This is the Year

Below is a piece I wrote after attending a Cubs game with Dad on July 16, 2006.  I was 25-years-old. I had been a Cubs fan my whole life. It was something I was born with - like my brown hair and Polish name. There was no choice. My grandparents were Cubs fans. My parents were Cubs fans. I was a Cubs fan.  But you might say it was on July 16, 2006 that I really understood what that meant - the heartache and long-suffering. I remember Dad looking at me, smiling, and saying "I think you are finally getting it."

Sure, I remember the NLCS in 2003. That broke my heart. Curses and Bartman and oh...they were so close!  But I kept believing, and I had optimistic hope. They'll get it next year. But in 2006, well...I got it.

I mean, I still had hope. Every year. Some years hurt more than others. Some had more tears than others. But my hope had changed. It was resolute. Unwavering. It was in me. It was a part of me. I don't know how else to describe it. But I wouldn't say I was optimistic. I had accepted that this is what it meant to be a Cubs fan. To hope in the face of no chance. To believe in the midst of curses. To dare to dream that I would see something that hadn't been seen in over 100 years.

As we all know now - it happened. No more "there's always next year." This truly is the year. I could probably write a book about how much this has shaped me. It may seem silly to you if you aren't a Cubs fan. How can I describe what its like to finally get something you've waited your whole life for? Something my Granny longed for on her death bed? Something my sweet Dad finally got to see at the age of 73?  The longing is indescribable. It seemed impossible for so long. I still haven't grasped this new reality. The Cubs won?!  I can accept it for moments at a time, but not as a whole. It's too overwhelming.

It is a living parable for me. It teaches me that the impossible IS possible. It teaches me to believe in what I cannot see. It reminds me that all things can be redeemed. This team taught me to have the courage to believe in a different ending - to believe the story isn't over yet. Faith. Hope. Belief.

So today, I went to see it with my own two eyes. Dad and I made the pilgrimage to Wrigley. We looked at the famous marquee in awe: World Series Champions! We watched the victory parade. And I cried - inspired to hope and to dream again.  Relieved to finally have this longing fulfilled. I will treasure this moment with my Dad for the rest of my life. Sweet redemption of our experience at Wrigley 10 years earlier.

As Eddie Vedder so rightly says "When you're born in Chicago, you're blessed and you're healed... the first time you walk into Wrigley Field."

Thank you, Cubs.  Thank you for redeeming and healing my broken heart. I believe.

Here is my piece from 2006:

It was 95˚ in the shade.  So humid, the field itself was sweating.  The Cubs were in the middle of one of their worst seasons ever – 66 losses and only 36 wins.  Even though they bring me shame and disappointment, I couldn’t pass up an opportunity to see my boys play in their pin-striped blue.  There we were, Dad & I, upper deck, 3^rd baseline, row 5, trying not to pass out from the heat.  Rookie Sean Marshall was on the mound desperately trying to get a win for the Cubs on this scorcher of a day.  

And…they were well on their way.  The Cubbies were actually winning!  They played as a team – hitting to advance runners to scoring position.  Base hits.  Marshall scored his first career home run. The Mets were missing easy plays.  The Cubs made these Division-leaders look like 5-year-olds playing little league.  “It’s so hot, how can hell be freezing over?” I thought to myself.  They might actually win!

Then it happened.  The Cubbies I’ve come to know and foolishly love.  Two unbelievable errors by Walker.  Walks & hits off Marshall.  And then – GRAND SLAM.  Marshall goes out, but that doesn’t stop the bleeding.  This is the Cubs after all!  To surely set some sort of MLB record, the Mets score yet another grand slam.  By the end of the 6^th inning, the Cubs gave the Mets 11 runs and lost their 5-2 lead.  Enough to win the game, if you can imagine.

I sat in my seat in utter disbelief.  How?  Why?  Fans in the bleachers threw their beer on the outfield.  We’ve had enough!  I wiped the sweat from my brow and chuckled silently to myself.  Indeed, how foolish I had been – dragging myself out in this heat to be heart-broken yet again. Hell was not freezing over.  Hell was right here at Clark and Addison.

As horrible as that experience was, I learned a few things about myself that day.  Not only do I bleed Cubbie blue -  I sweat it.  I cry it.  Better or worse.  Thick or thin.  I have no choice.  I have reached adulthood infected with the disease that has plagued generations before me.  I am a Chicago Cubs fan.

Written after the game on July 16, 2006