It's becoming increasingly more likely that the new-look Chicago Cubs front office will be scurrying around in a few months in full Tobias Fünke mode, shouting about an ongoing fire sale. Because if the team isn't contending, decisions about how much of the championship core to keep around a bit easier.
Straight talk here: things are bleak.
The team remains mired in the cellar of the National League Central and in a widespread offensive funk that's beginning to warrant historic comparisons in all the wrong ways. Through 13 games they have 65 hits, the lowest total since the godforsaken 2003 Detroit Tigers, who ended up with 119 losses. They are hitting an anemic .084 with runners in scoring position and .095 with two outs.
If a clutch hit wandered through Gallagher Way, no one would recognize it. Perhaps it would have a grizzled beard from all this time in the wilderness. The Cubs can't hit breaking pitches. They can't hit changeups. They can't hit fastballs in the zone. In short, well, they just can't hit.
Willson Contreras leads the team with a .257 batting average. Kris Bryant is at .220 and Jason Heyward at .205. Everyone else is in the one hundreds. If you added Eric Sogard, Joc Pederson and David Bote's averages together (.346) it would still be lower than Ty Cobb's career mark. And Rogers Hornsby. And Shoeless Joe Jackson.
Thirteen games does not a season make. But it's probably not a great sign when a roster shows the ability to dip into such depravity right out of the gate without even a glimmer of false hope. If there's a bright side, it's that the Cubs have managed to steal five games with lackluster punch and aren't entirely buried.
That's something, I guess.