Chicago’s sports teams find themselves at a nadir, a place that feels all too familiar for local fans.
An illustration of people in front of the Chicago skyline with bags over their heads, wearing Chicago Bears, Chicago Blackhawks, and Chicago White Sox shirts
In 1981, when I was 12, the local media tried to get us all excited about the postseason run of the Chicago Sting, the pro soccer team at the time. The Bears had been losing, the Cubs and Sox were terrible, the Bulls mediocre, the Blackhawks hardly ever on television. The Sting were presented as a consolation prize, something we could root for till something better came along. Few of us were buying it, though thousands of fans showed up at O’Hare to meet the team after they won the league title. I wasn’t one of them, but I remember watching a TV reporter on the scene interviewing a guy offering congratulations, until it quickly became clear that he was only there to catch a flight to Detroit. Still, at least one local franchise was trying.
So here’s my question: Where is this generation’s Chicago Sting? The sporting life of this city nowadays is a traveling circus, a cavalcade of clowns that shuts down for the season in one arena only to reopen in another. At the United Center last January, Bulls fans booed Jerry Krause’s widow into tears, an incident shameful enough to curse the entire year ahead. Not least for Bulls owner Jerry Reinsdorf, who also owns the White Sox — and who was regularly implored by fan chants to sell that team, owing to its losing 121 games last year, the most in major-league history. Like a painting by Chuck Close, the Sox’s season was a big picture made of many little pictures. In one, the team’s entire infield stands around as a routine pop-up falls among them; in another, spaced-out infielder Lenyn Sosa takes the catcher’s practice throw to second base square in the face.
In a sense, the Bulls are actually underperforming the Sox by being mediocre — not bad enough to have a decent shot at a lottery pick in the draft. And the Blackhawks? Let’s just say this: Consider it a blessing that many of you haven’t been able to watch their games on TV this season thanks to a cable dispute.
Then there’s the Bears! My God, the Bears! Who can forget the lowlights of this season? The backbreaking Hail Mary loss to Washington that set this long train wreck in motion; the clock debacle that saw Matt Eberflus, on the verge of upsetting the Lions on Thanksgiving, stare blankly as the last seconds ticked away on the game and his job; the weekly pounding endured by rookie quarterback Caleb Williams, who needed only 13 games to set the team record for sacks taken and has been forced to learn an important Chicago skill: how to run while being chased.
The sports ecosystem today is as bad as we’ve ever known it. The Cubs haven’t won a playoff game since 2017. The Sky, three years removed from a WNBA title, have taken up new residence near the bottom of the standings. The Fire had the second-worst record in major-league soccer, while the Red Stars were thumped in the first round of the playoffs. Except for a few delirious seasons here and there, Chicago fans’ fate of late remains the same as ever: to symbolize futility.
All of which leads me to ask: What the hell is happening? A poor performance by one club is to be expected. It’s the natural cycle of up and down that mimics the ebb and flow of life. But every team ebbing at the same time? What are the odds? It’s almost enough to make you believe in …
If there is a curse, Chicago teams carried it from the start. In 1871, as the outfit that became the Cubs cruised toward what would have been their second straight title, their season was upended by the Great Chicago Fire, which left them homeless and without gear. This was followed by the famous Curse of the Billy Goat, which is too well documented to repeat. Suffice to say the goat had a ticket — a good seat, too — but was kicked out of Wrigley Field anyway.
In one 14-month span, the following teams replaced their head coaches: the Red Stars, Cubs, Sox, Sky, Fire, Bears, and Blackhawks.
There’s also the less documented curse of Joe Pepitone, acquired by the Cubs amid the ruins of the 1969 collapse. Pepitone, who rode a motorcycle to games and shut down the Rush Street bars, summoned his own variety of hex when the Cubs traded him to the Braves in 1973. Is it any coincidence that, in Pepitone’s wake, Jose Cardenal pulled himself out of the next season’s opening-day lineup because one of his eyelids was stuck open or that the Cubs suffered the worst shutout of the century when they fell to the Pirates 22–0 the year after that?
And what other than a curse are we to make of Quintin Dailey, the Bulls’ top pick in 1982, who, after violating NBA drug policy and bitching about all the attention given to a rookie named Michael Jordan, sent a ball boy for food during a game against the Spurs and was seen on the bench eating not just pizza, not just popcorn, and not just nachos, but all three? Or quarterback Cade McNown, the Bears’ first-round pick in 1999, a stunning bust who was not only questioned by the FBI in college about his relationship with a mobster but also wrongly acquired a handicapped parking pass?
But one curse hangs over all the others. Had the White Sox not thrown the 1919 World Series, maybe none of this torment happens. It’s the original sin that begot all of the misery that followed.
As for our current state, if you want to get a sense of the big picture, look at the top line. In one 14-month span, from October 2023 to December 2024, the following teams replaced their head coaches: the Red Stars, Cubs, Sox, Sky, Fire, Bears, and Blackhawks. Even the Wolves of the American Hockey League made a change.
In other words, it’s 1981 all over again. That’s the year Mayor Jane Byrne moved into Cabrini–Green to prove crime was no big deal. Spider Dan climbed the Sears and Hancock that year, the Latin Kings warred with the El Rukns, “super-rats” were spotted on the North Side, and the Sting won their championship.
That era is so reminiscent of today that we are required to learn its lessons, the most important being hope. Though we couldn’t know it at the time, suffering Chicagoans were just around the corner from a golden age of sports in this city. Carlton Fisk was coming. Ditto Greg Luzinski and Ron Kittle. The Sox won their division in 1983. The Cubs, led by Ryne Sandberg and Rick Sutcliffe, won theirs in 1984. By 1985, the Bears’ Jim McMahon, Richard Dent & Co. were shuffling their way toward a blowout Super Bowl win. It was all a prelude to the emergence of Jordan and Scottie Pippen and the Bulls’ run of six titles in eight years.
So hold on, Chicago sports fans! Caleb Williams, Connor Bedard, Kyle Tucker, Angel Reese — the first budding shoots are already visible. A better time is coming
