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.