The Dream Derailed

"I've got season tickets to watch the Angels now.
And that's just what I'm gonna do.
But you, the living, you're stuck with the Cubs.
So, it's me, who feels sorry for you."

- A Dying Cubs Fan's Last Request: Steve Goodman


Unless you have been living under a rock, was a surpise contestent on Survivor, or have watched nothing but the "America's Next Top Model" network (formally known as MTV) for the past six months, you are no doubt familiar with the song "Go Cubs Go," written by noted Cubs fan and 70's folk musician Steve Goodman. Far fewer are familiar with Goodman's other "tribute" to the Chicago National League Ballclub -- quoted above -- and, after watching Sammy Sosa Soriano take a half-hearted swing at a 58-foot breaking ball to end the Cubs so-called "dream season," I could not help but immediately think of Goodman's words.

(By the way, the dying Cubs fan quoted above is referring to Janet Klinn, WrigleyBill, and John Travolta's character "Michael," not to Vladimir Guerrero, Chone Figgins and Doug DeCinces and certainly not to Jaclyn Smith, Kate Jackson and Farrah Fawcett. Just want to make sure we are all on the same page here).

What can I say? I cannot help but be very disappointed and, well, -- to be completely honest with you -- very, very sad that the season ended the way it did. It always hurts to see the Cubs season come to an end, but especially this year after six months of so much promise. You know, there are times when I am incredibly jealous of people who, at the end of the day, simply do not care and are able to go about their business without giving it a second thought. People who honestly believe that it is just a game. I, however, cannot. And I keep thinking about the words of Random Thoughts commenter "Allinonthefirsthand Tom" who noted on his FaceBook page "Tom does not know why he cares so much about something that disappoints again and again and again." Well said.

The bottom line is I don't know either. I don't know why it matters so much. I just know that it does.

I have tried to figure it out. Heck, people a hell of a lot smarter than me have tried to figure it out. The problem is you just can't. You cannot explain why someone like me feels such joy when their favorite team wins and such agony when they lose. You cannot explain why my mood often IS dependent on whether Ryan Theriot perfectly executed a hit-and-run or whether Ted Lilly couldn't locate his curveball. I don't think anyone knows why some of us are wired the way we are.

Oh sure, I've still got the Bears, Indiana Hoosiers basketball, Blackhawks and Bulls, but for at least a little while I cannot help but feel a bit empty. The Cubs, after all, are different. It sounds corny, but the Cubs truly do hold a special place in my heart. After all, thanks to my parents (my mother primarily) I think I knew who Ernie Banks was before I knew Bugs Bunny. I grew up thinking that Oscar Meyer hot dogs and Frosty Malts were what they fed you in heaven. I thought Bill Buckner was the best hitter in baseball, Rick Reuschel was a legit Cy Young candidate, and the combination of Steve Ontiveros, Larry Bittner and Manny Trillo could be the magic formula.

I can still remember going to Osco Drug with my father every April for that year's first pack of Topps Baseball Cards and I remember hoping and hoping that I would get an Ivan DeJesus. I remember the mustache and I can picture myself sitting on my bedroom floor, reading every stat on the back of the card...his .278 batting average, his 24 doubles, and his 74 walks (no doubt nursing my bleeding gums... I mean, did they have to make the gum THAT hard?!?). I remember Tim Blackwell, Lenny Randle and Mike Krukow. I remember how I felt when my mother told be that we would NOT be going to Wrigley on a June afternoon thanks to an untimely spate of thunderstorms and I certainly remember that not even Bruce Jenner and the Village People could not make it all better despite their best efforts in the truly horrific movie "Can't Stop the Music" (it turns out that going to Randhurst to see the late 70's "classic" was my mother's inspired backup plan...).

I cried when the ball went through Durham's legs, cursed Will the Thrill and, for one day, believed that Tuffy Rhodes was the next Hammerin' Hank. I heard Harry successfully spell Doug Dascenzo's name backwards and chuckled at the thought of what he would do if Dan Quisenberry ever became the Cubs' closer. I wondered why Marla Collins and her too-sizes-too-small ballgirl shorts disappeared so suddenly (I guess they did not trust an innocent 14-year old boy with the truth...).

I was actually there when Brant Brown dropped the ball and I was in the building when Steve Trachsel pitched seven no-hit innings versus the Giants in game #163. I threw an O'Henry bar and, fortunately, avoided time in Milwaukee County Stadium jail. I questioned Moises' unorthodox way of hardening his hands, considered buying a Mark Prior model #22 MRI machine, and sat in stunned silence as D Lee put the Marlins ahead in the top of the 8th.

In other words, I live with this stuff every day and I have for the past 34 years (I trust that I was not consciously listening to Jack Brickhouse when I was two, although with my mother, I cannot say for sure).

We all know that it has been 100 years, but sometimes you have to step back and really think about it to realize how amazing (painful?) it is. 1908. One hundred years. You could not take off for a weekend getaway in the Keys in 1908. Heck, at that time, the Wright Brothers were only first considering how to turn a $10 airline ticket into a $350 total bill. In 1908, there were not people driving Hummers decked out with multiple video game systems and plasma televisions. 1908, in fact, was actually the first year of production for the The Model T. Arizona Diamonbacks and Alburquerque Isotopes? Heck, Arizona and New Mexico were not even states for gosh sakes.

Look, I am not going to insult anyone by saying "Wait Til' Next Year" and I will not even hazard a guess regarding whether 2009 will finally actually be the year. I suspect that the Cubs will have another excellent team next summer, but, the truth is that nobody really knows. Lilly could come down with a case of Prior-itis. Big Z could throw out his back trying to break Mike Fontenot over his knee. Einstein Jones could come back and kill us all. One just never knows.

But I do know that after the tears dry in a couple of weeks, I'll put my Cubs cap back on and try and figure out the riddle that is middle relief. And you can bet that I will be there come next April, watching every pitch and hoping against hope that 101 years is long enough. And although I appreciate the Dying Cubs Fan's sympathy and I may be both sad and disappointed, I remain forever proud to be a Cubs fan. It is, after all, who I am. And who I will always be.



***More on the Cubs and the end of the season coming later this week. Be sure to check back! Thanks!!