Someday

I don't remember the exact moment when I fell in love with the Cubs. The same way a person doesn't remember learning to love their parents or learning to chew solid food. I know that logically, there must have been a time in my life when I didn't know what the Cubs were, but I don't remember that time at all. I only ever remember being a Cubs fan.

I remember the little white transistor radio my mom had that only got AM stations, that she would use to listen to Cubs games. I remember Harry Caray and Steve Stone calling the games, and I remember being sad when Harry died, but relieved that he would never have to try to pronounce "Grudzielanek" or "Samardzija" backwards.

I remember going to my first Cubs game with my grandmother, my mom, and my brother, and letting the magic of Wrigley Field wash over me. That magic still exists there, every day, every time I walk into the stands. That first view of the field sets everything right with the world. Time stops. We are all made equal. We are all there to enjoy our time watching baseball, eating snacks we otherwise wouldn't allow ourselves, and cheering for our boys in pinstripes.

I remember my first Cubs crush on Shawon Dunston, soon to be followed by Kerry Wood, Mark DeRosa, and after a year of not allowing myself to like him because he had been with the Marlins who beat us the year before, Derrick Lee. I remember feeling a special bond with Keith Moreland because of the similarity of our last names, even though we've never met.

I remember getting excited in 1984, in 2003, in 2008, and in 2015, when it looked like we might finally win it all. I remember thinking that we were the best, no matter how many errors we made, how few runs we scored, or how the stats stacked up against us. I remember being devastated each time when what looked so easy for everyone else turned out to be so hard for us.

But mostly, I remember the love. I've been asked many times what the big deal is about the Cubs. They don't put on the offensive show that a lot of American League teams do, with fireworks going off for every home run. Wrigley is an old stadium, falling apart in places, that is missing the state of the art food courts and LED banners that tell us when to stand up and make noise. "It's just a baseball team." Except it's not. It is hope. It is a dream. It is a light that lets us know that no matter what happens today, there will be a tomorrow. There will be another chance. From Harry Caray to Pat Hughes, the fans are always brought into the games, welcomed as if each and every moment of each and every game could be the turning point that we've all been waiting for for 108 years. We lose, and we brush ourselves off and come back and play again. It has to take a lot of love for players like Kerry Wood and Greg Maddux to want nothing more than to come back to the Cubs to finish their careers, for men like Ernie Banks to dedicate themselves to the team and the organization long after retirement. It has to take a lot of heart to still show up to the ballpark and to still play as hard as you can every game for over a century without getting the one thing millions of people are hoping, dreaming, willing into existence - a World Series title. Because if we have the title, then maybe other people will finally listen when we say the Cubs are the best team in baseball. They always have been.

For my grandmother who lived her whole life without seeing the Cubs win it all.
For my mother who filled our house with baseball even before I knew what baseball was.
For Harry Caray who assured us that this day would come, as sure as God made little green apples, even though he's not here to see it.
For Ron Santo, who I'm sure would have had a heart attack in the booth if he had tried to call this series.
For Ernie Banks, who taught us all to be kind and gracious and to keep playing no matter what.
For Wood, Prior, DeRosa, Dawson, Lazzeri, Gossage, Sandberg, Maddux, Durham, Sutcliffe, Lee, Jenkins, Dunston, Dempster, Zambrano, Johnson, Barrett, Alou, Williams, Dean, Lindstrom, Zimmer, Wilson, Sutter, Boa, Smith, Moreland, Pappas, Brock, Ramirez, Kelly, Hornsby, Grace, Davis, Cey, and Brown who gave it their everything and never quite got there.
For Tinker.
For Evers.
For Chance.

This one is for you. This is your win. This is your year.

Thank you.

I don't remember the exact moment I fell in love with this team. I know I will never love another team in the same way. I will always be grateful that I got to see them make history, even from afar. Because if the Cubs can win the World Series, what else is possible?

Everything.

July 5 - Friendly Confines

Wrigley Field is the greatest ballpark in the world. I know some native Bostonians will cry foul at that statement and say, "Fenway! It's all about Fenway!" I don't doubt Fenway is awesome. I hope to go there someday. But to me, Wrigley Field is the greatest because it is my childhood. It is my home. 

Wrigley is where my brother and I watched a standing room only game, camped out on a ramp near the vendor stand that sells decent beer. Wrigley is where my friend had her bachelorette party. Wrigley is where I sat in the bleachers, baking in the sun with a sign asking Mark DeRosa to come back to Chicago. Wrigley is where I went to my first game as a kid with my mom and grandmother and we arrived late for the first game of the double header and left before the second game ended, leaving me feeling gypped for my whole life that I didn't get to see a complete game my first time out. Wrigley is where my mom used to wear a shirt with tons of pockets so she could sneak in healthy snacks for us to eat between hot dogs. Wrigley is where you get the good hot dogs, and where you used to get the best Pepsi on the planet. Wrigley is full of tributes to the history of the game, like the statutes and the flags. Wrigley is a monument to the current state of the sport because it keeps the focus on the game, not on the jumbotron or the games in the outfield between half-innings. Wrigley is home to the best organ player in Major League Baseball. Wrigley is where my heart broke in Game 7. Wrigley is where I was when every tornado siren in the city of Chicago went off at the same time in a crazy storm and we all had to smush into the concourse to stay dry. Wrigley is where my friend's nephew would like to go again "in the summer when the food's not wet." Wrigley is where I learned to play mound ball. Wrigley is where I saw a man get served divorce papers (or something). Wrigley is where my brother first told me about this new girl he was dating who is now my sister-in-law and a beautiful addition to our family. 

So when people try to tell me that Fenway is the greatest ballpark in the world, all I can do is smile and know that they are entitled to their own opinion. But I know better. Because I know that Wrigley Field is where time stops, where new friendships are formed and old ones renewed, where families bring generations to celebrate traditions, where everyone has a ritual that makes the day special for them. And whether the Cubs win or lose, I know Wrigley is where magic happens. 

May 21 - Open Letter to the Cubs Bullpen

Dear Chicago Cubs Bullpen,

Really?

Really. 

REALLY?!?!?!!

Sincerely,

Miss Kitty

April 14 - Twitter Topic

I didn't know what to blog about today, so I put the call out to Twitter for a topic. Nic Lake was the first to respond, and he responded thusly:

"Sports. Boobs. Music. Food. The Loop. One thing you can do next week that you really want to do."

So today is going to be a bit of a hodgepodge. Ready? Okay. Here we go:

Sports: I've been thinking recently about how a lot of nerds/geeks/dorks use their lack of knowledge about sports as proof that they are nerds/geeks/dorks. I take issue with this. I am a geek. I would run against Felicia Day for the title of Queen of the Geeks if there was such a thing as a campaign for Queen of the Geeks, and I think I would have a pretty good showing in the election (but she would ultimately still win as approximately 3,000,000 more people are aware of her existence than are aware of mine, but anyway). But I also enjoy sports. It has been determined that I am a huge Cubs fan, I've been to basketball games and futbol matches and loved loved LOVED learning to be a derby girl for the play I did in November of last year. Does this make me less of a geek? If anything, I would argue that it makes me more of a geek for the simple fact that I am wearing a Cubs shirt under a Cubs hoodie as I write this post. Geeks can like sports, just as much as athletes can be geeks. Or something.

Boobs: Mine are rather nice on their own, but I do appreciate a good, supportive undergarment that makes them look amazing. Does that make me vain? I don't really care. It feels good to have a good boob day.

Music: I recently signed up for an online streaming music service and at the same time that I put together a playlist of new music that I am enjoying, I put a playlist together called "Bubble Gum" full of songs that have a beat, have mostly stupid lyrics, and sometimes actually make me kind of ill so I have to fast forward through them. It's music to turn your brain off to, which is what I want to listen to from time to time. But somehow, in compiling this playlist, I neglected to add any Lady Gaga. I feel like my Bubble Gum Pop Music Teeny Bopper card should be revoked.

Food: Food is the cause of and solution to all of life's problems. Mine specifically. It is my security blanket and my kryptonite. I wish I could quit it cold turkey, but I just really really really like to eat. I'm sorry; I know that's not cool and I know society says I should eat less and whatnot (and I'm actually really trying to be better with portion control), but I just really like eating. I'm not ready to give that up.

The Loop: Arguably the best variation to pull out with an eight-month-old who loves to play airplane.

One thing I can do next week that I really want to do: Hmmm...I've been kind of itching to go roller skating recently. Though I probably should schedule another fencing lesson for myself. And I need to get going on draping/patterning/building a bathing suit and a fancy white dress for myself. And I want to spend some time with my Hamlet monologues. Ooo! Or catch up on Doctor Who! (I might do that tonight.) Which means I will probably most enjoy when I have a few minutes to take a nap with my cat on the couch.

...and scene. Thanks for the suggestion, Nic! That was fun.

April 11 - You're Doing It Wrong

From the Desk of Miss Kitty
The Interwebs

April 11, 2013

To Cubs Fans Everywhere
RE: The Curse

Hi, Cubs fans,

Somebody decided to drop off a goat's head at Wrigley Field this morning in an attempt to break the curse and all I can think (besides "disgusting") is, "You're doing it wrong."

In 1945, Billy Goat Tavern owner Billy Sianis brought his pet goat to a World Series game at Wrigley Field and was asked to leave because his goat's odor was bothering other patrons. Billy loved his pet goat - it was his best friend - and was outraged that he would be asked to leave and his friend denied the privilege of watching a game. If you think it's hard to get World Series tickets now, just imagine how hard it was back then with no interweb, StubHub, or crazy wristband purchasing system. He probably spent a lot of time and money getting those tickets, one for himself, one for his friend, and to be asked to leave because his friend smelled bad was insulting. So he said the Cubs weren't going to win anymore. And we've not won a World Series since.

Now, I realize that people are fixated on the fact that it was a goat that was dispelled from Wrigley Field, but let's look at it another way. Let's pretend it was Billy's child, who happened to have a bad case of body odor. Okay, he probably would not have been asked to leave the ballpark if it was his child who smelled funky, but just go with me on this. Billy brings his kid to the ballpark, is asked to leave, and curses the Cubs. Do we spend the next sixty-eight years sacrificing, decapitating, cooking and eating children in order to reverse the curse? No! That makes no sense. They way to right that wrong is to apologize to the wronged party; not to continue to debase and insult the injured party. (In case you're confused, the wronged party in our hypothetical scenario is Billy's child; in reality, it is Billy's goat.)

It is possible that I've watched more sci-fi than you, which is how I know that in order to reverse a curse, you have to right the original wrong. In Poltergeist, they had to un-desecrate the burial ground. In Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel had to know true happiness. Hell, even in My Name is Earl, he had to apologize and make up for all of the things he did wrong. This isn't rocket science, people, it's karma. If you messed up in the past, you have to set it right now in order for things to change.

Which brings us back to Billy and his goat. Billy wanted to watch a World Series game with his friend at Wrigley Field. He didn't get to, so he cursed the Cubs. If you look at this very closely, it would seem that the way to undo this curse is to allow Billy to watch a World Series game at Wrigley with his goat. There are problems with this scenario. Billy died in 1970; his goat likely died some time before that. And arranging for a World Series game at Wrigley Field...well, we all know the likelihood of that. There have been attempts to right this wrong by bringing a goat out onto the field on opening day, by trying to bring a goat into other ballparks where the Cubs were playing, by setting up goat-based charity organizations, etc., but the one thing that really needs to happen keeps not happening. Sam Sianis (nephew to Billy) was denied entrance into Wrigley Field with a goat in 2003 at what turned out to be the Bartman game. Sam and his goat had to watch that game from within Wrigley Field in order to break the curse. It shouldn't be some publicity stunt, shouldn't involve parading a goat around like it's some kind of trophy. A family member of Billy Sianis needs to be able to watch a game at Wrigley Field with his (or her) favorite pet. Simple as that.

I realize that there would probably be all sorts of concerns from the health department regarding having a goat in the ball park, and how close it would get to the concession stands and how do you keep it from eating other patron's hats and whatnot, but I think all of that is manageable. Pick a game when the special section for patrons in wheelchairs has not been otherwise reserved. Let the Sianis family and their favorite goat watch from there. You could tie the goat to the railing so it wouldn't get into the concession stands, and would be of minimal bother to the other patrons. And then just let the goat watch the game. My guess is that any nearby patrons who complain could be pacified either with an explanation that this is in an attempt to break the curse, or by relocating them to different seats so the goat can watch the game in peace. It's totally doable, and to break a 104 year dry spell, I think exceptions could be made. It doesn't have to become a rule that people can bring pets to Wrigley; it just has to happen once. Wrigley Field needs to apologize to Billy's goat for not letting him watch a World Series game. That is what needs to happen.

So for the love of all things Chicago, stop slaughtering goats! You're just making things worse.

A devoted Cubs fan,
MissKitty

April 8 - Opening Day

Many of the things I have loved most in my life were things I found on my own at just the right time, not things that were recommended to me by friends. That is not to say I don't enjoy recommendations, but the things that stick with me the longest, that mean the most, are the things I found on my own.

I remember listening to a lot of spring training games on the radio, what was that, five years ago? I love baseball - I grew up listening to and watching Cubs games whenever I could, so the hum of 40,000 people in a ball park, the crack of the bat, the pop when a strike hits the catcher's glove are all comforting sounds to me. And a few years ago (maybe five maybe six?), I found myself needing that kind of comfort, so I listened to a lot of spring training games. Often times, they were just background noise - when there's not a lot going on in the game, it's nice to just have the sound of the field on the side of your auditory palette. That particular year, I remember my attention snapping back to the game more often than not when some player named Mark DeRosa was involved in the play. I had no idea where this DeRosa guy came from or what he looked like or what his career stats were, but I decided over the course of those spring training games that he was someone I should pay attention to, and someone I wanted to cheer for. He wasn't a big name, big contract guy like a Soriano or a Fukodome. He wasn't the sort where half the fans at Wrigley on opening day would be wearing his jersey, but he played well, he played consistently. I found out later when I got a chance to watch a regular season game on television that he was also rather nice to look at. For a while, he wrote weekly blogs for the Cubs website, which were witty and funny and insightful, but not in the "well, we're nine guys out there on the field together trying to win games, you know, so you just gotta go out there and give it your best and hope things work out" kind of a way. He was known for having great energy in the dugout, and in his two years with the Cubs, he played seven of the nine defensive positions. He was the ultimate utility man, and I adored him. Adored him.

DeRosa was traded on New Year's Eve in 2008 and after stints with the Indians, Giants, Cardinals, and Nationals, he is now a Blue Jay. He's got one home run on the season so far, but has never played as well as he played with the Cubs. Mark DeRosa is that Cubs player who I found on my own, loved dearly, and will always sort of keep an eye out for while he is in the major leagues.

As the Cubs open another season at Wrigley Field today, I can't help but miss DeRo. DeRo, Chicago misses you. Please come home.

And maybe learn to pitch so you can school Marmol on how it's done.

Thanks!