By Bob Markus

Do you remember where you were 25 years ago today? Who you were with? What you were doing? Me, I can't remember where I was last Friday. But I remember where I was 25 years ago today. I was in the tiny Wrigley Field office of Chicago Cubs manager Lee Elia, listening, with two other writers and a small scattering of radio reporters, to an astonishing, profanity-laced rant by the embattled manaager.

Even more astonishing than Elia's tirade, which nearly cost him his job, is the fact that even today, a quarter of a century later, it is remembered, talked about and, especially, written about. In the past week there have been dozens of stories written about today's observance, as if it were the anniversary of some natural disaster or political upheaval.

It has been written about in newspapers from Canada to San Francisco to Cleveland. Even the Manchester Guardian mentions it as the No.3 rated postgame meltdown in sports history. Rated above it were Mike Tyson's vow to eat Lennox Lewis's children and a Scottish soccer club chairman's punch to the jaw of a reporter whose question he didn't care for.

It's all over the internet and if you want to hear the complete, unexpurgated, version all you have to do is dial up You Tube. But please don't do it until the kiddies are in bed. Wikipedia, which seems to be more or less the internet version of Encyclopedia Brittanica, devotes more than half its biographical sketch to the tirade. It, too, doesn't pull any punches, quoting Elia f-word for f-word that "eighty five per cent of the f-ing world is working. The other 15 come out here--a f-ing playground for the c-suckers."

The Chicago Tribune, of course, has played it up bigtime, including a piece in this morning's paper revealing that then Tribune sports editor George Langford almost lost his job over the story I wrote. It seems that Editor Jim Squires didn't like my quoting Elia as saying, "if those are the real Chicago fans they can kiss my ass right downtown--and print it!"

Langford told the Tribune's Fred Mitchell that Squires had told him he was fired, but later called back and sort of apologized. Bill Parker, who made up the paper that day, also was under the impression he was fired. "I think Squires said, 'Fire all of them,'" Parker, who still works at The Tribune, told Mitchell.

Whether that included me, I have no idea. In fact, until today I had no idea the story, which UPI recognized as the best sports story in Illinois for that year, was that controversial. Except for the "kiss my ass" quote there were no banned words used. I had earlier described the tirade as "the most sizzling footage recorded since the Nixon tapes, a scathing, raging indictment of Cubs fans by the frustrated Elia, who had just seen his team drop a heart-breaking 4-3 game to the Los Angeles Dodgers."

Later I reported that "liberally sprinkling his tirade with expletives that a roomful of Rosemary Woodses could not delete, Elia stormed ". . . . what am I supposed to do, go out there and let my players get destroyed every day and be quiet? For the nickel-and-dime people who show up every day? They don't even work. That's why they're out at the ball game. It's a playground for the suckers. . . .rip those country suckers like they rip the players." That, of course, was a cleaned up version of what Elia actually said. If you insert an F-word in front of every noun and a four-letter slang term for a male reproductive organ in front of every suckers you'll have a better idea of the tone of delivery. (For those of you too young to remember, Rosemary Woods was Nixon's secretary responsible for his tapes being released liberally salted with the phrase "expletive deleted."

Originally there were no more than half a dozen media members in the room when Elia began his tirade and only one of them, Les Grobstein, recorded the entire interview. That tape has literally been heard around the world, which is why Elia's entire career is defined by that one explosive moment.

It's too bad, too, because he really wasn't a bad manager. In fact, after that early season losss which dropped the Cubs' record to 5-14, Elia had them within 2 1/2 games of the division lead just before the All-Star game. During the interim his handling of his pitching staff was the best I have ever seen before or since.

My own relationship with Elia at the time was one of arms-length politeness, which was too bad because I really liked the man and we had once been quite friendly. That all changed when I took over the Cubs beat after the All-Star game the previous year. As a player, Elia had had a cup of coffee with the White Sox in1966 and a sip of Decaf with the Cubs in 1968. He was one of those low talent high energy type of players who will run through a wall for his team and I admired that and once wrote a favorable article about him. He appreciated that and when I showed up in the Wrigley Field locker room to begin my assignment with the Cubs he hugged me and ushered me into his office, where a beat reporter from one of the suburban papers was already sitting.

I asked Elia for a fill-in on his club and he gave it to me. It was not a pretty picture he painted. Among other things he said, "I never thought Bump wills (second baseman) was that bad a fielder. You can take four games and just throw them in Bump Wills locker, because that's what he's cost us with his glove." He said he had a left fielder, Keith Moreland, who had to be replaced defensively in the late innings because "if I don't get him out of there the ball will find him."

He said that every time he takes Moreland out of a game he wonders what he'll do if catcher Jody Davis were to get hurt. The only other player on the roster who could play the position had never done so in a big league game. He said he couldn't use outfielder Bob Molinaro in the outfield because he couldn't field, and didn't want to use outfielder Steve Henderson at bat if he could help it because he couldn't hit. There was more, but you get the idea.

With another writer sitting in the office I never dreamed that Elia would think he was talking off the record. But when I wrote what he had told me he cornered me in the airport the next morning with thunder in his eyes. "I thought we were friends," he yelled. "I thought I was just giving you background. How am I going to face those guys?"

I was wondering the same thing.