I've heard it compared to the Bubonic Plague...family member passing it to family member, eventually killing the ones you love most. I've heard it compared to sado-masochism...embraced only by those who seek out and even seem to enjoy pain. I've heard it compared to worshipping Satan...a strange and anti-establishment thrill even though you know it's not going to end well at all. I know that these are not positive analogies, but for whatever reason I chose, years ago, to call them my own...that's right...I'm a Cubs fan. And this is the worst time of year to be a Cub's fan.
It all stared Sunday night. The Cubs were coming off a 8-0 rout of Pittsburgh, the Brewers had lost another tear-your-heart fall apart game to the Braves...and Dusty Baker (He of the 1,286 pitch count who still has Mark Prior's right arm at home on display above his mantle with a plaque reading "I felled him...me and me alone") said out loud for all America to hear: "They're in. They way they're playing, they're in." And as I sat there in bed, the worst thing possible happened: I agreed with him. Before I could catch myself, I agreed with him.
Suddenly, they flashed the stat that no team had ever blown a 3 1/2 game lead with a week to go. The lump started growing in my throat...there are stacks of those stats 10 miles high that now have the suffix "...except the Cubs." The Brewers won on Monday...again on Tuesday. The Cubs were off on Monday, and got crushed by Dontrelle Willis on Tuesday. Both teams lost last night. The Cubs Website today reads: "Cubs desperate to break Marlins' stranglehold." Yeah, that's right...the Marlins (68-90--the equivalent of the 95 pound weakling) have us in a headlock and are giving us a noogie right now.
And so, with 4 games left in the regular season and a 2 game lead, I'm terrified. You see...something strange happened in 1998. Before then, the only team that could get me nervous was the Nebraska Cornhuskers. Now, I was a fan before 1998, but that was the year of the home run chase and (more importantly) the first Cubs playoff appearance of my old-enough-to-understanding. I remember the tension down towards the end of the season...I remember thinking all was lost. Most of all, I remember the spectacular game they played against the Giants in a one-game playoff for the Wild Card in Wrigley. Sure, they got killed in the playoffs...but that game got me hooked.
If 1998 was my introduction, 2003 was my true initiation. I had heard of the terrible plays and the leads blown and all that stuff...but never experienced it. I remember the announcer calling Game 6 saying, "Only 5 more outs...and the way Prior's pitching, I don't think the Marlins can do it." And I thought to myself: "They've got it. We're actually going to the series." Minutes later, Bartman. Chaos. Disappointment. And...for Game 7...anxiety. That strange feeling that there was absolutely no way the Cubs were going to win.
And so, this September, that feeling has come up again. That strange mix of hope and anxiety. But as I think about the facts of baseball (like the once-cursed Red Sox fan base and their morph into demanding, spoiled Yankees who wear different colors) alongside the ins-and-outs of my calling (darkness before I dawn, dependence, and the like)...I can't help but wonder it the wins would mean as much if there were more of them. Sure, it would be nice to make the playoffs 13 years and a row and hire and fire people because you didn't win 100 games...but I look at the Nebraska fan base and then think about all the excitement I felt for that one-game playoff (to simply make the playoffs)...and I think of the smile I'll (God willing) have if they actually pull it off.
But I stop short of the whole "Cubs fan as a mirror of Christian faith" thing. I'll stick with it as entertainment....because, at the end of the day, when I feel this knot in my stomach as I check the scores comimg in and think about the relatively slight disappointment I would feel if the Cubs fail to make the cut...I sit back and am thankful for that unassailable fact:
Steve Bartman or no Steve Bartman...God always wins the pennant.
3 comments:
I really don't have much to say about the Cubs' season in general. I, too, loved them in '98, but haven't followed much since. Not having a male in the house full time has caused my sports-watching to greatly decrease.
However, I had to post a response because I wanted to say that it took me three - yes THREE - looks at your blog to finally figure out that the picture is of YOU at a Cubs game. Duh.
And I call myself your sister (hangs head in shame)...
Marcy
Oh boy, you've done it now.
Marcy...I really hope you're kidding. There's no simley face...and this worries we. Tell me you're kidding...otherwise I may have to take you out at Thanksgiving.
This is a picture of the aforementioned Steve Bartman messing with the foul ball that started the chain of events that kept them out of the series. Now...I don't blame Bartman, mind you, but still. To mistake your Cub fan brother for Steve Bartman...well, that's like walking up to Billy Graham and telling him he looks an awful lot like Hugh Heffner.
Plus, when in the world have you ever seen me sporting the Walkman-black sweatshirt-ballglove combo? (Let's not forget that Julie and I were married at the time) And, while we're on the subject, the picture would have been of Julie pulling my hand back or smacking me across the face or something like that because she would have had the common sense to let Moises Alou catch the freaking ball.
So, sorry. I wish I would have been there...to watch what would have been (because of Julie) the Cubs' first pennant since 1908.
But..alas...
I don't know Steve Bartman...I never served with Steve Bartman...and I, dear sister, am no Steve Bartman.
OK, so I made a mistake. Maybe even a HUGE mistake. However, look at that picture objectively. In my head I was thinking that, perhaps, it was a picture from the very first Cubs game you went to waaaay back when. I was thinking that maybe it was you and Mark (just below "your" right arm - blonde hair and cubs hat) when you went to Chicago and stayed with Jill once upon a time. So SHUT IT.
Besides, your father even thought that was a picture of you.
Then again, maybe saying that doesn't help my case much. :)
M
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