Zambrano made his debut with the Cubs on August 20, 2001, against the Brewers, at Wrigley, during the second game of a double-header. I remember it somewhat vividly. He started off well, before running into some trouble in the fourth. He threw maybe 70 pitches (I just looked it up. He threw 74). All in all, not a bad debut for a wide-eyed 20 year old making his first appearance in the Majors. Zambrano spent the 2001 and 2002 seasons bouncing back and forth from the Triple A Iowa Cubs and the Majors, making a majority of his appearances with the Cubs out of the bullpen.
I began seriously following the Cubs in 2001, just in time to watch a few games with my dying grandfather, who remains the biggest Cubs fan I can ever remember meeting. It was he who convinced me to start watching baseball, a sport I never had more than a passing interest in, despite it being the only sport I've played in an organized fashion. It was he who first mentioned Zambrano to me, likely after one of his late-night scouring of the primordial ooze that was Early Millenium internet baseball scouting reports. "He pitches like his life depends on it," my grandfather had said. Being a small man with great passions and an even greater temper, that was the sort of thing he appreciated.
My grandfather, Neal Hagan, lost his battle with congestive heart failure on Memorial Day 2001, less than a week before my 12th birthday, and less than three months before Zambrano would make his highly anticipated debut.
Then came 2003. The wonder season. The season that never was. The season that surely would have killed my grandfather had he still been alive. "Big Z," as he had then started to be known as, locked down the fourth spot in the rotation, becoming the more overlooked portion of what would hopefully be the threesome that saved the Cubs in himself, Mark Prior and Kerry Wood. He claimed 13 victories for the Cubs in 2003, posting a 3.11 ERA, showing just as much promise as he did lack of control. Zambrano was relatively poor in three postseason starts in the Cubs' doomed playoff run, but wasn't altogether terrible, and managed to avoid any real blame for the eventual collapse (which, to be fair, he really wasn't a part of).
After what happened in 2003, which I'm sure any Cubs fans knows and fear, and any Cardinals fan knows and mocks, I was ready to give up on the team my grandfather lived and died for. Again, I'd never really loved baseball, and it would always seem to be a distant third behind football and basketball, the latter of which I was really starting to fall in love with. Then 2004 happened. Zambrano came out of the gates like a man on fire, pitching as if he was going to single-handedly destroy the demons that had plagued this most unabashedly terrible franchise for the better part of a century. On the season, Carlos won 16 games and finished with 2.75 ERA, tied for the team lead with the immutable Greg Maddux and good enough for fourth in the National League. He also made the All-Star team, the first in his career and quite an achievement for a pudgy 23 year old.
My faith (or at least my hope) in this team was restored. My interest was piqued.
Zambrano was the Opening Day starter for the Cubs in 2005, an honor he repaid by immediately getting ejected on Opening Day for arguing balls and strikes. Oh, Carlos. Still, Zambo finished with another strong season, ranking in the top 10 in the National League is most major categories, and establishing himself as the future ace in The Windy City.
2006. 2007. 2008. 2009. These years passed by nearly the same of the rest, with Zambrano at times looking like a Cy Young candidate, other times looking like an angry Venezualan Kenny Powers, without the charm. Ejections, near no-hitters, brawls, declaring himself a future Cy Young winner, strikeouts, back and forth, back and forth. Eventually, my uncle and I (who had apparently inherited the "Cubs or Death" fandom from his father) gave up on Carlos being the guy who would rescue us from the evil of billy goats and Steve Bartman.
2010. Zambrano makes his sixth consecutive Opening Day start, a Cubs record, against Atlanta. Zambrano goes through his regular Opening Day motions, looking lost at times and generally avoiding going after the opposing team's best hitters in an attempt to find his groove. Then strode Jason Heyward to the plate. This video should tell you what happened next. Zambrano challenged him, Heyward won. One franchise's savior obliterates another one's. Typical Cubs. Watching that game, I noticed something...different about Zambrano. For the first time, I felt like he knew the thing I had known for the better part of three years. That he wasn't going to save the Cubs. That he wasn't going to lead this team to anything. It broke my heart. Despite my own thoughts, I had defended Carlos throughout the years, proclaiming that if he ever did figure it all out, he'd be worthy of the ace-like contract the Cubs had given him. That he'd be great.
This was only confirmed further when, on June 25 of that year, Big Z imploded. Pitching against the White Sox, of all teams, Zambrano proved, once and for all, that he wasn't going to save anyone. Jim Hendry suspended Z indefinitely, and when he returned (after undergoing anger management), he was a more docile player. Not necessarily more docile emotionally, but more docile in confidence. He was defeated. I was defeated. Sure, he was strong during the latter stages of 2010 (very strong, in fact), but I was done believing. Apparently, so were the Cubs.
2011 saw the first time someone other than Carlos Zambrano was the Opening Day starter for the Cubs in seven years. This year, it would be Ryan Dempster (a wholly more depressing thing, but that's a tale for another time). He slogged on through the season, much as the Cubs themselves, never looking entirely sure that he really wanted to be anywhere. Then, on August 12, he imploded again for the last time. After giving up five homeruns to the Braves. Big Z threw inside on Chipper Jones two times and was ejected by umpire Tim Timmons. Zambrano then cleaned out his locker and told reporters that he was retiring. Instead of letting him retire, however, the Cubs placed him on the 30-day disqualified list, prompting Z to eventually apologize to the team and its fans, telling us all that he wanted to "remain a Cub for life." He never again played in a Cubs uniform.
I still have a Carlos Zambrano poster. It's right next to my Kerry Wood one. Fitting, considering how their respective Cubs careers seem almost in anathema with one another.
"A Cub for life" sounds all too similar to the "Cubs or Death" fandom I spoke of earlier, and it might interest you to know that my uncle, Dennis Hagan, officially renounced his Cubs fandom before the 2011 season. He died from complications resulting from open-heart surgery on September 2, 2011. He didn't watch a single Cubs game until his death. Cubs or death, indeed.
Thus is the story of Carlos Zambrano's Cubs career, and how it ebbed and flowed with the trajectory of my own life, and that of my family. Thus is the end of the Cubs career of Carlos Zambrano. Franchise savior, franchise destroyer. Firebrand. Bringer of hope. Hitter of home runs. Bringer of despair.
I think I'll keep that poster.
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