When Winning Isn't Possible

"I kinda hope Zambrano never pitches for us again. That was embarrassing."

When I walked out into the front room this morning, where my phone had sat over night, I saw this text from my brother. I immediately knew that Carlos had either A) gotten lit up for a ton of runs, or B) hit someone. As luck would have it, as I looked things up on my blackberry, it was a weird combination of both ... and more. My brother's reaction was not my immediate reaction. I felt more bad for the guy ... how sick is that ... because he just does not fit in on a losing team. Furthermore, I know that he wants to win as much as anyone. So I responded "poor Carlos ... he just needs to retire. He doesn't handle shitty teams well." These different responses ultimately get to the same point: it's time for Carlos to go. Hell, it's time for the entire team (short of Castro) to go. But, in particular, it's time to fully break away from the last vestiges of the "almost did it" Cubs team of 2003 (Ramirez and Zambrano), as well as the "should have done it, but lacked the fortitude when it mattered" teams of 2007 and 2008 (Soriano, Soto, Marmol). Carlos' melt down is just the most recent example of this fact.

At the end of the day, Carlos Zambrano never came close to reaching his potential. I'm not sure if he got fat, or went a little too crazy, or just wanted it too bad to be able to get it there. I do not doubt that Carlos wanted very much to be the man to get the fourth victory in the World Series for the Cubs. I have no doubt that he loves the city, the team, and the sport a good deal. I also have no doubt that the retirement statement isn't a gimmick, even if he ends up coming back. I believe firmly that Carlos is just about fed up with the state of the Cubs, and that it is hard for him to get up for going into work everyday when he knows his team can't hit with runners in scoring position, can't field worth a damn, and generally only play well when it doesn't matter. And that's not just this year: that's his entire career.

Imagine that every day you go into work, and no matter how hard you do or don't work nothing changes. The company is constantly mired in the past, unable to right its' course for the future, and day after day you are stuck with the reality that nothing you do is going to change that course because management is so incompetent that you don't get any help. They overpay for has beens in the industry. They hang on to the 65 year old who is well past his prime. They refuse to invest in fresh, out of college talent, choosing instead to hire a bunch of temps who are just proficient enough to make management pat themselves on the back. Imagine all that, and tell me that you wouldn't be looking ahead to the next thing. And let's just suppose that you had the talent and ambition to be a Fortune 500 CEO while you were at it, but being stuck in this place made it so that you never were able to flourish. Now you'll be remembered simply as an also-ran. And, now, the kicker: you love this place. It means the world to you, and you want to see it be a power in the field. You can't bear the thought of jumping ship, even when you had the chance a few years back, because you want to succeed HERE not THERE. Now, that ships sailed; you're a tarnished brand because you never were surrounded with the talent needed to succeed, and nobody wants you outside of your own place. Hell, they don't even want you anymore. What do you do?

Contrary to what this sounds like, I am far from a Carlos Zambrano apologist. He's done far too little with far too much, and he was trusted to carry our team forward after the tragedy that was the Kerry Wood/Mark Prior dynasty. Zambrano seemed to have the backbone of a mule, and the skill to go with it. He would be the ace around which our drought ended. But the Cubs never surrounded him with real talent. He's never played along side a Hall of Fame caliber player (unless you decide to count Sammy Sosa). When Wood and Prior went down the Cubs replaced them with journey men (Jason Marquis), over paid veterans who were just good enough to keep the team relevant, but didn't have a chance in the world of helping the team win it all (Ryan Dempster and Ted Lilly), or a group of junk ballers who were questionable major league talents at best (Sean Estes, Randy Wells). When, finally, this year the Cubs made a move to try to surround him with real pitching talent (Garza) it was far too little, far too late. Zambrano's ship sailed about two years ago, when Hendry's compounding of stupid moves killed the last breath of hope that the Cubs would be relevant during his reign. My point is this: if Carlos didn't win 25 games a year, he was never going to be able to overcome the short comings of his teammates. And even if he did, he didn't have enough help to win it all. The Cubs almost went out of their way to pay him like an ace, then tell him he wasn't an ace. About the time that Sweet Lou put him in the bullpen this ending was inevitable.

So go ahead and criticize him for not trying. I think you're wrong. I think he tried too hard, and that impacted his performance negatively. Go ahead and accuse him of quitting. I'd say "so what? The rest of his team quit before the season even started, and the GM quit on this team years ago." Go ahead and say he let the team down. True, but the team let him down more. At the end of the day, the truest thing you can say about Carlos Zambrano is that he never wanted to leave the team, a la Greg Maddux. He never wanted to be the circus side show, a la Sammy Sosa. And that all would have been fine if he was as even keeled as Kerry Wood ... but that was never Big Z. All he wanted to do was to win. And that just isn't possible on the North side of Chicago. We have 103 years (and counting) to prove it.