The Chris Moeller Archives

The 'F' word

 

St. Louis Cardinals fans are an increasing unpopular group. They're generally considered baseball's best fans, routinely voted as such by all sorts of separate populations (players, sportswriters, fans, etc.) as the game's most dedicated and informed. And we're not modest about owning the claims. As the franchise enjoys more success on the field (last year's league pennant was its fourth in a decade, and the team finished within a combined three games of two more), that general feeling of public love that the organization and its fans have for each other starts to grate.

I'm told.

Milwaukee Brewers Jonathan Lucroy, flavor of the month in the championship-starved city of his employment, along with his team, released a video last week promoting the backstop's candidacy for the National League All-Star team ahead of Cardinals catcher- and field general-- Yadier Molina. The video, inspired by the mudslinging political ads on TV that we're all familiar with, and that make us weep for the dream of a better America, features both a crying baby (spooled over an image of Molina) and a voice message promoting the fact that Lucroy "does not play for the St. Louis Cardinals." It caps with Lucroy stating off-camera, "I approve this message." Not funny exactly, but maybe baseball funny. Like when an announcer says to another, "When you played, the hide of the ball was still a horse."

Anyway, I'm not here to make the case that Cardinals fans are the best fans. I'm here to make the case that Cardinals fans are, in a sense, the only fans. Because, you see, I believe the Cardinals organization should feel a sense of proprietorship over the word "fans." We invented it.

In 1883, a gentleman manager for the old St. Louis Brown Stockings named Timothy Paul "Ted" Sullivan, from County Clare in the old country, coined the phrase. The Browns were the forerunner of the Cardinals in a circuit known as the American Association. Their revival of the game in Mound City during that decade created the recipe for a new breed of addicts. According to Edward Achorn's marvelous book "The Summer of Beer and Whiskey" (2013), Sullivan encountered a man hanging around the club's downtown headquarters one day that spring eager to show the baseballer that he "knew every player in the country with a record of 90 in the shade and 1,000 in the sun." According to Sullivan, "he gave his opinion on all matters pertaining to ball. There was no player but he had a personal acquaintance with." (Sounds like some of my fellow Cards rooters today.)

When the man left the office, Sullivan asked his coworkers, "What name could you apply to such a fiend as that?... He is a fanatic." He then shortened it to "fan," and whenever that same gentleman was seen at headquarters, or around the Browns' park on Grand Avenue on the city's west side, "the boys would say 'the fan' is around again."


It would be the turn of the century until the word fully caught on around the country, emerging, as they say, as an "Americanism." Until then, the preferred word continued to be "crank," and even "fanatic," which is rarely used in the sports context today and mostly reserved for people who violate the prevailing social norms. (Beyond a simple eccentricity.) By the dawn of the 20th century, the Browns were eight-year, merged members of the National League. In the spring of 1899, after short stints as the "Maroons" and "Perfectos," they had adopted the name "Cardinals," which has also sort of caught on, when you think about it.

So, in a way, we're really sharing the word with the rest of you. If it weren't for us, you would probably still be satisfied with "cranks," or "rooters," or maybe "supporters," as it is with a politician or political party and used to be for the game of baseball when it was still almost exclusively a club sport. Today, there would be no Yankees fans, no Cubs fans, no Jonathan Lucroy fans. No Steelers or Cowboys fans. No fans of soccer or futbol. Hell, there would be no Star Wars fans, no Beatles fans. There would be no such thing as a "fandom," as "fan fiction" or "fan art," and there would be some really lonely "fan clubs." 

Sullivan's Brownie boss Chris Von der Ahe, a German immigrant and a larger-than-life figure who owned a prosperous grocery and Biergarten in St. Louis in addition to the ballclub, introduced two major concepts: beer at a baseball game and the idea of Sunday games (there was major opposition to both at the time), so that same 1880's club is collectively responsible not only for two of the elements we love most about sports-- suds and one of the best days of the week to enjoy the experience-- but it also provided the common-usage name for the loyalists that keep our entertainment industries so prosperous and influential in the English-speaking world.

You're welcome.

posted by CM @ 9:47 PM