Wrigley Regulars: Finding Community in the Bleachers (review)

Readers who pick up this book expecting to read about Chicago Cubs baseball are in for a surprise. Swyers, an Associate Professor of Anthropology at Lake Forest College, suggests that the longtime fans in the centerfield bleachers at Wrigley Field are not a random group, but a structured community. As a member of the inner sanctum, she put together a self-designed informal study which included personal experiences and interviews with some of those fans dubbed "Wrigley Regulars." The result is a cleverly woven fabric of Chicago Cubs baseball and Wrigley Field memories that are the ties that bind this unique community.

She begins by stating "too much scholarly ink has been spilled over the question of community" (x), followed by her working definition that touches on such facets as proximity, shared mutual benefits, established rules of behavior, division of labor, biological-emotional-generational connections of members, a common enemy, and, in this case, what Emile Durkheim called a "collective effervescence." To avoid confusion with the die-hard Cubs fans, she quickly points out that die-hard Cubs fans don't require a community to validate a love of the Cubs, but "loving the Cubs can become the baseline for community." The Wrigley Regulars don't "require" community, either, yet they have inadvertently created one.

In their case, proximity is perhaps the second most significant factor behind love of the team because the bleachers are physically isolated from the rest of the park and even have a separate entrance. Prior to the 1980s, when bleacher tickets were only sold on the day of the game, fans got acquainted as they stood in long lines along the outfield wall waiting for Gate N to open, and perhaps sat together at the games. Over time, a division of labor became apparent due to pressures associated with limited seating on strips of benches without defined seats, as early arrivals had the "job" of spreading towels along the benches to save space for friends. They even established a seat of honor for the oldest member of the community in what used to be Section 311, playfully and affectionately referred to as "the Death Seat." Eventually a sort of Wrigley curse about the powers of that seat appeared.

The "common enemy" at Wrigley games seems obvious: the visiting team. But, believe it or not, that's not always the case. Swyers points to what she terms "the Lee Elia rant" of April 29, 1983. The team had only won five of its first nineteen games, and the bleacher fans erupted with particularly noisy and tough jeers to the players. It's been said, but not proven, that beer was dumped on an outfielder during the game. Afterward Manager Lee Elia's postgame press conference was a brutal, foul-mouthed attack on fans in the bleachers, accusing them of being a bunch of unemployed bums, among other things, and saying that "eighty-five percent of the f-- world is working. The other fifteen percent come out here" (16). It was all published in the Chicago Tribune and replayed on WGN and other TV news broadcasts with the assumed intent of whipping the bleacher fans into shape. But it more or less backfired and "galvanized bleacher fans into a more united body and gave them a recognizable identity." (p. 16) Soon bleacher fans appeared sporting buttons that read "Working Cubs Fan."

The group has social taboos, such as not discussing jobs or professions. However, when one member accidentally revealed his job, their "pencils to Peru" campaign began in support of his endeavors. More seriously, when a longtime member violated a taboo regarding trustworthiness, he was subsequently ostracized. Of course, he returned to the bleachers, but he was no longer accepted by the community.

Wrigley nostalgia and discussions of benchmark events is a relished steady diet of the regulars. All members in good standing must be well versed about them: "The Ryne Sandberg Game" against the Phillies on June 23, 1984; Kerry Wood...