It's a hereditary affliction. I get it from my dad who got it from my grandmother. I've often said that the term "Chicago Cubs fan" is offensive and derogatory to the degree that only other Cubs fans can call each other Cubs fans. I preferred to think of myself as a third generation "Masochistic-American." When I told people this, I would be quick to point out that my American League team is the Cleveland Indians, which usually prompted statements along the lines of, "Boy, you really are a masochist, aren't you?" Now it's no longer a laughing matter.
Some of the most important moments of my life, happy and sad, involve the Cubs. When my grandmother died in 1989, my family was sitting around my grandparents' house. It felt like a vacuum in that living room. Someone suggested we do something. The obvious question was what would she have done? Someone (my aunt, I think) said that Grandma would turn on the TV and see how the Cubs were doing. So we watched the rest of the game. One got the impression that even they knew they had lost a fan that day. The Atlanta Braves beat them 8-5.
At the age of 34, my father and I were asked to house- and dog-sit for my aunt while the women in our family took a trip to Holland. Before I arrived, Dad suggested we go to a Cubs game. I realized that this would be one of those great father/son moments that I would treasure the rest of my life and I jumped at the opportunity. I wasn't wrong. On 9 May, 2008, I attended my first Major League baseball game in the Friendly Confines of Wrigley Field. I felt like a little kid walking around that place. So much baseball history. So much money spent on souvenirs and concessions. Phrases like "You can't quiet The Riot" and "Fukudome is my Homie" entered my vocabulary and I became a fan of the music of Steve Goodman. I had an amazing day with Dad that I wouldn't have traded for anything. And to make it even better, the Cubs beat the Arizona Diamondbacks 3-1.
In the intervening years, I followed my favourite team. I would watch as they would have a promising season only to blow it in the playoffs, if they even got there. Dad even bought a hoodie with the Cubs logo that read "Never October."
The worst came last season. Jon Stewart had New York Mets' pitcher Matt Harvey on his program. I'd been a fan of Stewart's since before "The Daily Show" was even on the air. But, as a Cubs fan, I was mildly annoyed by the fact that he was always complaining about how the Mets let him down year after year. So I made a fake radio broadcast which I posted on YouTube. In it, I gave him what for and pointed out that for all of his frustration and disappointment, things could be worse for him in the baseball department. I doubt he ever saw the video. But after the Mets swept my Cubbies in the National League Championship Series roughly six months later, I stood behind every word (you can check out what I said below. I'm still proud of that video).
This year, however, the video, the hoodie, the term "Masochistic-American," curses involving billy goats... they're all outdated relics of a bygone era. At about half-past midnight this past Thursday morning, the Chicago Cubs won their first World Series since 1908. They beat, of all teams, my Cleveland Indians.
It was everything a baseball fan could hope for. It was Game 7. There was a lead-off home run, a three-run lead that was tied up in the eighth inning, and a rain delay before the tenth inning. It was a nail-biter. And in the end, the Cubs won 8-7. Like a lot of fully grown adults, I was so excited I cried. I cried partially because of the excitement at seeing my favourite team finally shed the image of "lovable losers," but also because Dad died in May and wasn't here to enjoy it with me.
I find it interesting that one of the last things he did was buy two large screen televisions so that he could watch the Cubs play even though he threatened every fall to stop rooting for them. Mom and I figure the Cubs won it all because Dad was probably haunting Wrigley Field most of the season. I remember texting my sister after they won the NLCS (I cried over that too). She reminded me that Dad actually claimed that they would never win the World Series in his lifetime.
I've spent the last six months trying to get a handle on everything surrounding Dad's death--dealing with the house we just bought, the estate, legal hassles, even just simple mourning. All of that was like the eighth inning. You Cubs fans know what I'm talking about. Aroldis Chapman took the mound with two outs already secured. But his arm was overworked. He couldn't throw like he had in previous games and proceeded to let the Indians tie it up. The more superstitious and cynical among us (myself included) thought, "this is where we're finally going to choke." We could see the wheels coming off. But they held on into extra innings and finally managed to win. After that, I finally got a sense that everything will eventually be okay.
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