Everything Sucks When It's Not About You

[Matthew Trueblood]

Image courtesy of Joe Nicholson-Imagn Images

Sometimes, even things that happen to you aren't about you. That's one of life's most important truths, especially in an increasingly interconnected world, but it's also one of the hardest truths to accept. To even say it aloud sounds to obvious that lamenting it makes one sound petulant, but observing the excruciating reality doesn't make you a whiner. When it becomes clear that your role in the world is merely to be someone else's foil, plaything or punching bag, it's not irrational to feel wounded, or even furious. A mature, equanimous response is still required, but you're not crazy for feeling a boiling distemper in your gut at those moments.

For the last few years, the Cubs have been secondary characters in the story of the NL Central. They've gone from pale and forgettable challengers to more robust ones, but there comes a point every summer where it becomes clear that the story belongs to the Brewers—that they were the ones with the depth and the stakes and the blessings of good luck to win the division, and that the Cubs were only there to make the story more interesting. Last season, they were hale enough to make one last, unexpected reappearance after the battle had been all but won, pushing the Brewers to the brink in the NLDS, but they were defeated, because the Brewers were better and were always ready for that final showdown, while the Cubs weren't.

That's true again this year, at least in part. The Cubs made a valiant charge through July and into August, stringing together wins and savoring the superstar turn of Pete Crow-Armstrong, but it wasn't enough to catch Milwaukee. They never got closer than three games back of Pat Murphy's crew, who weren't as hot as the Cubs were during those weeks but didn't truly falter long enough to open the door for Chicago. After heartbreaking losses in the first two games in Seattle and two corresponding Brewers wins over the team from just outside Atlanta, Craig Counsell is suddenly seven games behind his mentor-turned-sidekick-turned-master again. The division is lost. 

Worse, the second of the weekend's defeats came on one of those days when you find out you're in someone else's story, too, even if it's a short story instead of the epic novel that is a full season. Less than a week after the game in which Pete Crow-Armstrong hit bookend homers and seemed to take over the contest with the White Sox in a way no other player could, Randy Arozarena did it right in Crow-Armstrong's face—and even one-upped him. Arozarena's homer-robbing catch ensured that the Mariners could keep the game close until the final inning, when Jacob Webb finally stumbled in a more meaningful way.

Then Arozarena, whose leadoff homer had given Seattle its first run and whose hustle on an infield single had set up their only other tally until the ninth, hit the walkoff homer to seal his total victory, right over Crow-Armstrong's head. It was a gut punch of a loss, and an unwelcome reminder that not even greatness can protect you from sometimes being outclassed. Crow-Armstrong made the White Sox scenery in a play all about him; then Arozarena did the same thing to Crow-Armstrong's Cubs.

The fury that rises in you when you feel like a mouse in the paw of a cat merely playing with its food before eating it isn't unearned. It won't do to rage about it; the mouse can't summon some reserve of strength it had simply forgotten about and overpower the cat. It won't do to ignore it, either. Sometimes, the horrible truth is that you're about to be eaten. No reaction is even required of you, but the more wise and measured your reaction, the better you'll come out in the end—be that merely because you preserved some dignity, or because there might be a twist neither you nor the cat has foreseen yet.

Cubs fans should take plenty of solace from the last two days, and from their general recent trend. David Peterson pitched exceptionally well Saturday, and continues to look primed for an October start. Webb's implosion was unfortunate, but overdue, too. He's been so good for so long that a bad game was bound to happen to him; maybe Arozarena will turn out to have been merely a needed setback to properly tell the tale of Webb's transformation from forgettable middle reliever to October relief ace. Meanwhile, Alex Bregman has gotten scorching-hot, in the way the Cubs always knew he could and in a way that should position him (and the team) well for October.

The bullpen is a glaring weakness for this team, but this weekend brought the news that Ben Brown and Justin Steele could return in time to help that pen in the postseason, along with Daniel Palencia (already back in the mix), Hoby Milner and Shelby Miller. If the club has to rely on Trent Thornton at all or on Webb to be perfect in October, they've already lost. If they can turn Thornton and Aaron Civale into (say) Brown and Steele, their margin for error should grow.

The world we live in is not, of course, a prewritten story. The Cubs, like every team and like each of us as people, are actually writing their ever-changing story, day by day. The Brewers' lead in the Central is probably insurmountable, and if the two teams meet in the playoffs, the odds will favor the Crew. Ownership of the story can always change, but right now, this year remains more about Milwaukee than about Chicago.

But while that anger at not being the best (or the most favored by Lady Luck) might linger, Cubs fans should begin to feel a sense of hope. Not all stories end with happy-ever-after for the protagonists, and some secondary characters end up with a well-earned happy ending of their own. The 2026 Cubs are better than any version since the 2017 team, and even a series of setbacks like this weekend's doesn't mean they're doomed to another disappointing denouement. A World Series title is extremely unlikely, but this club is still working its way toward what should be a satisfying place.

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[Arlen]

Nice article. And Scarlett was right. And tomorrow was another day.

[PVG]

I read Matt's article this morning that left me thinking not so much about baseball, but about how differently two people can look at the same events.

The Brewers may very well win the division. The Cubs may very well have blown whatever chance they had to catch them. Randy Arozarena did have a spectacular game against them, culminating in a walk-off home run that sailed over Pete Crow-Armstrong's head.

Those things happened.

What I disagree with is the meaning the article assigns to them.

The article begins with the idea that sometimes you discover that what is happening is not really about you. You are merely a secondary character in somebody else's story — a foil, a plaything, even a punching bag.

That is where I lose the author.

Why does someone else's success make me a secondary character?

Arozarena had a wonderful game. Good for him. Mariners fans got to watch something memorable. A few days earlier, Crow-Armstrong had one of those games himself, hitting two home runs and seemingly taking over a game against the White Sox.

But why does one of those performances have to turn the other team into scenery?

That seems to me an unnecessarily bleak way to look at baseball, and perhaps at life.

One person's accomplishment does not require another person's diminishment.

I am a Cubs fan. I want the Cubs to win. I would very much like them to catch Milwaukee. I would like them to win the World Series. I am disappointed when they lose, particularly when they lose games they seemed capable of winning.

But there is a difference between wanting my team to win and needing them to win in order for the experience to have value.

Baseball, more than almost any sport, ought to teach us that.

A very good baseball team still loses sixty games. A very good hitter makes an out most of the time. A great pitcher gives up home runs. A Gold Glove outfielder occasionally watches a ball sail over his head.

Failure is not some unfortunate intrusion into baseball. It is part of baseball.

That is one reason the sport is so compelling. You don't know who will be great today.

Sometimes it will be Crow-Armstrong. Sometimes it will be Arozarena. Sometimes Jacob Webb will get the big out. Sometimes he will give up the home run.

None of those moments requires us to decide who is the protagonist and who has been reduced to a supporting role.

The article says, rather definitively, that “the division is lost.”

Maybe it is. Seven games in late August is a lot. Milwaukee is a very good team.

But even if the division is lost, I don't understand why that means the season has somehow become Milwaukee's story and the Cubs have become secondary characters in it.

The Cubs still have games to play.

Crow-Armstrong is developing into a remarkable player. Alex Bregman is hitting. Injured pitchers may be coming back. The team appears headed toward October. There will be good games and bad games, players who surprise us, moments that are exhilarating and others that are painful.

Those aren't consolation prizes.

Those are the season.

I think this is where my disagreement with the article becomes less about baseball.

I don't think life is divided into protagonists and supporting characters.

If somebody else succeeds, I have not become smaller. If another person is better than I am at something, I have not become scenery in his story. If someone else's child accomplishes something wonderful, that does not diminish what my child has accomplished.

And if the Brewers have a wonderful season, that doesn't somehow make the Cubs' season meaningless.

There is a strange assumption underneath the idea that someone else “owns the story.” It assumes that meaning is scarce — that for one person or team to possess it, somebody else must lose it.

I don't think that is true.

And I don't think being positive means pretending that everything is wonderful.

The Cubs lost two painful games in Seattle. The bullpen has problems. Milwaukee has a substantial lead. All true.

Positivity doesn't require denying any of that.

It means refusing to turn every disappointment into a verdict.

A loss is a loss. It does not mean you have discovered your true place in the universe.

Arozarena's home run was not evidence that the Cubs are mice being toyed with by a cat. It was a home run. A very dramatic one.

Tomorrow somebody else may hit one.

Maybe that is part of what I love about baseball. It continually gives you opportunities to be disappointed without becoming despairing.

You can care deeply. You can want desperately to win. You can complain about the bullpen. You can second-guess the manager. You can be miserable for ten minutes after a walk-off loss.

And then there is another game.

For a Cubs fan, maybe that isn't a consolation.

Maybe that's the point.