That's what happens when you are tabbed the difference-maker, the deadly switch-hitting bat that can nudge a team over the hump in October, the lone big splash that put a positive spin on a winter that came after another bitter fall.

For $30 million and the chance to play for the Cubs , you lie flat on the slide and let the powerful lens do its work. That's life playing in Chicago. If that sounds unappealing -- and to many players, it doesn't -- go play in Kansas City, Pittsburgh, Oakland or any other small-market city struggling to attract fans. But be willing to take less money.

The Cubs' paycheck is assured on the first and 15th of every month. And when it's that big, it comes with a lot of pressure.

Yes, Bradley is getting far too much attention for a player who isn't playing right now. Yes, the boos might have come a bit too early at the Friendly Confines, considering he was dressed down in his starting debut at Wrigley Field. Yes, this is what he signed up for.

Just remember, Bradley chose the Cubs . He wasn't traded to the North Side. He wasn't even a discarded player desperate for a home. He was an attractive free agent coming off a career year. He earned the right to choose his next stop -- after playing for six teams in the previous eight seasons -- and wanted to play for the Cubs .

Then just 14 games into the regular season -- only half of which he started -- Bradley whined about the oppressive atmosphere in Chicago.

Really?

He's pointing the finger at the media, but this goes much deeper than that. This is an All-Star player who was dragged into the manager's office for a dreaded sit-down one day, then was hauled in for a discussion with the general manager the next. April is far from over, and Bradley already is becoming a headache for the Cubs' brass.

He also has dropped from cleanup to sixth in manager Lou Piniella's lineup.

CLEAN SLATE NO LONGER

As for the media, it's Bradley's choice to stay silent, though he opted -- after some prodding from bosses -- to speak Friday with the Sun-Times.

Bradley, who is 1-for-23, is trying to turn his early struggles into a war with the media. That's weak. He was pretty much left alone during spring training. When he was mentioned -- outside of the straightforward notebook items chronicling his two bouts with the flu and his fragile legs -- Bradley mostly was celebrated. The local print media each did stories on how much the Texas Rangers and manager Ron Washington enjoyed his presence last season.

If Bradley wanted a clean slate in Chicago, he definitely got one.

The Cubs then spent their first six games on the road, away from the media mob frequently seen in Chicago. On April 10, the game in which he hit his first home run -- usually an occasion to chat with reporters -- the media lost Bradley in the shuffle, instead focusing on a bullpen meltdown against the Milwaukee Brewers at Miller Park.

During the end of that series in Milwaukee, Bradley agreed to an interview with the Sun-Times' Gordon Wittenmyer to discuss Wrigley Field's reputation around the majors as a place that can get uncomfortably racial. If he had been coached by a public-relations consultant -- and he clearly hasn't been -- Bradley would have been given high grades for saying all the right things.

The clubhouse was about to close -- an easy out to end the interview -- but Bradley continued the interview. At the end of the chat, Bradley told Wittenmyer: ''I like your questions. You ask good questions.''

It was clear the topic was an important one to Bradley. In the controversial article, Bradley never was portrayed in a negative light.

HURTING HIS CAUSE

Yet when the heat was turned on in Chicago several days later -- after a suspension for arguing balls and strikes and a 1-for-23 skid --Bradley pointed to that article as the reason for his sudden discomfort. Then he admitted he never read the story.

That's the kind of head-scratching moment with Bradley the Cubs will see a lot of this season.

When Bradley made his starting debut Wednesday night at Wrigley, he declined all pregame interview requests. Fair enough. No one hovered around his locker. It didn't matter because Bradley confined himself to the corners of the clubhouse that are off-limits to reporters.

After striking out three times -- bringing on his first boos at home -- and failing to run hard on a grounder to first, Bradley was definitely in the media cross hairs. Did reporters huddle around his locker? Yes, only to find it empty. Somehow, a player who batted in the ninth inning was the first Cub to vacate the clubhouse after the game. Bradley encountered exactly zero reporters postgame.

Thursday was a different story. When reporters formed around his locker, Bradley got surly.

Again, his choice. But clamming up leaves plenty of things open for interpretation.

Bradley went silent about the same time his bat stopped connecting with balls. Again, his choice.

That meant he couldn't explain that he had tweaked his sore right groin before he clearly jogged down the line on a bobbled grounder to first Wednesday. Without an explanation from the player, it was easy to assume he was dogging it. So was he hurting?

If he was hurting, why didn't he tell his manager? Piniella made it clear he was unaware that Bradley was hurting Wednesday.

All valid questions. All questions that never got to be asked.

Bradley isn't the first high-profile Cub to struggle immediately after his acquisition. Alfonso Soriano struggled in 2007. Derrek Lee struggled in 2004. They each got booed. They each spoke with reporters every day, defusing much of the tension.

They each went on to become key members of the Cubs . And they never pointed the finger elsewhere.

If Bradley expects to experience the same rebound, he must stop deflecting the blame and look at himself in the mirror.

It's the easiest way to exist under Chicago's microscope.