We Did It
A Sappy Love Story from a Lifelong Cubs Fan
Some of my first memories as a Cubs fan came during the 2004 season as I watched the tail-end of Sammy Sosa’s legendary career with the club. I remember listening to my father tell stories of living in Chicago and sitting behind the power hitter when he still played for the South-Side White Sox. Back when bleacher creatures at Wrigley were still heckling him. They knew little about what Slammin’ Sammy had in store for the North Side.
Spirits weren’t particularly high post-Bartman, and over the course of my first three seasons as a Cubs fan, I watched them go from third, to fourth, and finally to last place of the NL Central in 2006. Still, I endured.
I woke up early every morning, threw some Nesquik chocolate powder in some milk, and turned on Comcast SportsNet Chicago to get the most Cubs’ coverage possible. Obviously, these were before the days of MLB Network. Consequently, I knew way more about the Chicago Fire MLS team than I care to admit.
As soon as my Mom woke up and opened the Quad Cities Times, I snagged the sports section to see how far back in the standings the Cubs had dropped this time. ( I remember in 2005 when they fell back by 20 games. Go Cubs Go!)
Right before heading off to school, I would double check the weekly schedule in the newspaper to see when the Cubbies would be playing today. 1:20. Every. Single. Time.
It became the greatest cause of stress in life.
School wasn’t over till 3 p.m. so I always found myself making a mad dash up the hill leading from Riverdale Heights Elementary to my neighborhood. Every time, an administrator would yell at me to slow down and old ladies at the top of the hill laughed at me. Nothing could stop me from catching one or two more at-bats from my favorite player, Derrek Lee.
As soon as I ran into the house, I would throw on my Cubs hat being held together by tape and sweat. After that, it became quick struggle to figure out if the game was being broadcast on WGN or Comcast that day. On the rare occasion that they were being nationally televised, I fought with my Dad to switch it over to the hometown coverage with Bob Brenly and Len Kasper.
Night games sucked. As one can imagine, it was pretty hard to be a loyal fan when I was still having to operate on an 8:30 bedtime. Sometimes, I would sneak halfway down the stairway to get within hearing distance of the television.
Every book I checked out in my school library was about another ball player. My parents bought me a Baseball Encyclopedia for Christmas. I was memorizing stats for the hell of it. My baseball card collection soon outgrew my bookshelf.
I became obsessed. I fell in love with baseball.
Then, on August 3, 2006, my dream of going to Wrigley Field finally came true. My dad had sat on the computer waiting for tickets to come online before the beginning of the season, and spent all day ensuring my family saw the Cubs play the Diamondbacks in Chicago. It was incredible. Well, we were beat 10–1.
Nonetheless, those memories will last forever.
The years went on and eventually my family moved to Mesa, Arizona; conveniently the home of Chicago Cubs’ Spring Training. I spent countless March days on the lawn beyond the left field wall of Sloan Park. I listened to Ronny Woo-Woo chant until I became nauseous. I heckled at outfielders, and I played as cute as I could so my brother wouldn’t beat me in autographs.
Before the 2008 season, my dad was given the opportunity to throw out the first pitch at a Spring Training game. Being the good guy he is, he passed on the honors to me.
At ten years old, I suited up in a full Cubs uniform, and stood nervously at the pitcher’s mound in front of more than 10,000 people. I then proceeded to step onto the rubber, and fire a strike to Eric Patterson crouching behind home plate, from 60 feet 6 inches. The crowd went wild.
Let me tell ya. Lou Piniella is kind of a douche, but somehow my Dad convinced him to sign my baseball. I left the ballpark that day with a huge smile and eight other signatures including Ryan Theriot and Aramis Ramirez.
You can only imagine my fit when my dog, Wrigley, used my most cherished possession as a chew toy a few months later. I even tried to write Piniella a letter addressed to Addison Street requesting a new signed ball. I never heard back.
In 2008, my hopes of the curse being lifted in 100 years even were cut short by the Dodgers in the NLDS.
Following this, the Cubs decided to rebuild. It took too damn long, because it wasn’t until last season that we barely squeezed our way back into October.
Upon my move to Georgia, I met former Cubs catcher Michael Barrett. He became my catching coach and my favorite Cub ever. The performer and fighter you saw on that field is the same Michael Barrett in real life. When I first met him, he gave me one of his game-used bats as well as one of his sweat rung Cubs hats, with his #8 written in Sharpie beneath the bill.
This was all I has to hold onto as the Cubs slowly died under management of Quade, Sveum, and Renteria from 2011 to 2014.
But Theo is all powerful.
And Joe knows.
In 2015, Theo Epstein and the Cubs unleashed their artillery of weapons stored up in the Minor Leagues. A sleeping giant awoke in Chicago. Addison Russell and Kris Bryant (Rookie of the Year) became the newest youngins to shock the baseball world. Anthony Rizzo blasted 31 homeruns. Jake Arietta expanded his yoga routines (medicine cabinet) and won Cy Young. “Schwarbered” became a verb.
Even though the 2015 season came to a devastating end, it promoted an even greater hope for the future.
After a series of offseason acquisitions including veteran pitcher John Lackey, World Series Champion Ben Zobrist, outfield wizard Jason Heyward, and the extension Dexter Fowler to put the cherry on top, I felt good.
But I never expected this.
They held down the Majors all year. Injuries were minimal (besides Schwarber), pitching was stellar, and front office decisions around the trade deadline carried us over the peak to lock down the NL Central.
I spent my 18th birthday (and America’s birthday) at Wrigley Field, where my dad and I shared our first beer together in the right field bleachers. That’s how Cubs fans do it.
We finished with 103 wins and the best record in baseball.
However, when time finally came for the playoffs, I was still nervous as hell. When you’re a Cubs fan, you have to worry about external forces tampering with logical outcomes.
Until Wednesday night.
The curse is over. That damn goat, Bartman, the black cat, everything. Theo Epstein wiped it clean.
He brought my world to a stop Wednesday night. Every moment as a Cubs fan came flooding into memory in a moment’s time as Kris Bryant tossed that final ground ball over to his buddy Anthony Rizzo at first base. Highlight reels of every tragic Cubs moment went up in flames. I shrieked like a little girl. The emotions still have not departed, and I hope they never do.
Some may say now that the Cubs have won it all, the magic is all gone. It’s only begun. An era of Cubs-dominated baseball is underway in America.
Let’s fly the W.
