(670 The Score) The first time I met David Ross was backstage at the rock club Metro on Clark Street. It was Hot Stove Cool Music in 2015, and I was singing with the Chicago All Stars, put together by me and the excellent bass player Len Kasper. Ross had rolled in with Jon Lester and many other Cubs players, and as he walked by, the Cubs television play-by-play man Kasper reached out and touched his arm. Ross’ face lit up.
“Len! Holy shit, this is such a cool night! How you doing? Loving it? Keep killing it! This is awesome!" Ross said. "Great to see you, can’t wait to hear you some more!”
As Ross walked away, the sudden energy void was jarring. Len turned to me and said, “Every day. Every single day.”
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That was David Ross, teammate. We got to know that version very well as he played for the Cubs for two seasons. Ross the manager was much more of a puzzle, and I’m thankful to have known that phase of his life a bit as well. He wanted so badly to be great at it, to inspire, discipline and pull excellence from his players the way he first saw Bobby Cox do it in Atlanta. Ross did get very good at it, using some incredibly obvious personality gifts.
He had what I ended up calling “accountalikability” — or what Mark DeRosa referred to as “the ability to tell you the truth without you wanting to punch him in the face.” Only the truly stubborn and unreachable responded poorly to his brand of communication. Most every other player improved. Those who didn’t at the very least knew exactly what needed to be worked on, with difficult truths expressed directly and lots of teaching tools offered.
Strategically, well, the game evolves and you have to evolve with it. Ross has an experiential, gut-level instinct that he trusts more than any algorithm. Most managers do. Bunting is one obvious example. Ross has some old-school sensibilities in terms of veteran loyalty that may have contributed to the Cubs' epic September collapse as they fought for a playoff spot. You could argue that he went to relievers who had shown frailty too often down the stretch, but you could also argue that he simply didn’t have enough horses to win in 2023. Cubs president of baseball operations Jed Hoyer said as much, and 2024 was going to be a “put up or shut up” season for the manager.
Then suddenly, one of the game’s very best manager became available, and the upgrade is sensible. The Cubs' hiring of Craig Counsell as their new manager and firing of Ross on Monday was ballsy and exciting. Game on, with the World Series as the goal for most if not all of the five-year deal that the new guy will sign.
But right now, there’s also a removal to process. This is a brutal part of sports as a business.
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The Spiegel & Goff Show did a Cubs luncheon interview with Ross, the backup catcher, and center fielder Dexter Fowler at Del Frisco’s in 2015. My meatball Cubs fan girlfriend at the time, who's now my wife, thought Grandpa Rossy was the coolest. She came with a friend. At a break, I mentioned her to Ross, who said, “I have fans? I have fans! Bring her up!” It was the first of many pictures.
A week or so later, we were in the stands not too far from the dugout. Ross was looking around during the anthem, and we made eye contact. I pointed at the meatball next to me, and he motioned to bring her down to the fence after Wayne Messmer was finished. A second picture with him in uniform, one she treasures.
For the next seven years, every time I interacted with him, he’d likely ask about us. One time, again backstage at the Metro, he said to her, “I’m so glad you married him.” In 2021, while taping an episode of the podcast “The Run,” which Roy Wood Jr. and I hosted about the 2016 Cubs' title, Ross had to give us his hotel room number on the road and his alias. “Don’t tell your wife” was the joke. Kind, warm, genuine, funny. That was the man in his personal interactions, probably with anyone you could ask.
So the news of this Cubs firing and hiring hit differently than most sports stories I’ve been around over 30 years in Chicago. I feel for Ross, and part of me thinks he was done dirty. I’m kind of pissed. This honesty could of course damage some sort of analytical credibility in the minds of, well, you, but it would be disingenuous to say it doesn’t exist.
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I covered Ross’ teams, talked about game after game in detail and always tried to zoom out and see the big picture. He was asked to get the most out of a decaying championship core in a weird COVID-altered 2020 season and made the playoffs. He had to try and keep the room together as that core cratered in 2021, partially by design from above, and gave goodbye hugs at the trade deadline to players he loved. Ross was a willing partner in an organizational step backward in 2022, and his persona was part of the ask for patience. He got to helm an exciting 2023 team as the Cubs' “build” yielded a fun bonus year that reinvigorated a fan base that wasn’t sure how long it would have to wait for meaningful baseball. And yes, Ross was unable to stop a gruesome September slide that turned a hugely positive season into something deeply unrewarding.
The manager’s flaws and his need for growth reared their head. Thankfully, Ross had the self-awareness and humility to look inward and learn from losses. He took criticism and input from his front office well and tried to balance their desires with his principles. He wasn't on the hot seat, and a month ago, Cubs chairman Tom Ricketts and Hoyer said so directly.
But suddenly, Counsell had his sights set on the Cubs. It’s a perfect fit for his own next chapter, to continue his baseball and family life here in the Mecca of the Midwest. Counsell found a big-market behemoth willing to make him the highest-paid manager in the history of the game, one that will give him a chance to win it all immediately.
This is a stunning move that will resonate in the baseball world for a long time. The Cubs' offseason is going to be fascinating, and their next few years will be pressurized. But more than that is what has everyone buzzing and what has colleagues texting and calling deep into the night.
Hand-picked friends who aren't bad at their jobs can still be replaced — and frankly should be when the option of excellence presents itself. It’s justifiable cruelty.
Sports can still hurt. It can still hurt grizzled scribes or talk show hosts or former players or fans who long ago learned how the world works.
The hope for greatness, amid the tantalizing danger of that potential hurt, is the reason we invest our emotions in the first place.
Matt Spiegel is the co-host of the Parkins & Spiegel Show on 670 The Score from 2-6 p.m. weekdays. Follow him on Twitter @MattSpiegel670.