My first blog.
I'm 19, I attend UIC, and I live in Cicero. These factors combined equals a rather poor student. I work hard all summer to afford my few extravagant purchases, the main one being cubs tickets. I attended three games this year, two of which our boys lost. I was fine though, because I just loved watching them play. I knew this team had what World Series were made of, and I knew we were the best in NL, if not all of MLB.
I kept my hopes up for a comeback, even after the second loss. I looked forward to a game 5 on Oct. 7, my brothers birthday, and the infamous anniversary of game 5 from 1984 (the year he was born. Cursed day....) I kept faith especially high when we started to produce in the 7th and 8th. Men got on, and I could swear the miracle was going to happen. Momentum was shifting, and the dodgers would fall behind. Somehow, I think that if that Toe lickin' umpire at third had made the correct call in the first, LA would not have scored that inning. I think we would have won. But I am young and naive, and find enjoyment in blaming an entire game loss on one f***ed up moment.
Having a hatred of the announcers, and living in the Chicagoland area, I had all three games muted, and Ron Santo was my man on the radio. So I heard the end, before seeing it. I still watched, just in case it had somehow been horribly wrong. Sadly, it was horribly correct. I didn't cry. I called my boyfriend, and let him know it was all over; he quickly came over. I looked at him, and he was wearing his Boston Red Sox baseball cap. Memories of '04 flashed through my head, when our once co-loveable losers got their miracle. That also made me remember '03, and the pain of not getting what was ours. Then I recalled last year, losing three straight and deciding to support the red sox team. I rooted with my guy when Manny Ramirez would step up to the plate.
My hatred of Manny, miracles, and so many good, lost years finally drove me to the brink. I started to cry, and I didn't stop for a long time. My father wants the place just demolished, in hopes of ending this teams inability to succeed in post season. My grandfather, whom I found out today won't make it to christmas, will never experience a cubs win in his life time. And me?
I will be like my father. He has been a cubs fan through the worst losses, starting with '69. It has taken decades to break his spirit, which is currently shattered. But I am young, and though I do not have booze to help ease the pain, I have stupid, youthful hope. I can look at this team and think about how they are one good shrink away from being succesful in the post season. Pay Soriano a couple million less, and hire a good team of motivational speakers.
Meanwhile, I will mourn the loss of cubs fans who will pass this year, starting with one very close to my heart. And as for the ones we will lose, not to illness, but to a broken heart? They will be back. The cubs are a drug that we cannot do without. We all want to experience that ultimate high, somthing that no dealer can give for any price; we want to see the cubs win it all.
They will win it soon, because I am young and can believe that next year, every piece will fall into place. I will believe in next year until there is no next year. I still cry a little over last nights loss, and I know it will keep me a bit more weary of the play offs, like my father was all along. But what upsets me the most is the fact that I can't watch a cubs game until next April.
I'll be there, though. I will find my cubs hat in some messy corner of my room, and sit with my brotheren. After all, it had been 100 years since we won, but 99 years of losing. NEXT year will be 100. Because of this absurd, ridiculous, completely illogical reason, I believe that next year is the year. We will get over 100 wins, NL will win the all star game, and we will sweep the white sox in both series. I have to hope for these things, because this loss will drive me insane if I do not have something to look forward to, to desire, to feel excited about.
Who needs booze when you got senseless hope? I'm 19, I'm young, and I am still a cubs fan. In my life, the first two factors will change, but cubbie blue is stuck in my blood for ever.