by Tom Verducci
Maddon yanked Lester in the seventh in favor of Carl Edwards Jr., but Mike Napoli foiled that strategy with a leadoff single. Maddon ordered Chapman to start throwing in the bullpen. There was no way Maddon could allow the lead to be lost with anybody but Chapman on the mound. The tying run, Napoli, moved to second when Edwards bounced a wild pitch. Edwards recovered to get Carlos Santana on a fly ball.
Now Chapman was ready. Maddon walked out to the mound and signaled for him. He was asking Chapman not only to keep the tying run at second base, but also to get eight outs—more than he ever secured in his major league career. Chapman responded with the game of his life: 22⁄3 shutout innings that required a career-high 42 pitches. Half of his eight outs resulted from strikeouts.
The Cubs won a classic nail-biter of a game, 3–2. It was only the third time in franchise history that Chicago came from behind to win an elimination game, matching the season-saving escapes of Game 6 of the 1945 World Series and Game 4 of the 1910 World Series.
“But we’re all about writing our own history,” Bryant said. “This team is a special one, and we look at so many times throughout the year where we haven’t been playing good, but I feel like we turn that around. Someone told me today that 17 times this year we lost a game and went on to win three in a row, so why can’t we do that now?”
“K.B. hit the nail on the head,” Russell said. “We’re writing our own history. We’re making history. Why stop? This is entertaining to us. It’s fun, and we live for this. We see a lot of challenges ahead of us, and we embrace them. That’s what we’ve been talking about since spring training, I think, since 2015. So that’s kind of like the mind-set we’ve had and we definitely have embraced that.”
The elimination game, for all its portent, brought out the best in the Cubs, from Rizzo hitting the right notes before it (at least metaphorically), to the offensive epiphany that came in the nick of time, to Chapman giving more than he ever had before. They played loose and they played clean when under the most duress. As Russell rightly recognized, the makings of the win were easy to trace. This iteration of the Cubs—the four pillars of Rizzo, Bryant, Schwarber, and Russell, joined by Lester and playing under Maddon—first formed in spring training of 2015. Even better days were still to come.
When the Cubs reported to the first full day of spring training workouts in 2016 in Mesa, Arizona, the daily schedule that hung on a clubhouse wall included a motivational saying, as would every one of Joe Maddon’s daily schedules. Day one’s motto derived from Hall of Fame football coach Vince Lombardi: “Individual commitment to a group effort—that is what makes a team work, a company work, a society work, a civilization work.”
It sounded slightly more high-minded than another slogan that already was finding its way around T-shirts in Cubs camp and Chicago. One month earlier, at the annual Cubs Convention in a ballroom at the Sheraton Grand Chicago, infielder Javier Baez was asked during a question-and-answer session with fans what sage advice Maddon gave him when the team called up Baez from the minors the previous September.
Replied Baez, “Try not to suck.”
The ballroom erupted in laughter. Another 100 percent cotton meme was born.
As with all things Maddon, there was meaning behind the humor. The manager felt a special connection with Baez because of the trip he made to Puerto Rico to see him just after being named manager. He knew Baez was an immense talent, but he also knew, like most players, he played better when he was relaxed. That’s why he told Baez when he first saw him playing winter ball that the result he wanted most to see from him was a smile. And that’s why Maddon told him in September 2015 to try not to suck. He wanted Baez to loosen up, to play the game with a light heart, as if he were back in Little League.
Maddon is the Johnny Appleseed of aphorisms. For him, the main seed for the 2016 season occurred to him during a scrum with reporters in December 2015 at the winter meetings. The questions reporters fired at Maddon stemmed from the ominous idea that his young Cubs snuck up on people in 2015, but that in 2016 they would face the “pressure” and “expectations” of being a known quantity.
Fresh in Maddon’s head was the Tom Clancy novel Clear and Present Danger, and this line of questioning brought to mind a particular scene in which the president’s advisors tell him he needs to disavow a friend who had just been killed by a drug cartel. The novel’s hero, Jack Ryan, interjects, telling the president, “No. Not only was he your friend, he was your best friend. You have to address it. Sometimes it’s better to run toward the fire than away from it.”
Maddon loved the imagery of running toward the danger. He retold the scene to the assembled reporters, and that’s how an idea was hatched on the spot for the theme of his 2016 Cubs: Embrace the Target.
“My Jack Ryan moment,” he said.
For the first day of the 2016 camp, and the first of his three annual team meetings, Maddon was less nervioso than he had been in 2015, his first year with the team. He may have been the first major league manager to deliver his opening speech while using an iPad Pro and stylus. Maddon had written the notes to his speech on the tablet in the form of a diagram.
Maddon started with a green circle, and inside the circle in red ink handwrote six key principles for the season:
1. Embrace the target
2. We all have to set aside our personal agendas
3. All do our jobs (9 on 1)
4. Know we are not perfect, but can be present
5. We are our own little planet
6. Rotate around same goal
Atop the circle were two words followed by arrows pointing up, as well as notations that defined those words as having positive connotations:
Expectations. Strong belief something will happen in the future.
Pressure. A motivator. A positive. An indicator you are in the right place.
Below the circle Maddon wrote more notes, which included:
Do simple better
The process is fearless
The process lacks emotion
The process is the moment
The process is the mental anchor
The process simplifies the task
The area below the circle also included a few favorite quotes:
Change before you have to.—Jack Welch
Wisdom is the reward for a lifetime of listening when you would have preferred to talk.—Doug Larson
Communication creates collaboration. Big ears are better than big egos. When you’re not listening, ask good questions.—Bill Walsh
The speech was perfect—well, except for a moment when Maddon’s stylus quit working, sending him into a brief “state of technological panic.” The speech also would wind up, naturally, on the backs of more T-shirts—the whole circle-and-notes design and scribblings from his iPad. Sales of the shirts benefited his Respect 90 foundation. So began one of the loosest, most relaxed, and most confident training camps that had ever been held, at least this side of the most expensive self-help motivational retreats in some five-star desert resort.
Theo Epstein and Jed Hoyer had introduced three key veteran free agents to the group: pitcher John Lackey, second baseman Ben Zobrist, and outfielder Jason Heyward. Otherwise, the holistic culture they had established in the player development system in the minors was now firmly established with the major league club after one year under Maddon. The Chicago Cubs’ 2016 spring training camp was the embodiment of the Cubs Way in full flower—either that or it was a new all-inclusive vacation, Cub Med.
Mornings began with a “Sunrise Yoga” class, followed by meditation sessions. Breakfast included fresh, cold-pressed, organic juices from the on-site juice bar and piles of fruits and berries. The morning outdoor stretching class still included classic rock pumped out from five-foot-tall speakers (to start, this time it was the Stones’ “Sympathy for the Devil,” Hendrix’s “Purple Haze,” and Bad Company’s eponymous hit). Eric Hinske, one of the two hitting coaches, carried around a boom box so that his hitters could hit
to music no matter to which of the four practice fields they were assigned. The vast training room facilities included custom-made Pilates reformers. Acupuncturists, massage therapists, dietitians, nutritionists, and mental skills coaches stood at the ready. And at the end of the workout day, players filled out an eight-inch-long order sheet for a custom-made recovery smoothie, choosing from among about three dozen ingredients. The plush training complex—or “Performance Center” as it was known to better reflect its modernity—opened in 2014, a $99 million investment by Ricketts that preceded the $575 million renovation of Wrigley Field.
There were, of course, more than the usual number of absurdities and oddities to break up the monotony of being treated so well. One day Maddon, dressed in a tie-dyed shirt and a stars-and-stripes headband, and blaring “Shining Star” by Earth, Wind & Fire out of the sound system, drove onto the practice field in his 1976 brown Dodge van, the one with a Western landscape painted on the side, an orange shag carpet, and ostrich-leather trim. There were mimes, musicians, comedians, and real-live bear cubs, as well as assorted running gags to celebrate 39-year-old catcher David Ross, who announced that the 2016 season would be his last. Anthony Rizzo and Kris Bryant opened an Instagram account dedicated to “Grandpa Rossy.” They posted pictures and videos of what they called his “year-long retirement party,” including one video of Ross wearing a “G-Pa Rossy” jersey and hobbling around the clubhouse using a bat as a cane. “Someone had a rough day of catching drills today,” the caption said.
Another time they presented Ross with a close-in handicapped parking spot with his name spray-painted in orange, as well as a Rascal motorized scooter with the license plate GDPA. And still another time, after a workout, the whole team gathered in the parking lot for the unveiling of another present for Ross: a self-driving golf bag cart to carry his catching gear and bats from field to field.
“Last year was good,” Ross said about the spring training vibe. “Really good. But this year, I don’t want to say it’s night and day, but it’s even better. The young players have a year under their belts, the postseason experience, and everybody thinks in terms of, what can I do to help the team? I’m telling you, it’s special. It’s genuine.”
Said Maddon, “One of the things I stressed [on day one] was be yourself—individuality, authenticity. Spring training is not about batting practice or side sessions or how many repetitions you get in. The most important thing is to get them thinking properly. It’s not about how many repetitions of what occur. I want us to think well.”
For Epstein, the highlight of the camp occurred on one of the first days of full-squad workouts. Maddon stopped the practice, in which the players were spread among three fields, and called the entire team together on the mound of a back field. Knowing Maddon, pitcher Jason Hammel was sure what was coming next: either a circus animal or a magician. Instead, walking through a gate in the fence at the practice field was Dexter Fowler, the Cubs’ centerfielder in 2015 who almost everyone thought was about to sign with Baltimore as a free agent for $35 million over three years. (The media reports had been overblown.) Fowler re-signed with the Cubs that morning for $13 million for one year, with a mutual option for 2017. The beloved teammate was met with cheers and hugs.
Epstein watched with a sly grin. He had just pulled off a coup in today’s game: he signed a major free agent without word leaking anywhere.
“Now that’s a surprise,” Epstein said. “That’s Godfather shit. Nothing will top that.”
Beyond the theatrics of the signing, it solved the last major concern Epstein had about his team. Without Fowler, the Cubs planned to ask Heyward, a natural rightfielder, to transition to centerfield. An outfield of Kyle Schwarber in leftfield, Heyward in center, and Jorge Soler in rightfield presented as a below-average defensive alignment. Fowler gave Chicago solid defense in centerfield and kept Heyward in rightfield, where he profiled as a defensive weapon.
Maddon knew he had a very good team, but after the first week of camp that’s when he was convinced it was something special. That’s when Epstein, Hoyer, and Maddon held the Individual Player Development Plan meetings. Every day the clubhouse message board would list the six or so players who were scheduled to meet with them. Each meeting took anywhere from 5 to 15 minutes.
Epstein, when he was in Boston, had stolen the idea from Mark Shapiro of the Cleveland Indians. Epstein was motivated by the two lines from former players that stuck with him: Craig Shipley telling him that all players felt lied to by the front office at some point, and Gary DiSarcina telling him he wished people had shared with him scouting reports on his weaknesses that stayed filed away. Epstein vowed to never let those slights happen on his watch.
Unbeknownst to Epstein at the time he hired him, Maddon was a big proponent of these Individual Player Development Plan meetings. Maddon, on his own, instituted his own version of these meetings with minor leaguers in the Angels system back in the 1980s.
“It was just me and the player, because none of the other coaches thought it was groovy,” Maddon said. “So my point is you’re developing this rapport with the player, you’re communicating with the player like they had never been communicated with before. It’s very rudimentary. It sounds really insignificant, but players were never told what administration thought of them. Ever.
“That’s the essence of bad coaching. Okay, say me and you are watching DiSarcina play shortstop. This happened all the time. I would explain this to coaches in meetings. We’re watching DiSar and I say, ‘Damn, DiSar needs to get better at turning the double play.’ So many times coaches would say that to each other and never say it to DiSarcina. Never.
“The point I also want to make was, if you want to [badmouth] one of these players, fine. If you keep it to yourself, then you don’t have to tell that player. If you think he’s a dick, think he’s a pussy, and it never comes out of your mouth to somebody else, that’s fine. But the moment you say it to somebody else you’ve got to go tell the player. That’s how I explained it to the coaches in the early ’80s. That’s the difference between good coaching and bad coaching. There are times when you can choose not to say anything. That’s okay to keep it to yourself. But the moment it goes to another human’s ears, whoever you’re talking about needs to hear it.”
As Maddon rose to the Angels’ major league staff, the meetings disappeared. One day in 2006, after Maddon was hired to manage the Devil Rays, his pitching coach, Mike Butcher, said to him, “Joe, do you remember those meetings you used to do?”
Butcher had been one of those Angels minor leaguers who sat with Maddon in the 1980s. Butcher was a former amateur boxer from East Moline, Illinois, who signed with the Angels after the Royals released him over a fight with his manager. Butcher eventually made it to the big leagues with the Angels.
“Sure, I remember them,” Maddon said.
“I loved those,” Butcher said. “And all the guys loved those.”
“That’s all he had to say to me,” Maddon said. “We put them back in with the Devil Rays. Then with the Rays. And there were some tough ones there. Delmon Young, back in the day…Elijah Dukes…Therein lies the difference. Talk to that group and talk to the 2016 Cubs in spring training. You talk about a group you can see has a chance to be special. The other group, it was dysfunctional, although we got it together in three years. I know we made a lot of changes, but those meetings in the beginning were so unbelievable.”
When a Cubs player would leave one of the 2016 meetings, Epstein, Hoyer, and Maddon would say to one another, “Wow. That was impressive.” And then the next guy would come in, and they would be moved to say the same thing. And the one after that, and the one after that…
“You’re like, amazed,” Maddon said. “Really? One after the other you’re so impressed with character, makeup, straightforwardness, and then their skill level. It’s an incredible exercise to do it with your group every year, but that group last year? You walk out of there going, ‘Holy shit, these guys get it! They frigg
in’ get it.’ We were amazed. By the time we got done, we were exhausted. It’s the first part of spring training. It takes a lot of mental energy to get through it. And when you get through it, it’s like, ‘That was great!’ ”
Said Hoyer, “Every single day we would sit there and say, ‘Oh, my God, this is the best group of guys I’ve ever been around.’ There were no bad guys. They were all super intelligent and highly motivated. I’m telling you, it never happens like that. There’s always at least a couple of players who, when they walk out of the room, you go, ‘Oof. We’ll see how that goes.’ Or, ‘That was an awkward meeting.’ Or, ‘This person is putting himself over the team.’ There was none of that. We couldn’t get over how great these meetings were.”
During the meeting with Jake Arrieta, for instance, Maddon told the 2015 Cy Young Award winner he would not be pitching as many innings in 2016 as he had in 2015. (Maddon actually first broached the subject with Arrieta the first day he saw him in camp, when he bumped into him in the cafeteria.)
“I’m going to be proactive with your situation,” Maddon told him. “You will probably not be finishing games with a lead.”
Arrieta signed off on the plan.
“Last year my mind-set was I was going to be out there in the eighth or ninth inning every time out,” Arrieta said. “In my last two starts I reached a point where I was a little out of gas.”
One day in spring training, well after the games were underway, players found an unusual notation on the daily schedule, which typically lists times, places, and instructors for drills. This one called for all hitters to gather for a meeting in the indoor batting cage regarding “Two-Strike Approach,” and the instructor who would be running the session would be Maddon. This was highly unusual. Other than the blowup in the 2015 camp when Maddon chafed at the team’s lackadaisical approach to relays and cutoffs, staff members could not recall another time when the manager took full control of a drill or a session.
