The View From Section 416: Aroldis Chapman overshadows Cubs-Sox rivalry

Chicago is a city of mythic conflicts: Mayor Richard J. Daley and his cops against long-haired hippie protesters in 1968, Eliot Ness' Untouchables vs. Al Capone's Outfit during Prohibition, and Cubs fans vs. Sox fans in the "Crosstown Classic" every summer.

Before the installation of interleague play in 1997, the Cubs and Sox had occasional exhibition games to raise money for charity (I saw Michael Jordan play outfield at Wrigley in 1994). The teams also played for keeps once, the 1906 World Series, where the "Hitless Wonders" defeated the 116-win Cubs 4 games to 2. For decades, the teams staged a postseason "City Series" that let owners and players make a few more dollars before the offseason. Chicago baseball scribe Ring Lardner dubbed this the "City Serious," and fans do indeed take it seriously. Perhaps too seriously, with so many Chicago myths in play.

Cubs fans are yuppies, White Sox fans blue collar. Cubs fans don't really watch the game, Sox fans do. Cubs fans foolishly support bad teams, Sox fans only show up when they're winning. The media loves the Cubs and ignores the Sox.

Well, whatever grains of truth these myths might have, the media do not ignore the Cubs-Sox series, and fans flock to it.

But it might surprise people to learn that the games when the Cubs host the White Sox are not the most in demand among my season ticket group in Section 416.

"After going to a few games in the first few years, I generally avoid Sox-Cubs games," the Country Doctor says. "I have nothing against the White Sox, but their fans seem to have an inferiority complex that tends to make them a tad aggressive." The Big Bun, though he came out Thursday, has a similarly dim view of the matchup. "The atmosphere may have changed over the years," he says, "but back when I did go to this series it was a bunch of drunks -- on both sides --who just wanted to talk smack to each other."

Azz puts a positive spin on this problem, saying, "I've never seen any evidence in either park that one side is more serious about baseball. This is Chicago; what we take seriously is drinking, and in that regard both sides are champions."

Cubs fans might have been driven to the bottle by consecutive losses at the Cell on Monday and Tuesday. (White Sox ownership and stadium workers might've just been driven to exhaustion, as the two crowds of 39,510 and 39,553 were the Cell's biggest gates of the year, even exceeding the 38,019 who showed up for Opening Day's snowstorm. Cubs fans travel, especially south of Madison Street.

But the buzz on the North Side on Wednesday and Thursday was all about Aroldis Chapman, or rather the myth of Aroldis Chapman.

And the myth became reality as he mopped up in Wednesday's 8-1 blowout and saved the 3-1 pitchers' duel for John Lackey on Thursday.

Most fans I talked with at Nisei pregame and later at the park were not happy with Chapman's history of domestic violence, and expressed unease with the win-at-all-cost attitude the move represents.

At the same time, if Chapman's triple-digit fastball can finally bring a championship to Wrigley, the cynic in me suspects all will be forgiven. Sports fans are a forgiving lot, especially when distracted by freakish excellence.

And Chapman's fastball? Freakishly excellent.

When he was still with the Reds, I saw him throw a pitch through the screen behind home plate. It hit a seat with a crack like a gunshot. The guy in the adjacent seat grabbed the ball and held it up like a champ; if he'd been one seat over, that pitch would've shattered his sternum.

Cubs-Sox matchups always feel odd, with intense cheering at every play (there were lots of Sox fans at Wrigley). But Chapman changes how everyone watches the game. After he struck out Melky Cabrera to end the eighth (and a threat to erase the Cubs' narrow lead) seatmate Rich pointed out that Chapman makes the game feel like a tennis match. When he pitches, all the fans first look to the plate, and then turn in unison, like 41,157 synchronized bobble-head dolls, to check the left-field videoboard to see how fast the pitch was thrown.

We were rewarded with 100, 101, 102 and 103 mph fastballs, not to mention 91 mph sliders.

How Chapman's debut games, which pushed the Sox two games below .500 and the Cubs to 21-over, will be remembered depends on how the rest of the season plays out. But at this stage, Cubs fans are thinking about creating some new myths.