Jon Lester walked into the Cubs’ clubhouse wearing a camouflage T-shirt and blue jeans the other day, and I couldn’t help but think, “What’s he using the $155 million contract on?’’
Whereas, if I had that kind of money, you’d see a fabulous display of … what? Designer bib overalls? Sansabelt slacks with white loafers? Treasure-hunt metal detectors?
OK, maybe there are people who would do better with Lester’s money than I could. Or he can.
Forbes recently published its annual list of the most valuable sports franchises in the world, and Chicago teams were well represented in the top 50. The Bulls ranked 14th at $2 billion, the Cubs 17th at $1.8 billion and the Bears 20th at $1.7 billion. The Blackhawks and the White Sox didn’t make the cut, but I wouldn’t cry for Hawks owner Rocky Wirtz, whose family reportedly is worth $4.4 billion, or Sox chairman Jerry Reinsdorf, who also controls the Bulls.
Big city, famous teams, very rich owners.
But it occurred to me as I looked over the list that most of our very rich owners, like our very rich Cubs pitcher, don’t act particularly rich — and certainly not like the more overtly wealthy owners of professional sports franchises. When Daniel Snyder, the maximum leader of Washington’s NFL team, walks into a room, everything about him, from his tailored suits to his silk ties to his $350,000 Maybach parked outside, says “filthy rich.’’ Maybe that’s why so many people loathe him. Or maybe it’s because he’s a twit.
One look at Cowboys owner Jerry Jones’ remade face, and you think, “Why do wealthy people want skin with the tautness of a snare drum and eyes that require hydraulics to close?’’
If Reinsdorf, in his standard summer uniform of slacks and short-sleeve, buttoned-down shirt, walked past you on Michigan Avenue, you’d think he was headed back to his work cubicle at an accounting office to dream about retirement.
If “Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous’’ returned to television and ran a segment on the McCaskeys, you’d wonder when grilled-cheese sandwiches and tomato soup replaced caviar and champagne as staples of the affluent.
My favorite story about late Hawks owner Bill Wirtz, father of current owner Rocky, involves liquor, which is not surprising, given that the family’s fortune was partly built on booze. Upset about coverage of his team, Bill Wirtz had invited several newspaper editors to his office for an afternoon meeting. Wirtz opened the doors to a beautiful bar that seemed to have every kind of alcohol known to man.
“What’ll be?’’ he said.
It still being business hours, two of the editors asked for water and another for a Diet Coke. Wirtz looked crushed, as if the last vestiges of a man’s-man world had fallen away right in front of him. For all his money, it came down to a guy wanting to have a drink with company. Like someone on a stool in a neighborhood bar. Bad owner, regular guy.
That’s the thing about Chicago and its sports owners: Flashy won’t fly here.
Image-wise, it doesn’t pay to look well heeled in a town built on the backs of laborers. It’s like when a presidential candidate arrives at a working class town with his sleeves rolled up in full man-of-the-people mode. Nobody really buys it, but we get it.
There’s something about Chicago that yanks people back to earth, a whisper in the wind that says, “What, you think you’re better than everybody else?’’
To suggest that the McCaskeys work at being normal implies that it’s some sort of act, and that’s not fair. You see chairman George McCaskey, and you see a man who looks like he grew up in a home in middle-class Des Plaines with 10 siblings, which he did. Virginia McCaskey, the Bears owner and daughter of renowned penny pincher George Halas, reportedly gives her children a good life but not the means for an ostentatious one. She has donated plenty to charity and done it quietly. Her Wikipedia entry is all of four paragraphs. Donald Trump belches six Wikipedia updates a day.
Cubs chairman Tom Ricketts goes the low-key route, sometimes taking the train home from Wrigley Field, even if he comes from a family worth $4.5 billion. Obviously, we’re talking appearances here. For all I know, he has former Wrigley rooftop owners cleaning his bathroom floors.
Chicago has a long history of cheap ownership, but salary caps have neutralized even the most miserly tendencies. It might explain why public hatred toward owners doesn’t seem as harsh as it used to be. Championships have helped, too. Ask Rocky Wirtz.
When you see photos of dolled-up people at social gatherings in the newspaper, do you roll your eyes or wish you were one of them? I’m guessing there are many more eye-rollers. That’s just how Chicago rolls.
A rich owner sipping a drink, pinky up? Woe to him. A guy in a camouflage T-shirt. We get that. Sort of.
