October is one of my favorite months of the year, as it's always pretty much a non-stop cavalcade of horror movies and post-season baseball 'round here. Catching Hell, the new documentary currently showing on ESPN2, is both things — a horror movie set in the baseball post-season.
Catching Hell discusses and dissects the phenomenon of the sports scapegoat, as exemplified by Boston Red Sox first baseman Bill Buckner (who was vilified for letting an easy grounder go through his legs during Game 6 of the '86 World Series), and Steve Bartman, whose life was changed forever (and possibly even ruined) by his impulsive grab for a foul ball during Game 6 of the 2003 National League Championship Series. It's a good film, but it's also a bummer on a number of levels — as a Cubs fan, I'm relieved that I won't have to see "the Bartman play" replayed ad nauseam as part of the perpetual "festival of failure" montage that accompanies any Cubs foray into the playoffs, even though I know it was actually Alex Gonzalez (and Mark Prior, and Dusty Baker, and Paul fucking Bako) who blew the Cubs' best chance in my lifetime to make the World Series, and not some hapless fan. Catching Hell definitely lays the blame for the Cubs' 2003 collapse at the feet of the team, and makes judicious use of several clips from Games 6 and 7 to do so; but seeing the filmic evidence laid out again brought the pain of October '03 back for me in an unexpectedly gut-churning way.
I was back in Chicago during the 2003 NLCS, not to attend the games (they were actually playing in Florida during the weekend I was back) but to attend the memorial service for Bernie Markwell, my dear friend, high school history teacher, and one of the most profound influences upon my life. Returning to the city of my youth to pay my respects to my dear mentor was a heavy experience, but it was mitigated somewhat by the sheer joy that was pulsing through Wrigleyville that weekend. I vividly remember listening to the Cubs' exciting extra-innings victory in Game 3 on the radio with my Mom; equally vivid is the memory of being at the post-memorial dinner gathering the next day, and the waiters coming in to tell us that the Cubs were kicking the shit out of the Marlins in Game 4. I led a bunch of my friends and fellow diners out on a drinking expedition that night, toasting Bernie's memory with one round of red wine after another, finally closing down our bar at 4 am. In the wee drunken hours of the morning, I remember talking with a fellow Cubs fan about the team's chances, now that they were up three games to one. "We've got Zambrano going in Game 5," he said, "and then there's Prior and Wood in Game 6 and 7 if we need 'em. There's no way we're gonna lose!" But even in my liquored-up state, I knew it was too early to start celebrating. I don't believe in sports curses, but still...
Anyway, we all know what happened next — though if you don't, Catching Hell will certainly fill you in. The one frustrating aspect of the doc is that the man at the center of the storm, Steve Bartman, declined to take part in it, so we never really get to understand his take on the whole thing beyond the public statement he made shortly after the incident. It is, however, pretty fascinating (and in some cases infuriating) to hear the reflections of several of the fans who were sitting near Bartman at the time; they range from one who tried to reassure him that he'd done nothing wrong, to another who tried to pick a fight with him, to another who (in retrospect) missed becoming the game's scapegoat by a matter of inches. There's also a fairly harrowing account from the security guard who snuck Bartman out of Wrigley Field, and had to sequester him in her apartment until the Wrigleyville foot traffic abated.
Catching Hell also makes several interesting points about the concept of scapegoats, and why sports fans (and, by extension, society in general) still seem to require them. But there's one thing that kept occuring to me as I watched the doc, a point that no one in Catching Hell ever really explores: How Bartman's reaction — or rather, the lack thereof — seems to have been part of what inflamed the fans around him (and, of course, the millions who watched the whole sorry scenario on TV). I firmly believe that if Steve Bartman had been a big, fat, Belushi-esque slob who made a big show of slapping his forehead and making other "What the fuck did I just do?" gesticulations, Cubs fans would have been quick to forgive and forget. Unfortunately for Bartman, he looked like the know-it-all nebbish from everyone's high school math class; coupled with the fact that he didn't appear to acknowledge his faux pas (or even react outwardly at all), his "please give me a swirly" mien brought out the collective bully/lynch mob attitude in Cubs fans at Wrigley and elsewhere.
If there is an upside to this ugly tale, it's that Steve Bartman — despite having to live more or less incognito to this day — seems to have handled the incident and its outcome with an impressive amount of personal grace and dignity. He's never cashed in on his infamy, despite being offered hundreds of thousands of dollars to do card shows, endorsements and the like. Nor did he give in to the deluge of anger and hatred baselessly directed at him by countless Cubs fans; under the circumstances, a less balanced person might well have given in to thoughts of suicide. Maybe "Well, at least he didn't kill himself" isn't the most cheerful message you could take away from a documentary, but Catching Hell isn't a feel-good film. It is, however, an absolute must-watch for any baseball fan.
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