Cub Febvre, Caught It!

Several years ago, when Jim Levebre was named manager of the Cubs, I had the idea that we, just in case this was THE year, should have some t-shirts printed and ready to take to Wrigley in mid August to sell to the ever faithful. The shirts would simply say "I've got pennant Febvre!"

Good thing we let that one go.

Being a Cub fan was my birthright, and I obligingly watched year after year as my Cubbies steadily declined from the near miss of '69 through the Bill Madlock/Bill Bonham years and 100 losses in 1975.

Then as suddenly as hope faded, the sun dawned bright and clear in 1977. You remember 1977, don't you? That's when baseball fans could still go to baseball games without taking out a second mortgage. Many were the times in that era that we would decide at midnight to get up at 5:00 the next morning and drive to Wrigley and pay $3.00 for a bleacher seat. If I was born a Cub fan, 1977 was my baptism, confirmation, and funeral all rolled into one.

This was the year of Bruce Sutter. From opening day of '77 through early July, Sutter was simply the most dominating pitcher the game of baseball has ever seen. If you think that's hyperbole, then go back and watch You Tube or where ever else you can. I'm telling you, if you're too young to remember, the man was unhittable. His split fingered-fastball made everyone who batted against him look silly. Of course this was before thje day of the "closer" as we know him today. If Sutter had been used as, say, Trevor Hoffman was used, he might still be pitching, and still making Hall of Famers shake their heads. For April, May, and June of 1977, Sutter made Sandy Koufax look like a batting practice pitcher. I'm still not kidding. Unfortunately, whenever the Cubs would get a lead, Herman Franks would bring in Sutter to close it up. Even if it was the fourth inning. He didn't get hurt in July -- his arm fell off. OK, now I'm kidding.

That wasn't all. This was also the year of Jerry Morales, Manny Trillo, and Rick Reuschel, all stars all. By the end of June the Cubs had ammassed a record of 47-22 and led the second place Phillies by 8.5 games. I won't go into bloody details, but Cub legend Jack Brickhouse would say it best after the carnage of August and September "The Cubs finished .500 in 1977, but they had to lose17 out of their last 21 games to do it!" They finished 20 games out of first. That's still is, and always be, my favorite Cub team.

But that's not what this is about. This is about what being a Cub fan is all about. It's about Larry Biitner. (no typo, two ii's). Biitner was a journeyman utility player who played for the Cubs during most of the mid seventies. He never made an all star team, but he played first base, outfield, and he even pitched. I remember one game, the Good Kid, Lou Boudreau was talking as the Cubs had lost their starting catcher early in the game and the game was going into the twelfth inning. When asked who the Cubs third catcher was Boudreau said, "Well, technically it's Trillo, but he's too valuable to put back there. My guess it would be Biitner (a lefty)."

Biitner did what baseball players should do. He did what we should all do, whatever our calling is in this life. He did two things -- He showed up and he suited up every day. That's all. From there it what ever was asked. How many players from today can you say that about?

At the end of that heaven/hell 1977 season, I drove to Wrigley Field all by myself to pay homage to my heroes. The guys I still remember to this day. As the game ended, me and the rest of the 6,000 or so faithful filed out. I wanted one last glimpse of my guys, so I headed over to the place where the Cub players parked. There were any number of nice Cadillac's, Corvettes, etc. And there was one old beat up station wagon with, I swear, rust in the faux wood side panels. Who do you think got in that car? That's right. Larry Biitner.

So, if this does happen to be THE year, I won't be hoisting any to Lou Pinella, Milton Bradley, Greg Maddux, Andre Dawson, Sammy Sosa, Fergie Jenkins, or even the saintly Ernie Banks and Ron Santo. In fact, I won't be hoisting anything.

No, that will be me, over in the corner, silently weeping my tears of joy for Larry Biitner. My Mr. Cub!