Wrigley Field – photo courtesy of Wikipedia
Matteo Venieri
venam@bu.edu
Walking into the Billy Goat Tavern is an awe-inspiring experience for many baseball fans. Located at 430 N. Michigan Ave., the numerous photos, autographs and newspaper articles hanging on the restaurant’s walls form a sort of pagan Via Crucis that narrates the decades of miseries suffered by the Chicago Cubs.
The founder of the tavern was William Sianis, a Greek immigrant known for his central role in the so-called “Curse of the Billy Goat.” He and his pet goat Murphy were denied access to the stadium during Game 4 of the 1945 World Series between the Cubs and the Tigers, and an irate Sianis allegedly said, “Them Cubs, they ain’t gonna win no more.”
This story, whose details are intertwined more with folklore than actual history, was brought to fame decades later by Chicagoan columnist Mike Royko. Like precious pieces of memorabilia, many of his articles still hung in the tavern next to the checkered tables. “Series goat was dilly; His name? Try Billy,” titles one of them with big bold letters.
Just like a newspaper elevated a goat to fandom, another one turned a fan into a scapegoat.
The Cubs were still in the midst of the hex in 2003, which the Chinese calendar indicates as guǐwèi yáng, the year of the goat. During Game 6 of the National League Championship Series, a fan sitting in aisle 4, row 8, seat 113 at Wrigley Field deflected a foul ball seemingly directed to Cubs left fielder Moisés Alou’s glove in the crucial eighth inning. The team went on to lose the game and the series.
Despite the fact that the cameras kept showing the deer-in-the-headlights expression of the young man guilty of the attempted catch, the incident appeared to be ready to be quickly dismissed as yet another manifestation of the unforgiving curse.
However, the following morning he found his photo on the front page of the Chicago Sun-Times, accompanied by the word “Curses!” After a long night of research, the newspaper was able to track him down and identify the man as 26-year-old Steve Bartman, adding to the piece private information about his home and workplace. For the journalist who covered the story, revealing the fan’s name and personal details was an easy decision.
“He was the center of a national news story and there was no legal or moral problem in naming him,” Sun-Times reporter Frank Main said in the aftermath. “We did not think there was a serious possibility of his being assassinated by fans. We decided to go with the story and tell readers what we knew.”
The reporter’s decision completely changed Bartman’s life. The Chicagoan was never given the option to allow his personal information to be disclosed, nor a real shot at becoming a beloved folk legend like Murphy the goat.
Instead, he became the human simulacrum of the Cubs’ long list of failures and a plethora of death threats began piling up on his doorstep. The apology he issued “from the bottom of this Cubs fan’s broken heart” didn’t diminish the vitriol he received.
There are three main factors to consider in the Bartman case from the standpoint of ethics. First, one has to consider newsworthiness.
Despite entering Wrigley Field as a mere spectator, Bartman stopped being just one of the 41,600 fans in the moment that he decided to reach for that ball and – quite literally – launch himself into the spotlight.
While it’s true that fans always reach for foul balls even when they could interfere with the play, the magnitude of an NLCS game would almost always elevate the level of scrutiny of the most common actions.
But if it’s fair to conclude that his actions warranted some sort of attention by the papers, one has to then estimate whether revealing Bartman’s identity carried the same level of treatment.
Even in a massive metropolis like Chicago, the highly-motivated mob of angry fans was likely going to find a way to track him down. Therefore, total anonymity was arguably never an option for him.
However, there is a massive difference between having your name circulate among acquaintances and MLB blogs, and seeing it published on one of the most read newspapers of the city. Moreover, the Sun-Times went beyond the mere identification of a person of interest.
Releasing details about Bartman’s home and place of employment didn’t add any depth or relevancy to the story, and it was only bound to put him even more in harm’s way. In fact, shortly after his name was published, he was put under police protection.
After the Sun-Times outed Bartman as the scapegoat, other papers followed suit, justifying their decision by stating that other members of the media were doing the same thing. For weeks, media trucks were spotted outside his house, eagerly waiting to discover new intimate details to feed to the public.
As explained by James Burke, a member of the Ethics AdviceLine for Journalists team in his article “The Media’s Foul Ball,” identifying Bartman was “an act of irresponsible journalism” that constituted a violation of the Society of Professional Journalists ethics code.
Although the code states that a reporter has to “seek truth and report it,” it also warns journalists about the necessity to minimize harm by balancing “the public’s need for information against potential harm or discomfort. Pursuit of the news is not a license for arrogance or undue intrusiveness.”
Even if one is led to believe that Main and his colleagues acted with no bad intent and didn’t consider Bartman’s life to ever be in danger, it’s necessary to remember what the last existing images of the 26-year-old Cubs fan. He was being escorted out by security out of the ballpark hiding his face under a jacket like a criminal, while fans were screaming and throwing objects at him. By the end of the game, “Kill that fan” sings were also beginning to circulate outside the stadium.
It was at the very least an act of carelessness to disregard the possibility that putting that man’s face on page one, along with his name and information, could have led to even more forms of intimidation, harassment and physical harm.
The third element to consider is the extent with which the story was reported and pursued. In this instance as well, the papers appear to go against the SPJ code. The reason is their failure to “show compassion for those who may be affected by news coverage” in the months and years after the incident.
Rick Morrissey, a Chicago Tribune columnist who has followed the saga from the other side of the spectrum, offered a very interesting perspective on the matter.
He counted 107 instances in the aftermath of that infamous game 6 in which then-Sun-Times columnist Jay Mariotti named Bartman in his articles. “If my math is correct, that averages out to a mention of Bartman once every two weeks for four and a half years. That’s quite the cold war,” said Morrissey.
This protracted coverage didn’t stop with the press, but it spread to other media as well. Bartman was directly or indirectly portrayed in several shows, like The Simpsons, Family Guy, Saturday Night Live and Law & Order, where one of the characters hints at a “foul ball guy” who was murdered. His attorney Frank Murtha also reported that his client was offered a six-figure check to appear in a Super Bowl commercial.
Such obsession is even more noticeable when compared to Bartman’s personality and demeanor. For more than a decade, he never made a single public appearance or statement after the initial apology. It is quite remarkable how he managed to rebuild his privacy as the world became more and more intrusive because of the emergence of new technologies.
As the new media became increasingly part of everyday life, the protection of privacy has met a new series of challenges. The perceived anonymity and sense of detachment from real-world consequences can be very dangerous. Had the incident happened today, it is very easy to imagine that Bartman’s name would have appeared all over Twitter and Facebook minutes after the end of the play.
Even in this scenario, in all likelihood the media would’ve acted the same way. While it’s true that in this case more people would’ve had access to Bartman’s information right off the bat, technology has made ethical decisions much tougher. The pressure to be the first media outlet to break the news sometimes makes it a luxury to have the chance to pause and reflect on the ethical implications.
In this sense, WBUR reporter Shira Springer believes that blaming the Sun-Times’ decision to publish Bartman’s name can be more tricky than it seems. “As much as you want to blame the paper,” she said, “I think it’s clear that someone else would have done the same. It’s less of an ethical dilemma when there are multiple witnesses and it’s not a child. And also when, as an editor, you know someone else will track him down even if you don’t.”
To Springer, ethics becomes much more of a factor when dealing with private family matters, as she found out when working at the Boston Globe with a colleague on a piece on a former Celtics player. His father had died in mysterious circumstances and the player’s mother had allegedly managed to keep the most shady details away from her son.
“No one knew the story, but we found out that his father was a criminal and possibly a drug dealer. His mother asked my colleague not to interview her son about his father, because it was still a very sensitive subject for the family,” she said.
“I didn’t think there was anything to gain by bringing up those details, but he insisted that he had to ask him about his father anyway. We disagreed on that, because all the stuff that doesn’t happen in the public eye and involves family secrets is usually not meant to be shared with the public. Especially with young people, you have to weigh what the parents say, what you know and what you believe before you decide what to do,” said Springer.
While Bartman’s incident happened on too big of a stage to be kept under wraps, Springer took exception with the ruthlessness of the reporters who covered the story. “I do have a problem with the fact that they included information about his address and workplace,” she said. “There is a line when it comes to personal safety. … The Sun-Times didn’t consider how vilified [Bartman] was going to be and probably thought that it would blow over soon with a fanbase so used to disappointments.”
Their failures ended on November 2016, when the Cubs defeated the Cleveland Indians in Game 7 of the World Series, winning their first title since 1908. The team gifted Bartman with one of their rings, which feature 108 diamonds to represent the club’s title drought and also the image of a goat, as a nod to the curse.
The gesture seemingly closed a long and painful chapter for both parties, but no piece of jewelry can compensate Bartman for the 14 years of hatred and bile suffered because of the persistent media coverage. In his first statement since 2003, Bartman took advantage of this occasion to express the wish that his misfortune would change the sports media landscape for the better.
“My hope is that we all can learn from my experience to view sports as entertainment and prevent harsh scapegoating, and to challenge the media and opportunistic profiteers to conduct business ethically by respecting personal privacy rights and not exploit any individual to advance their own self-interest or economic gain,” said Bartman in a statement.
Several extraordinary factors made the Bartman incident a landmark case for ethics in journalism, but the story is very common in its essence. When weighing the necessity of informing the public with the duty of protecting a person’s privacy, the Sun-Times and the rest of the media couldn’t find the appropriate balance.
If, as a society, we want to set a higher standard for ourselves, it has to start with a cultural shift from the media. As technology makes it increasingly easier to dig into somebody’s private life, it is crucial for reporters to set a clear boundary and respect a person’s privacy. Even if there might be a disagreement with their actions, it is vital to protect the people from an indelible damage of their privacy.
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