seemed to take nothing for granted, not even their own proficiency as the East Division champions and as the winningest team in the league. With no dominant team running roughshod this year, this quality of subdued confidence, of professionalism first and foremost, might have been all the Cubs needed to finish first–in a penmanship contest, the one team to dot the is will win every time–and it made them even more endearing to the common fan than the Cubs usually are. At the workout, hushed, almost whispered interviews were common. Rick Wrona at the batting cage and Ryne Sandberg in the dugout both held forth with softly uttered statements, while reporters scurried and scuffled about trying to find a way to get their tape recorders close enough to pick up a few remarks. The statement of the day, however, was issued by Mark Grace, who was asked when it was that the Cubs knew they were the team to beat–if it was after the early September Saturday win over the Saint Louis Cardinals following the crushing defeat the day before, or perhaps after the sweep of the Expos, which followed immediately after. “No, it came much later than that,” he said. “I think we finally realized that when they flashed that score, 4-1 Pittsburgh over Saint Louis, in Montreal on the night we won it.” That was the confident humility that typified the Cubs from the moment they first realized they had a chance–Andre Dawson insisted they did when he went down with an injury early in the season–right on up into the series with the Giants.
The Giants, by turn, were subdued and not confident. Their pitching staff was beat up, and their manager, Roger Craig, encouraged speculation about the health of catcher Terry Kennedy’s throwing arm. Don Robinson threw a simulated game that very day at the workout, testing a banged-up right knee that wore a large and noticeable brace under his uniform. His pitching was also noticeably subpar. (One of the great shames of the series was that the Cubs did not sufficiently pounce on Robinson’s replacement in the rotation, Mike LaCoss, in game three, nor on Robinson himself when he entered the same game in relief.) Perhaps I should have suspected something when I found the team that had just been there, playing for the NL championship only two years ago, less confident than the fresh-faced team of wonder boys. But my head said Cubs in five and my heart–being closer to the Cubs and naturally more aligned with the erratic thinking patterns of Don Zimmer–said Cubs in six.
