Cubs aim to leave futility to clinic

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MESA, Ariz. -- Forty-five minutes before game time on a sun-soaked day, the line of cars stretches three blocks from HoHoKam Park. Fans lounging on blankets already fill prime spots on the berm beyond the left field fence.It has been a century since the Chicago Cubs won a World Series. The popular misconception is they are as popular as ever despite this. In fact, it is at least in part because of it.Cubs fans are baseball's existentialists. They create their own meaning. Not that they would object to winning, but perpetually pushing that rock up the hill has its own mystique.One entrance to HoHoKam greets you with enormous posters of Ferguson Jenkins, Ernie Banks, Billy Williams, Ryne Sandberg and Harry Caray. Another features Rogers Hornsby, Rick Sutcliffe, Andre Dawson, Hack Wilson, Gabby Hartnett and Ron Santo.The jerseys in the crowd are an eclectic mix of today and yesterday: Derrek Lee, Aramis Ramirez, Kerry Wood, Matt Murton, Greg Maddux, Santo and, reflecting Cubdom's generosity, Alex Gonzalez, whose error compounded Steve Bartman's interference in the most recent of the long list of historic debacles.A small boy on the left field berm proudly holds up his sign: "Future Cubbie in 2025.''The press box contains more Japanese reporters than Americans, there to chronicle Cubdom's latest savior, right fielder Kosuke Fukudome, and optimistically wearing No. 1. Behind home plate, a fan holds up the Fuk-o-meter, which shows his updated spring batting average with every at-bat.It is probably important to point out here that the name is pronounced foo-koo-DOUGH-may.Down the third base line, where the concourse bursts into sunshine, a sandwich board announces "Fergie Jenkins, HOF '91, signing here now."Sure enough, easygoing as his delivery, the first Canadian member of the Hall of Fame sits beneath a canopy affably signing baseballs for donations to benefit the Fergie Jenkins Foundation."We started it 10 years ago," he explains as Lee Smith settles in to sign for a while. "First of all, we were going to support the Red Cross, which we did one year with a golf tournament. My mother died of cancer, so we added cancer research. Plus she was blind, so we had the Canadian Institute for the Blind also. Here in Arizona there's been several other charities that people have asked us to support and we've tried to do that."Cubdom was not always the cash cow it is now. In Jenkins' day, you could buy box seats at Wrigley Field on the day of the game."When I joined the team in '66, we lost 102 ballgames," he recalls. "Wasn't a whole lot of fun coming to the ballpark. Late '60s they started to jell a little bit; '68, '69 the team got better. Now, there's so many Cub fans all over the country."He says it with a little wistfulness and a little awe.WGN's superstation status gets most of the credit for this. That and a supposed national love of futility. In fact, it is more a love of long shots, of dreams.Jenkins has a dream of his own, that a major league organization will hire him to work with its young pitchers. His genial personality and 284 major league wins would seem to make him a natural for this role."I put my name out the last few years to be basically an assistant to a general manager, just to be on the field again, but it really hasn't happened," he says. "I'm not bitter about some guys I see play and get jobs after they're through, or announcing, but I'd just like to do something that I enjoy."Nobody will say so, but it makes you wonder if the one blemish on his resume -- the discovery of small amounts of cocaine, hashish and marijuana in his luggage during a customs search when he was a player -- remains an albatross 28 years later. For years, baseball condemned recreational drugs while allowing performance-enhancing drugs to run rampant."I talked to the Pittsburgh organization this past year," he says. "Two years ago, to the Dodgers and also to the White Sox. I still think I could help recognize talent, especially on the pitching end of it."In the meantime, there are balls to sign and other memorabilia to distribute for donations to the foundation. At 65, hope still springs eternal. It is what Cubdom is all about.On the mound, 37-year-old Jon Lieber looks like the 31-year-old that won 20 games for the Cubs, pitching four scoreless innings against the Diamondbacks.In his first game back from a broken finger, Alfonso Soriano, last year's savior, gets on base in front of Fukudome, who follows with a comebacker that looks like an automatic double play. Speeding down the line out of the left-handed batter's box, Japan's latest export beats the relay easily. The full house of 12,782 at HoHoKam roars.Ryan Dempster has already predicted this is the year. Someone always does."They're working now on 100 years since they won a World Series, so people would like to see that happen," Jenkins says with that easy smile.You can ask anybody at HoHoKam. They're due.(Contact Dave Krieger at kriegerd@rockymountainnews.com.)(Dave Krieger writes for the Rocky Mountain News at www.rockymountainnews.com.)