Go Cubs, Go

Do I dare? Do I really dare? Do I dare get a teensy, weensy bit excited? Do I dare think this just might be--MIGHT BE--the year? Do I dare let my guard down, open my poor, stamped-on-trampled-on-heart and believe? 

YES! YES! YES! I have been a Cubs fan all of my life. When I'd play ball with the neighborhood boys (playing "against the wall" ball with the pinkie rubber ball and the chalk strike zone drawn on the brick building), I was always Don Kessinger. (I choose not to remember that he betrayed me in the end by going to the the EVIL White Sox and just as painful Cardinals--just like that naughty Brett Favre betrayed his minions in Green Bay). He wasn't a great hitter but boy, could he play shortstop. With Ernie Banks, Glen Beckert, Ron Santo, Randy Hundley, Fergie Jenkins and Billy Williams on the field with Don, what was not to love? I remember my first Cubs game. It was against the Phillies, in the nosebleed seats. But, when one is at Wrigley Field, nosebleed seats do not matter--you are in baseball heaven. A hot dog with mustard only, a bag of Cracker Jack, a crappy camera, a bit of spitting rain and a sign made on corrugated cardboard--heaven. I really wanted to take a sign so I could hold it up for the camera (kids don't understand that the cameras don't exactly pan the upper deck). My father suggested I write, "Give the Phillies the willies." Well, I made the sign despite not having the slightest clue what the hell the willies were or why I'd want to give them to the Phillies. What were the willies, anyway? Were they contagious? Did Billy Williams have the willies? It couldn't be good but what exactly did it mean? I don't remember who won the game but I do remember that I had a great time and that my love affair with Wrigley Field started on that very day. 

  I am old enough to remember the 1969 Cubs, of which I shall not speak at this time, lest I curse the current team. I shall not speak of the damned goat curse, either. I'm more likely to speak of "She who must not be named" than about the goat. 

 Since then, I've been to a bunch of Cubs games--sometimes by bus, other times by "the el," sometimes by train, sometimes (very unfortunately) by car. As Wrigley Field doesn't have a parking lot, it is always good to NOT drive. Those not from Chicago are always astounded that there isn't a parking lot for Wrigley Field. In many ways, not having a stadium parking lot adds to the ambiance of the experience, although it really sucks if you do choose to drive and park. If you drive, take A LOT of money because if you want to park in an "unofficial" lot (read: some gas station or place of business), you are going to have to shell out big money. If you want to park on the streets, leave yourself plenty of time, because parking spaces are almost impossible to find. 

  I've gone to Cubs games with friends, with family, with bus trips, with co-workers, with the wife, with school groups. Each time was special in its own way. I've sat in good seats and seats behind a pole and seats in the bleachers (one time was enough of that). I've eaten many a hot dog (remember: mustard only, lukewarm, from a vendor, Oscar Meyer) and enjoyed many a malted cup. I've sang "Take me out to the Ballgame" proudly each and every time at Wrigley Field. I've heard Jack Brickhouse and I've heard Harry Carey in person. I've purchased one of those little wooden baseball bats and pennants and hats. I wore number 11 whenever I could when playing softball. I've been a fan when they sucked and when they only kind of sucked and when they really didn't suck at all. I've had my heart crushed every time. 

  I've never caught a foul ball but there's still time. I haven't gone to a Cubs game this year but that's about to change as the wife and I are heading to the Brewer/Cub game on Saturday. The fun! (Well, fun for me--the wife is a Brewer's fan and things aren't going so well for them.) It's an easy way to see the Cubs--a bus trip to Miller Park, where they actually have parking and they have a dome (so you know the game won't be canceled). I love Miller Park because of that (and because they have veggie hot dogs) but give me the ivy, the wind off the lake, the frustration of being boxed in at the parking area, the old manual scoreboard any day..... 

  It's been 100 years. That's a nice, round number, so maybe this is the year....after all, a century is long enough to wait for the pennant, don't you think? So, I DO--foolishly??--dare to think "hey, hey!" and "holy cow!" I do have the teensiest, weensiest glimmer of hope and I do find myself quietly thinking, "this is the year!" Do I dare? You bet your Don Kessinger autographed baseball card I do!