Cubbies!

At no time in my life have I been a baseball fan.  In fact, I've gone out of my way to tell people I didn't feel baseball was a real sport; on the contrary it seemed like a very unpassionate display of laziness to me.  Naturally, my prediliction for things not baseball was probably brought about by my inability to hit a ball, or catch a ball or judge a fly ball's distance from the batter to my glove.  My real disdain for baseball came about when I was playing catch with my younger brother, who was a pretty good baseball player in his own right, and ate a fastball rather than catching it with my gloved hand. 

My dad was a huge baseball fan, but most especially he was an Atlanta Braves fan.  When the braves won approximately ten games a year, he was still there in front of the television cheering them on.  For me, watching baseball on t.v. had all the fun, excitement and glamour of watching grass grow.  I thought George Carlin had it right when he said baseball would be a lot more fun if randomly placed land mines were planted in the outfield--now there's excitement!

Pops was a die hard Braves fan, and the Braves play-by-play analyst during the 70's and 80's was a gentleman named Skip Carey.  Skip did have a very contagious personality and he could at least bring the least favorite fan of the sport an occasional smile.  He was also a legacy sports commentator.  His father, Harry Carey, wasn't just the voice of the Chicago Cubs, he was the Chicago Cubs!  And while my dad hated most things yankee, he felt some weird kinship for Harry Carey and the Cubs and would tune into WGN television anytime the Braves weren't playing to watch this yankee team in what I'm certain he considered to be a foreign country (She-car-go, as he would say).

So, every now and again, I would watch part of most of a game with my dad, and sometimes we would watch a Cubs game together.  He would always laugh at Harry singing Take Me Out to the Ball Game and comment on how horrible the yankee team was (a team not so different from his beloved Braves).  Etched into my memory was the thatched looking field, cut and cared for by some guy who took great pride in his work.  The famed ivy crawling up the back wall of Wrigley Field, the bleachers behind center field and the folks on the roof tops of buildings getting to watch games for free are a few of the memories I have of the Chicago Cubs.

And here I am, thirty years later, living in the Chicago suburbs with an opportunity to see the Cubs play.  I would like to add that I've seen the Braves play a few times, both at the old Fulton County Stadium (Dale Murphy, Phil Niekro, Glenn Hubbard, Raphael Rameriz) and at Turner Field (post 1996 Olympics).  I was also at the new Yankee Stadium the night Derek Jeter broke Lou Gherig's all time hit record.  So,with tickets in hand, I told my daughter Cassidy, step daughter Abby and her friend Emma to be ready to ride to Wrigleyville by 4:00 PM on the 26th of June.  We were going to witness a terrible Cubs team beat up on another New York team, the Mets.  When I told people the Cubs were going to win, I was taunted and laughed at.  After all, the Cubs aren't that good this year and conversely, the Mets aren't that bad.

I donned a University of Alabama t-shirt and hat because I wanted to blend in with the fanbase at Wrigley.  We hopped in my wife's car and drove the thirty miles to the stadium; a thirty mile drive that took us around two hours to complete.  The traffic was lovely.  We parked (I had a parking pass--win!) then walked a block to the stadium.  Upon seeing Wrigley Field I got all excited, kinda like a fat kid in a donut shop.  It was something to behold, what with all that history and all!  I knew my dad was looking down, living vicariously through his oldest and most favorite son who didn't really like baseball, but who wanted to do this for the both of us. 

We handed our tickets to one of the ticket-takers and walked into the old stadium.  Immediately I spotted a guy with a University of Alabama hat on, and almost as quickly I yelled out, "Roll Tide!"  (Note: for those currently living on Saturn, Roll Tide is the war chant Alabama fans scream during sporting events, especially Alabama football games.  It is also exclusively used as a greeting when addressing other Bama fans, or used as a taunt when meeting Auburn fans.)  In return for my famous greeting, approximately fifteen people standing around me broke out into "Roll Tide Roll!"  It did my heart good and for a moment I thought Coach Paul Bear Bryant might be resurrected and come strolling down the halls of Wrigley. 

After grabbing a hot dog for each, at seven bucks apiece--ouch--we worked our way up the ramp to find our seats on the second level.  We sat just above the third base line in perfect territory to catch a foul ball that might float our way.  Soon the Cubs took the field and I jumped into action by cheering and just going plain old stupid.  The girls shied away from me, hoping they wouldn't run into anyone they knew.  Several folks walked up to me and gave me a Roll Tide; life was good.

Some new kid named Rizzo made his major league debut and the three girls all talked about how cute he was.  I hate girls.  Why can't they focus on the sport?  Why do teenager girls have to be all silly, smelly and boy crazy?  Anyway.....

I got up from my seat and danced to the music between innings, at least I called what I was doing dancing.  The girls, I'm certain, had a different opinion or interpretation for what I was doing, but dance I did because I was having fun.  I purchased a four dollar bag of peanuts for the girls who inhaled them pretty quickly--and I thought boys could eat. 

The Cubs went down 0-2 in the first inning and I wasn't liking it one bit.  I had predicted a win for the Cubbies and would have to eat crow when I returned to work (I work on Chicago's southside, notoriously pro-White Sox).  The girls continued to talk about the players "hotness" factor while I remained focused on the game, dancing and cheering.  I glanced over to find the girls beginning to loosen up--they were dancing, albeit in their seats.  Ha!  Things were getting better!

Our team battled their way back into the game and were soon leading 3-2.  The game was looking up!  The lights came on as the sun went down, the smell of peanuts, hotdogs and stale beer wafted through the park.  A couple of locals began terrorizing a lone Mets fan by screaming "Mets suck!"  I'll be the first to admit I expected more originality from a Chicago native, but I laughed nonetheless.  A couple of other Mets fans put orange and blue wigs on their heads, which caused my anti-Auburn radar to go off.  I controlled myself, meditated for a moment and remembered where I was.  These weren't Auburn fans, but like a bull seeing red, I wanted to charge at the them, berating them publicly for such an indecent display! 

We moved into later innings and a guest sang Take Me Out to the Ball Park during the seventh inning stretch.  The girls were up singing and swaying to the music.  Success!  They were having a good time.  I laughed and sang with them, swaying rhythmically to the old tune. 

As we moved into the top of the ninth the Cubs were leading 5-3.  And as luck would have it, the Mets couldn't seal the deal and wound up losing by that same score.  Vindicated for my prediction, I knew I could return to work the next day with my head held high.  Additionally, the girls had a blast at the old ball game.

And finally, I found two Auburn fans to accost.  This was the greatest night I had had in a long time.