Speaking of going the distance – lets talk about the Cubs…
(see what I did there? practically a seamless transition!)
It’s time to tell you a little bit about why I watched the Cubs these past few weeks.
(me = someone who doesn’t typically pay attention to professional sports)
I am one of those people who are mostly indifferent during regular seasons. I will watch playoffs and championship football games if required in order to interact with friends (but it is not my first choice of activities). I rarely watch any games on television and I never listen to them on the radio. There are too many other things I’d rather be doing than watch sports.
When asked about my favorite professional football, hockey and basketball teams, I simply don’t have an answer.
However, if anyone asks about baseball, it has always been the Chicago Cubs.
I grew up in East Central Wisconsin, in Neenah to be exact, where almost everyone I know is a Brewers fan (including my dad). And yet, my brother Jon and I grew up cheering for the Cubs.
I recently asked how that came to be and Jon attributes it to WGN (of course, it also helped that our mom is from Illinois and took him to his first baseball game at Wrigley Field, and I, throughout my youth, idolized my brother and his interests).
It’s funny because until he associated it with the Cubs, I always remembered WGN as the The Bozo Show channel, where kids would throw ping-pong balls into numbered buckets for prizes at the prompting of Bozo the Clown (for the record, now when I see images of bozo and his sidekick "cooky," it scares the crap out of me). The kids were average – dressed in scout uniforms or play clothes. They had bad hair and scraped knees and lisps and big glasses. They were just like me (not like the people we typically see on television). I always cheered for them to win the grand prize and dreamt about what I’d do with the money (usually around $20). Incidentally, the only other show I remember watching as zealously as The Bozo Show throughout my youth is the Price Is Right. I would bid on the Showcase Showdown as if I was actually playing (tell me I am not the only one who did that).
My brother used to come home from school and watch the Cubs on WGN. They didn’t have night games in Chicago, because the stadium didn’t have lights back then (that was quite the controversy when that finally happened – I was only 12 at the time but I remember the drama).
Jon collected their baseball cards, wore the jersey, and knew all the stats of all the players. I know them because of him: Rick Sutcliffe, Andre Dawson, Jody Davis.
My brother recalls the first time he went to Wrigley Field. He kept his ticket as a keepsake. I, on the other hand, don’t remember specific games. To me, Wrigley Field and the Cubs were simply a part of our collective family history. We used to go to one game every summer during our annual Chicago vacation.
I remember the ballpark with the big red sign.
It smelled of fresh popcorn and beer.
It smelled of fresh popcorn and beer.
I can still hear the sound of Harry Caray’s voice calling out plays.
Back then he was as famous to me as a movie star.
I had a crush on Ryne Sandberg.
He hit a homerun every time I was at Wrigley Field
(of course he did it for me).
FYI - When the camera scanned the crowd at Game 4 of the World Series, I knew it was him before they ever said his name.
Having a crush on a baseball player I never met may sound silly, but this weekend as I listened to my 13-year-old niece talk about Kris Bryant and Anthony Rizzo, I was reminded of middle-school me.
Our yearly Chicago trips involved iconic destinations like the Shedd Aquarium and Museum of Science and Industry. I stared in slack-jaw wonder at the towering downtown buildings from the backseat of our two-toned station wagon. We ate hot dogs and pizza and soaked in Chicago like the tourists we were.
As our childhoods faded and that dreadful thing called “adulting” happened, the family trips to the Windy City ceased and my knowledge of the Cubs disappeared. I no longer had Jon educating me on the stats. Instead I had books to read, movies to watch, trails to hike and friends to hang out with. My ears perked up when the Chicago Cubs were referenced and I kept tabs on how the seasons ended (typically not very well).
I rooted for Sammy Sosa in the late 90’s when he went head-to-head against Mark McGwire in a race for the home-run record (and I believe Sammy when he says the drug accusations are false).
Sadly, in 2003, I watched when Steve Bartman and a dozen other fans interfered with the infamous foul ball.
And ten years ago, I lived with a friend whose love for the Cubs paralleled my brother’s. So for a short time I was transported back to my youth – wrapped in the excitement, anxiety, hope and disappointment that comes with being a Cubs fan. We named one of our pet frogs Mark Prior (in unrelated news, the frog died within 48 hours of bringing him home).
The past several weeks I have been swimming in nostalgia as I have screamed and jumped and cheered and paced and bitten all of my finger nails.
Sitting by myself on my couch on Wednesday night, I felt like I was surrounded by family when they announced the Chicago Cubs won. (for real, I don't think any cub fan could possibly feel alone in that moment.)
Having a crush on a baseball player I never met may sound silly, but this weekend as I listened to my 13-year-old niece talk about Kris Bryant and Anthony Rizzo, I was reminded of middle-school me.
Our yearly Chicago trips involved iconic destinations like the Shedd Aquarium and Museum of Science and Industry. I stared in slack-jaw wonder at the towering downtown buildings from the backseat of our two-toned station wagon. We ate hot dogs and pizza and soaked in Chicago like the tourists we were.
As our childhoods faded and that dreadful thing called “adulting” happened, the family trips to the Windy City ceased and my knowledge of the Cubs disappeared. I no longer had Jon educating me on the stats. Instead I had books to read, movies to watch, trails to hike and friends to hang out with. My ears perked up when the Chicago Cubs were referenced and I kept tabs on how the seasons ended (typically not very well).
I rooted for Sammy Sosa in the late 90’s when he went head-to-head against Mark McGwire in a race for the home-run record (and I believe Sammy when he says the drug accusations are false).
Sadly, in 2003, I watched when Steve Bartman and a dozen other fans interfered with the infamous foul ball.
And ten years ago, I lived with a friend whose love for the Cubs paralleled my brother’s. So for a short time I was transported back to my youth – wrapped in the excitement, anxiety, hope and disappointment that comes with being a Cubs fan. We named one of our pet frogs Mark Prior (in unrelated news, the frog died within 48 hours of bringing him home).
The past several weeks I have been swimming in nostalgia as I have screamed and jumped and cheered and paced and bitten all of my finger nails.
Sitting by myself on my couch on Wednesday night, I felt like I was surrounded by family when they announced the Chicago Cubs won. (for real, I don't think any cub fan could possibly feel alone in that moment.)
Thank you for going the distance this year and taking me back to my childhood. I will always cherish these moments.
