Bleeding Blue

Last Saturday, I had the pleasure of attending a surprise 40th birthday party for my sister-in-law. The party, which was held a meager five hours after Tyson Barrett played George McFly to A.J. Pierzynski's Biff Tannen (with a little less success) and a mere 27 hours after Friday's absolute debacle, was held at my sister-in-law's house in Homewood, Illinois. Homewood, you see, is just south of Hazel Crest, which is adjacent to Markham, which is just down Route 57 from Blue Island, which sit a couple of miles south of twin rusted pick-up trucks on blocks parked on a lawn on 101st Street, which is a relatively short drive from a row of crack houses on 73rd, which is a stones throw from a boarded up Wendy's on 71st, which is not far from Uncle Montavious' chicken and rib and candy and cigarette shack on 55th street, which is a short 20 blocks from the scene of the crime(s)... U.S. Comiskular Field. A Cubs fan in a sea of Ross Gload devotees.

Great. So must be how Peter felt at the Sunflower Girl meeting.

Eventually, I started chatting with a very nice couple. She was an absolute die-hard Sox fan. The kind who thinks Hawk Harrelson is witty and charming and Ozzie's incessant cursing is just his "colorful" personality. The kind who follows, to the letter, grinder ball rule #1060: Satan's playground is located at the corner of Clark and Addison . He, on the other hand, was a recent convert. A former Cub fan who had given up and gone to the dark side (it's the Sox words, not mine). And he had some advice that he was willing to share. He looked me right in the eye and said "tomorrow, when you wake up, I want you to repeat over and over 'I am a Sox fan."

What exactly was he suggesting? Trade in my Ryne Sandberg pin-striped home jersey for a Harold Baines #3? Celebrate at the altar of Nancy Faust? Remember Harry Caray, not for his drunken mispronunciations of Buechele, Trachsel and Telemaco, but rather for his drunken mispronunciations of Soderholm, Nordhagen and Barrios?

Well, you know what? In my opinion, it simply doesn't work that way.

I am a Cubs fan. Period. And that means that I am a Cubs fan when Kerry Wood strikes out 20 Houston Astros on a rainy May afternoon at Wrigley. It means that I am a Cubs fan when Kerry Wood dominates the Atlanta Braves in the 5th and deciding game of the 2003 N.L. Divisional Series. And, yes, it means that I am a Cubs fan when Wood gives up three-home runs against the National Expos in his return to the big leagues, when Wood (or any other Cub pitcher...take your pick) walks twelve batters in two innings, and, of course, when the team announces that he will miss the next month and a half recovering from cat scratch fever. I am a Cubs fan.

After Rich Hill walked his fourth batter of the second inning Saturday (by the way, my Friday prediction about Hill's walks was supposed to be tounge in cheek), I was angry. Very angry. So angry that I swore to a number of Random Thoughts commenters and readers (especially "thewife," "thedaughter," "theson," "thecat," "theothercat," and "thehighdefintionTV") that I was finished. I swore that I would no longer watch the Cubs until they started playing baseball the right way. I pledged that WGN, WCIU and Comcast would no longer be part of my television watching rotation until the base on balls, stupid bunts, errors, inability to get a clutch hit, stupid baserunnning, mental breakdowns, poor fundamentals, more mental breakdowns, and lack of overall hustle were a thing of the past. Thewife laughed. Thedaughter laughed. Theson laughed (although he was just amused by a toy). Thecat laughed. Theothercat took a crap on the rug.

And they were right to laugh. Because I am a Cubs fan. I can't just renounce my allegiance and apply for membership in the Neal Cotts fan club (although after his performance on Sunday, I would kind of like to). I can't just strut around town in a yellow White Sox jersey, no matter how stylish they are. They have better food at U.S. Comiskular, better sight lines, and better activities for the kids. The bathrooms are clean. But, you know what? I'd still rather dodge falling concrete, peer around a giant pole and pee in a trough. Because I am a Cubs fan.

Maybe, I am part of the problem. What's the old argument? Why would things change if you are not willing to let management know of your displeasure?

The old argument does not work, though with the tourist attraction that is the Cubs. I can stay away from the park, but Esther, Bea, Ruth, Josephine and Georgina are still going to make the bus trip from Cedar Rapids to see whether Bronson Arroyo can hit yet more home runs off of Gopherball Glendon. I can refuse to accept a free ticket to a game if offered to me, but Troy, Justin and their buddies are still going to sit in the bleachers drinking beer and hitting on every girl that walks (and a few that don't). This is reality.

But, it really does not matter. I'm not going to watch reruns of Temptation Island on the Reality TV channel instead of Len and Bob. Because I am a Cubs fan. I will cheer on my Cubs from the first pitch with the score tied to the last pitch with the team down 19-1. I will root for Ronny Cedeno to become the solid everyday shortstop that we all know he can be. I will hope that Big Z can harness his emotions and develop into a true Cy Young candidate. I will watch Weasley become a batting champion and pray that he does not turn to "Just For Men" (and if he does, I will be mad, but I will support him). I will be there hoping that a turnaround is just waiting for the return of Mark Prior and Kerry Wood and Wade Miller. And if they can't come back? Then I will be there to celebrate every shoulder surgery. Every pain killer. Every cortizone shot.

I am a Cubs fan.

And I will be forever.

Sigh.


***If you would like the answers to the 1984 music trivia, send me an e-mail at daniel@issa.com.

*** The Cubs Opening Day starting pitcher in 1984 was Dick Ruthven.