Hey. Not that I think any of you care all that much, but it has been some time since I have written anything. That's mostly for two reasons. One being the fact that I realized my writing was more for me than anyone else. And two, because I haven't really been inspired to write about anything. Well, something happened last week. You might have heard about it...
THE CHICAGO CUBS WON THE WORLD SERIES.
Hooo boy.
Before I get into what this meant for me personally, if you have a TV, or a radio, or access to a newspaper, or the Internet, or a Morse code machine, you have seen that the Cubs getting a WS ring is a pretty big deal to the world at large. So many people are happy for so many different reasons and it's really a beautiful thing. It's great for the city. It's great for baseball. And hopefully it's the first of many. It's really cool to watch so many people celebrate and have a positive thing to get behind.
The general public's celebration was great for me to see. Especially because it was about a thing I care about as much as a grown man can care about something that doesn't really directly effect his life. I cared about it so much I involuntarily cried as soon as the final out of game seven was made. I jumped out of my chair, ran across the TV room I was in and hugged my father as hard as I have ever hugged him in my life. He also cried. Two blue collar, grown men embraced and cried. If you know me, you know I'm not afraid to cry or show emotion in general (something I very much get from my father). But this felt and feels different. It's nearly a week later and I'm still watching highlights and getting choked up.
I do not, and will never feel shame about that reaction. But, there are people who scoff at the idea of a grown man being emotional about something as trivial as a baseball game. I get it. The ice caps are melting. It's not "important". But it's not necessarily about the game specifically, as it is about 20+ years of memories with my dad, my buddies, and even strangers.
Being a Cubs fan (or really an actual fan of any sports franchise) is part of the fabric a lot of peoples lives. I won't dive into a rant about the "suffering" we've had to endure watching the Cubs, but know that it's as real as sports "suffering" can be. So real that there are things that my brain has blocked out memories of, as if they were a traumatic accident. For instance, I have no idea where I was or who I was with for game 6 of the 2003 NLCS. And if I'm not reminded by someone or something, I often forget the Mike Quade era even happened.
There was a time during the 2008 NLDS where my dad looked at me over a Jameson shot and said; "I'm sorry."
"For what?" I asked.
"For making you a Cubs fan," he replied before we threw back our shots. Some people might look at that as sad, or foolish. But that was an important bonding moment in an already close father/son relationship. We were in this thing together. And for real. Both adults that can deal with sports pain in the way one should always deal with sports pain; via alcohol.
For every bit of heartache, there have been so many fun memories. Watching Kerry Wood throw 20 strikeouts while bagging newspapers for our paper route with my best friend Jim (what I like to call the most Normal Rockwell moment of my life). That same season, with that same best friend, I said that if Gary Gaetti hit a homer, I would call and ask a girl out. I was positive that he wouldn't. And sure enough, The Rat put one out and I had to have an awkward 12 year old phone conversation with a girl I was scared to talk to. It's that stuff. Those moments, that brought out the tears.
It's reaching high school and taking the train to Wrigley for the first time. Drinking enough Squirt and Gordon's Vodka to kill a horse and taking in your first ballgame sans parents. The first time you're allowed to legally enter Murphy's. The first time you can order a beer at the game and not worry about it. It's part of growing up. And it's sharing these experiences with the people you care about that bring out the tears.
It's being dedicated (read; foolish) enough to keep tabs on the team's rebuild. Watching the likes of Darwin Barney and Nate Schierholz patrol Wrigley Field while you know the future is toiling in Iowa. Sticking it out long enough to get rewarded. That's what brings out the reaction.
This year started and barring a slight hiccup mid season, the regular season went according to plan. The playoffs were as nerve wracking a sports experience as I could think of, but in the end we got what we wanted. I don't ever have to hear someone make fun of my Cub fandom again because they're "lovable losers". The team that I care most outside my friends and family are world champions. That's why I cried. That's what created the explosion of emotion that I stifled back until that third out in the bottom of the 10th was made. So mock it all you want. But I'll leave the you with the immortal words of Jeffery Lebowski:
"STRONG MEN DO CRY."
