The Year We Went All The Way - The POV Cubs Retrospective

So now, as promised, I will leave 2016 behind with a third post. After writing only once in 2015, and not once in 2014, that's not bad productivity. And while it pales in comparison to my peak years (57 posts in 2011 was the peak for this blog), I like to think that the last three posts were some of my better writing. I am hopeful that this one will be the same. As I mentioned in my last post, about the Trump presidential victory, this post is more fun, and certainly more upbeat. As 2016 comes to a close, for all that this year was and was not, it was the year that "someday" became today, and this was the year that the longest drought in American professional sports ended. And, because of that, I am sitting down to share with you my thoughts on the year the Cubs went all the way.

(image from ABC7chicago.com)

It seems hard to believe that this happened. For generations to be a Cubs fan has been to hope for tomorrow while being crushed today. My first memories of the Cubs came in my grandparents living room, laying of the floor, with my head on an Indiana University pillow shaped like a football. My grandfather and I would lay on the floor, watching the games on WGN 9, which they received via antenna from across Lake Michigan. We watched the games, listening to Harry Carry call them. I couldn't have been very old, likely five or six years old at the top end. I remember Greg Maddux as a young stud, Mark Grace at 1st base, and have some memories of Andre Dawson patrolling right field (for the record, left field sucks). I remember those summer days fondly; blue skies, warmth, and the Cubs always available to be the backdrop to my early youth. 

But I also remember those days for the weight they began to carry as I grew older. You see, the Cubs really became a part of my life as the early 1990s turned into the mid 1990s. I was blessed to grow up in the Michael Jordan era, and as a Chicago sports fan the Jordan era meant one thing: you were rooting for the unquestioned greatest of all time. When Jordan returned from retirement to wear number 45 ever so briefly baseball was quite literally an afterthought in Chicago, and across the country in many ways. The 1994 strike had dealt the sport a blow, and the question was whether it was a death blow or not. As baseball prepared to start the 1995 season with the strike ongoing, Jordan returned to the court in Indianapolis, facing off against the hated Pacers. I watched that game in the same place that I started watching the Cubs. As I sat glued to the TV in my grandparents house, baseball and the Cubs were the furthest things from my mind. Jordan had returned to save all Chicago sports fans from the dark winter.

And while that game wasn't a story book ending (the Pacers won in overtime 103-96 with Jordan shooting a paltry 25% from the field on 7 for 28 shooting), and while that year itself wasn't the story book ending (number 23 returned, but the Magic still finished the Bulls off in six games), the next three years were all about Jordan if you were a Chicago sports die hard. Armed with a Jordan and a Rodman jersey, the winter into summer seasons (1995-1996, 1996-1997, and 1997-1998) were a blur of Bulls victories culminating in parades and victory celebrations in Grant Park. 

(image from ChicagoNow.com)

Throughout that time the Cubs gradually crept into my consciousness, and as the Jordan era came to an abrupt end (the NBA locked out the players on July 1, 1998, delaying Jordan's official retirement announcement until January 13, 1999, even as everyone knew it was coming), the Cubs captured the imagination of Chicago fans again for the first time in nearly a decade. The Cubs history of not winning it all is well known in popular culture, but non-fans don't really have a grasp on what that history is. Members of the National League since 1876, the Cubs were a good, if not dominate team throughout much of their first seven decades. Winning two World Series Championships in 1907 and 1908, the Cubs went on to win the National League pennant in 1910, 1918, 1929, 1932, 1935, 1938 and 1945 (in addition to prior NL Championships in 1876, 1880, 1881, 1882, 1885, 1886 and 1906; the World Series was first played in 1903, and had been continuously played since 1905 until the aforementioned strike of 1994).

But after 1945 came a drought unlike any other. Even after the MLB playoffs expanded to allow two teams in each league in starting with the 1969 season, the Cubs didn't even make the playoffs again until 1984. That year the Cubs took a 2-0 lead in a best of 5 series, only to lose three straight. They made it back to the playoffs in 1989, but were outclassed by the San Francisco Giants. The Cubs then ripped off eight years in a row without making the playoffs, only one of those years (1995) culminating in even a third place finish. But 1998 was different. It started off painfully, as longtime broadcaster Harry Carry passed away on February 18, 1998. But then on May 6th, 1998, Kerry Wood burst onto the scene as a legitimate top end pitcher:

It is hard to describe what that meant as a young Cubs fan. There was finally a young player that I could root for, and he seemed as dominant as anyone in the game. By striking out 20 batters, in one of the most dominating pitching performances ever, he had given this Cubs fan license to get interested in the team again, and hope that as the Jordan era came to a close there would be a next great team in Chicago just around the corner. Getting a game like that seemed unreal as a Cubs fan; what happened the next month, however, was truly mind blowing.

Of course, with hindsight, and the knowledge that Sosa's home run binge was almost certainly steroid fueled, some of the luster has worn off. But the home run chase brought baseball back again in a real way, with McGwire playing for the hated Cardinals and Sosa launching home runs for our beloved Cubs. As the year wore on McGwire won the battle, but Sosa and the Cubs won the war by making the playoffs. Looking back on 1998 in the fall of 2008, I wrote this:

"In 1998, powered by a young Kerry Wood's Rookie of the Year performance (20 k's), a resurgent vet named Kevin Tapani, and Sammy Sosa's MVP campaign (66 HRs to boot), the Cubs won the Wild Card, going all the way to a playoff game (number 163 in a 162 game season) to eliminate San Francisco and head towards Atlanta for a playoff matchup. What awaited that team was an in their prime trio of Maddux, Glavine and Smoltz. A sweep ensued."

And so it did, but it still felt like a win. My parents and I got to sit in our living room, eating ball park franks, my parents drinking Old Style, as we watched the Braves finish off the Cubs. We had the NL MVP, the NL Rookie of the Year, and good times seemed certain to be ahead. They weren't, of course, and the Cubs failed to make the playoffs again in 1999 ... or 2000 ... or 2001 ... or 2002. Wood's arm was hurt, and Tommy John surgery followed. Sosa continued to put up other worldly numbers (63, 50, 64 and 49 home runs each year respectively), but the rest of the team was either not quite ready, over the hill, or somehow just too Cub.

2003 was decidedly different, from the jump. Mark Prior, who had come up the year before and pitched very well over 19 games, made a sudden jump from "very good" to "possibly the best in the game." His season, coupled with a resurgent (and finally healthy) Kerry Wood led to covers like this...

(image from si.com)

And the belief that this year could be the year. We played it close, but made the playoffs, winning the NL Central as the Braves won the East, the Giants the West, and an upstart Florida Marlin's team took the Wild Card. Again, from my 2008 retrospective:

"2003, on the other hand, was heaven. I proudly proclaimed to anyone who would listen that our rotation could carry us to the finish line. I knew we could dispatch the Braves, because I knew that they couldn't beat Wood and Prior twice out of four games. And so I expected five games, but also was certain we would prevail in five. I was also rooting for the upstart team from Florida to upend the Giants of Barry Bonds. The Giants had been to the World Series the year before, and in a complete collapse had managed to steal defeat from the jaws of victory. The Marlins, on the other hand, were the Wild Card team, had surprised everyone, but were too young to mount a serious challenge. More importantly, if the Giants won they would have home field by virtue of their better record. If Florida prevailed the Cubbies would have home field because we were a division champ, and they were the Wild Card. The match up with the Braves played out exactly as I had expected. What awaited the 2003 team was a soon to be over the hill, aging Braves team. Five games came, but the Cubs won three of them. To make matters better, the Marlins managed to upend Bonds and the Giants. Life was good.

And that, perhaps, is an understatement. Life was great. The Cubs surged to a 3-1 lead in the best of seven series. Game five would be played in Florida, and games six and seven, if necessary, would be back home, at the friendly confines of Wrigley Field. Even more encouraging, if Florida took game five the Cubs would send phenom Mark Prior to the mound in game six, and our ace Kerry Wood to the mound in game six. Everything pointed towards the Cubs making the World Series, where we would face the exhausted winner of an emotional, draining Red Sox - Yankees ALCS. Still, I couldn't quite shake the feeling that the Cubs needed to, HAD TO close the series in Florida. And so I uttered some very fateful words to my father: "If the Cubs don't take game five it will be like 1984 all over again. They won't win. The Marlins will take them down."

Now, you can just chalk this up to a culture of disaster that the Cubs had always surrounded me with. Hell, you can even say I was just doing my part to help move the Cubs paranoia to the next generation. Whatever you'd like to say, this was one instance in which I truly hoped, with all my being, that I would be proven 100% wrong. The Cubs lost game five, but father was reassuring, promising me that the Cubs would probably pull one of the last two out, at home, with our best two starters going. And it looked as if he would end up the prophet, and that my prophecy would be exposed as fallacy. Up 3 to 0. Top of the 8th inning. Five outs away. Throughout college whenever a fellow Cubs fan would start discussing game six I would walk away, or ask them to stop. I still have a hard time discussing it. As a sports fan it has been burned into my mind far more than anything else. You may remember Bartman. I remember the real culprits of that God forsaken inning:

- Dusty Baker not sending the pitching coach, himself, or, hell, the batting coach to the mound to talk to Prior after Alou threw his fit.

- Baker sticking with Prior instead of moving to the bullpen when it became evident that his confidence was shaken.

- and most of all, above all else, Alex F'in Gonzalez, our .220 hitting Shortstop who had won his spot on the team as your classic light hitting, slick gloving shortstop ... botching the double play ball that could have, SHOULD HAVE stopped the bleeding.

Everyone wanted to scapegoat Bartman. But it was Baker and Gonzalez who didn't do their jobs, and who blew that game. (In game seven) Kerry Wood gave up three quick runs, if memory serves, then came back with a 3 run home run of his own. But nobody truly expected the Cubs to survive. The Cubs aren't survivors. They are victims. And the Marlins victimized them, taking game seven, and defeating a Yankees team that had already won their world series in crushing the spirit of "Red Sox nation." Five outs. Poor management. Even poorer defense. The story of a century."

After the dust settled, and the Marlins won the World Series, we went into 2004 with confidence. We were close the year before, but we weren't supposed to have been that close. We added Greg Maddux, a homecoming for a sure fire hall of famer to bring some calm to our star studded rotation that featured Wood, Prior, Zambrano and Clement. This magazine cover brought me even more confidence; see Cubs fans aren't alone, the press agreed!

  (images from SI.com)

Of course, it wasn't meant to be. Wood and Prior were injured. Maddux was getting old. A late year meltdown against the Mets, courtesy of LaTroy Hawkins, put the final nail in the coffin. It wasn't until 2007 that we made the playoffs again, but the Diamondbacks swept us out. 2008 felt different, as we celebrated the best record in the National League, but the result was the same as we were swept by the Dodgers. And then, the winter came. 2009, 2010 and 2011 were increasingly dark times as Cubs fans. But in 2011 came hope, as I wrote that year:

"Epstein comes to the Cubs having established himself as a giant killer. He killed the Yankees (albeit with a huge payroll) and killed the Curse of the Bambino ... twice. He was the GM who oversaw the 2004 and 2007 championships in Boston, and the renovation and rebirth of Fenway as a modern ancient ballpark. He has the name recognition, and he balances a desire to utilize new age statistic analysis with old school scouting techniques. But does Epstein have the chops to tackle the biggest mystery in major professional sports? That question is not the big one you'd think: why haven't the Cubs won the world series since 1908? That question, instead, is this: how is it possible that the Cubs haven't even been in the World Series since 1945?"

The rebuilding plan started, and the path that led us to today was drawn out. The path wasn't always pleasant (100 losses rarely is), but it was the path that true Cubs fans had been craving for. Rebuilding the right way, from within. Not chasing high dollar free agents in an attempt to band-aid over decades of ineptitude, but waiting for the right moment to let a big time free agent push a young core over the top. Epstein had the vision, and true Cubs fans could see it very quickly. By 2012 we were watching the moves with curious optimism. By 2013 we were celebrating draft picks and progress in the minor leagues. I stood with my family on 7/4/14 and celebrated as we traded Jeff Samardzija, our biggest trade chip, because I had complete confidence that the young prospect we were bringing back, Addison Russell, would be a part of the next great Cubs team. By that day I had something that had been lacking throughout my time as a Cubs fan, and which had been lacking for me as a sports fan since Jordan retired in 1998: faith.

_________________________________________________________________________________

My son is almost two and a half; he sings "Go Cubs Go" as a regular part of his rotation of songs. He will never know what it is like to grow up a Cubs fan in the same way that I did, or my father did, or my brother did. I'm not sure how that really makes me feel, because it is truly a variety of mixed feelings. Happiness that he will never experience the crushing lows of 2003, 2007, 2008 or 2015. Sadness that he will never experience the euphoria that I did this November. But when he is the right age, and when I want him to have some understanding of why the team that he will grow to love is so special, I will start with this video, to a song he already knows:

I don't know that there is anything I've found that sums up what it was like to be a Cubs fan before 11/2/16 better than that song. On 10/22/16, hours before the first pitch of Game Six of the 2016 NLCS, I wrote the following to my mother, father, Uncle and brother:

"There have only been SIX days like this since 1945. Six days in the last 71 years where the Cubs had a chance to win the National League. Six days, three in 1984, three in 2003. Only six. Today is the seventh. Regardless of what happens (and make no mistake, i'll be a basket case either way), that is something to cherish." 

Six days... and something that hadn't happened in 71 years. I continued, in that letter, sharing some thoughts that meant a lot to me through the years, and I share them again here in hopes that it will help paint this picture better than I can. I linked the song "Someday We'll Go All The Way" a second time, this one from 7/19/13 at Wrigley Field, a Pearl Jam concert that I was at:

I said this regarding that video:

"I don't think anyone has captured what it's like to be a Cubs fan quite like Eddie Vedder does in this song. Of course, I had the honor of hearing it live at Wrigley field, and the man who asked him to write the song joined him on stage. I met Ernie with my dad and brother. I met Santo that same weekend. My wife looked at me like I had a third eye in my head as I cried during this song during that concert. But that's the point - that ballpark, that team, it's all encompassed in that song." 

And, indeed, that song encompasses all that it was to be a Cubs fan heading into that day, and the World Series that followed. Being a Cubs fan was built on faith, faith that someday would happen, and that we would be around when it did. It was built on an understanding of what makes sports so magical, so special. After the Cubs were swept in 2015 by the Mets I sat around simultaneously hopeful for what 2016 would bring, and fearing 2016 because it made me think of 2004, the "Hell Freezes Over" SI cover, and how that team too was supposed to take the leap after losing the NLCS the year before. Finding this post, on the message boards of bleachernation.com by way of a reddit post, helped me to explain what I was feeling further to my wife:

"When we make the World Series some year, I don't want to share it with the rest of the world. I don't want your back slaps, your words of congratulation, and most of all, I don't want to hear you say "I was rooting for the Cubs, man," because you're not.

We don't need to hear about curses, about animals, and we don't want outsiders to constantly reference a certain fan who also shares our heartbreak. The rest of the baseball world is obsessed with him, but we aren't. We have a better heart, a better understanding of baseball, and a better understanding of the Cubs. It's clear to us, the rest of you will just never understand.

We are obsessed with finally making the World Series. It's been almost more than a lifetime for most of the fan base to even get that far. We dream of watching those games with our father, or our brothers while trying to hold ourselves together thinking about the departed family members that introduced us to this awesome experience.

With each passing year, the pain gets deeper and deeper, as our parents reach the age of 70, and our grandparents move on to a better place. This isn't a game once you reach that point. It's a memory that's taken from us, that won't ever happen. And that hurts. A lot.

So if you won't stop making jokes about the team now, or laughing about its futility, please understand that when we do finally win, I won't share the moment with you. I won't be angry or treat you like you've treated us. I'll just ignore you. It's not something you will ever properly experience, and I don't want you to know how it feels. Ever. It won't change the fact that I can't give my grandpa a high five and see the look in his eyes. But that will all be part of the emotion of that moment, my moment, our moment.

We are not kindred spirits with the team in Boston, we didn't share in the torment with our cohorts on the South Side, and most of all, we would never trade our experiences with the Yankees fans. As painful as it is, I love being a Cubs fan.

I don't know if it will happen in my lifetime, my father's lifetime, or even my children's lifetime. I know it didn't happen in my grandpa's lifetime, and every October, that thought brings me to tears. In 2003, though, I learned a lot about being a Cubs fan from him, and in those 30 minutes after Game 7, in the depths of despair, I learned something new about my 84 year-old grandfather. For that, thank you Chicago Cubs, because the true character of a person announces itself in times of despair.

If you're not a Cubs fan, you don't understand, and I don't want you to. When it does happen, don't talk to me, don't mock me, and certainly don't try to cheer with me. Don't offer words of encouragement. Because, right now, everyone is laughing and joking about memories I may never share with people that mean the most to me. That hurts.

Until then, though, enjoy your jokes and your ridicule and your trite references that only outsiders find funny. The fire is brewing inside, and when it happens, I won't waste an ounce of energy on you.

Instead, I'll share those moments with the people that mean the most to me."

And so the 2016 season started, and the Cubs, heavily favored much like in 2004, did something different. They never looked back. They dominated the division, and ran away with the best record in the NL. They dispatched the Giants in four games, but the pressure was real, at least for me. This team had it all: a solid rotation, a solid bullpen, and a dynamic offense. More importantly, they had that "feel," the one your rarely see, where a team doesn't just believe they can do something great, they know it. That didn't stop me from worrying about our ability to hit the Giants "big two" of Bumgarner and Cueto; the way our bats froze in 2015 against the Mets made me too aware of how fragile hot hitting can be in the playoffs. But we dealt with the Giants, and moved on to the Dodgers. Up three games to two, back in Chicago for game six of the NLCS. We prepared to face the best pitcher on the earth, Clayton Kershaw, and I read this on the bleachernation.com message board:

"Hi Brett,

I recently wrote in my blog that baby boomers, and most likely their parents have never seen the Cubs win the World Series.

The Baby Boomer generation started in 1948, so the largest population group in the US has never seen them in the World Series. I'm sure they are the parents of many current posters.

I am 76 years old, my dad was born in 1909 and my mother in 1915. I am now a great grandfather. Five generations of my family have never seen the Cubs win a World Series. When it happens and you see people crying, saying "I wish grandpa/grandma/Uncle Bob (enter name here) was alive to see it", those feelings will be very deep and emotional.

My grandmother was born in 1890. She was a true Cub fan. I held her hand when she died two months before her 100th birthday. As we drove away from the hospital I said to my wife, "Do you realize the last time the Cubs won the World Series, she was a teen-ager?"

I'm one of many old guys who told Tom Ricketts, "Please get it done before I die" because we don't want to be the ones that our family wishes were alive to have seen it.

On of my early childhood friends died a few years back. His casket was closed but there was a Cubs hat on top of it, and I'm told there was also one inside.

Sooner or later they will win it all. Better if it is sooner.

Best regards,

5412"

The weight of history sat there, but unlike years past I felt ready to embrace it, writing this to my family:

"Family. Tradition. Why do sports matter so much to me, to so many people? It transcends all this bullshit that goes on in this world and has the potential to do something amazing. It allows us to have unbridled joy and hope like we do when we are children. It gives us the moment to be insanely excited and blissfully unaware of the problems of the world, if only for a moment. Sure it can crush us, and man has this team done that through the years, but that hope that "someday we'll go all the way" teaches us faith and gives us hope. And it lets us get away from it all for just a moment. Many people will look at me like i'm out of my mind with how much I care about sports, because it's just a game. They don't get it, and that's ok. But I would never have it any other way. Sports are magical, and the Cubs and all the goes into being a Cubs fan is more magical than anything else in that realm in my opinion. 

...(w)hen it finally happens I don't know what I'll do, but it'll be a moment and feeling shared with those I love the most, regardless of where we all are. You are all among that group. Tonight I will join my father and mother to watch game six, just hoping that tonight is the night they clinch the league championship, the first night  like that since my grandfather played football for IU in the midst of IU's only outright football Big Ten title. If they can do it, what comes next becomes unthinkable and joyous at the same time. But tonight I have a chance to do something that my father never did - watch the Cubs win the Pennant with my father. That is pretty f'in cool. 

Go Cubs Go. Let's fly the W and do this thing. It's time."

And so, I left my house, driving to my parents to watch Game Six. On the way my son asked me to sing "All The Way" and "Go Cubs Go," and as I did he merrily sang along with me. Old Styles in hand, we watched as the Cubs jumped out to a lead, and with only a few moments of sphincter tightening along the way, they were suddenly poised to win the pennant for the first time since 1945. The only problem was that Joe Buck was on the call. I went and found a battery powered radio, and held it just right in my lap, as we muted the TV. The radio call was ahead of the TV broadcast, giving us the opportunity to hear this half inning before we saw it:

As my mother and father embraced, celebrating, my mind sat blown. The Cubs were going to the World Series. 71 years of waiting, culminating in this moment.

As the World Series began I reminded myself repeatedly of the 2004 Red Sox, and the gauntlet they had to run to move past the history of their franchise. Of course, only that sort of history could give you a book cover like this...

(Image from Amazon.Com)

... and make it seem legitimate. But that sort of history also indicates that it is never going to be easy. I held true to one promise that I had made in 2003: I went to Chicago for the World Series. While an appointment was going to pull me back before game five, I was certainly going to be there for games three and four, and hoped that as we headed into the city tied 1 to 1 we could come back up 3 to 1. In that scenario, I told myself, I might stay for Game Five as well and figure out a way to get back home in time for the appointment Monday morning. It was all there for the taking, a world of possibilities, but the 2004 Red Sox sat in the back of my mind. My friend John, a life long A's fan (but converted Cubs fan!), came along for the ride, and we jumped on the South Shore train, headed for Chicago with the goal of being in a bar, any bar, by Wrigley Field for game four. The train greeted us with the W ready to fly.

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The Cubs had lost game one six to nothing, seemingly not showing up. But game one was in Cleveland, and the best starter on the Indians, Corey Kluber, had been on the mound. The Cubs five to one win in game two felt more in line with what I expected, as we were able to take advantage of the biggest weakness Cleveland had: their sub par starting pitching beyond Kluber. And so, as John and I settled in to a bar in downtown Chicago, fresh off the South Shore into Millennium station, I felt confident that we could win game three against another sub par pitcher, making game four a tipping point game against Kluber on short rest.

Kyle Hendricks did not have his best stuff, but the Cubs pitching staff did about as good as you can hope for in holding the Indians to one run. Unfortunately, our bats went ice cold against Josh Tomlin, a 32 year old journey man with a career 4.58 ERA. All the Indians needed from Tomlin was to get to the fifth inning; in taking them four and two thirds innings he brought the game to the Indians vaunted bullpen, and suddenly the Cubs had lost a game they "should" have won. Down two games to one, Corey Kluber awaited the Cubs in game four after having dominated them in game one.

On the morning of October 29th, 2016 John and I woke up and headed in to Wrigleyville; me in my Ron Santo jersey, John in a borrowed Starlin Castro jersey. We walked around Wrigley, feeling the nervous energy as thousands upon thousands of fans waited for bars to open. With cover charges in the hundreds of dollars we went to a bar "only" charging a $25 cover:

(image from Wrigleyville-bars.com

There was a small line, but nothing compared to the huge lines outside of places like Sports Corner and Murphy's. As we stood in line we heard rumors of an additional surcharge of $50 per person, per table, per hour to stay inside. We got to the door and asked, finding out that this was in fact accurate, but that standing room only and bar seating did not have a surcharge. We rushed in to secure seats at the bar, and settled in for the long haul of eight plus hours of bar time before the first pitch.

The bar filled up quickly, and this shot, from our seats, is pretty consistent with what the afternoon was like:

For the record, here is a shot from the Yak-Zies website of the very seat i was sitting in (straight ahead, last stool on the left by the wall as far forward as you can go):

Yeah, there were a lot of people there, and we were among the lucky few to have seats.

Of course, time was simultaneously creeping by and flying by as we watched college football, ate food, nursed light beer and water, and nervously chatted with the bartender and our new friends. The mood was tense, and there was legitimate fear that tomorrow might bring the chance to end the World Series we had all hoped for, but that it would be the Indians poised to win it all on the hollowed ground at Wrigley. Sometime in the afternoon "Go Cubs Go" came on the sound system in the bar, and for a moment the bar loosened up, as hundreds of Cubs fans, packed in together mere yards from Wrigley Field, sang in unison.

As the hours crept along my friend Dave called to tell me that he would not be coming in to join us. Dave had been swept away for the start of the World Series (and the end of the NLCS) to a pre-planned (and extremely ill timed) family trip to Disney in Florida. He was returning, through Chicago, the day of game four, and had initially thought about cutting out to join us. He wouldn't be, however, because he and his father were now going to game five. As we talked about how awesome that was, my friend John brought back up his willingness to pay for a good chunk of the cost of the tickets to game four if I wanted to go. I thanked him, told him that no I couldn't afford it, and we kept on eating, drinking, and making friends. But I started looking at the cost of tickets on Seat Geek and Stub Hub, just in case.

As we got closer to game time I started seeing a few "good deals," relatively speaking, popping up. And John increased his offer. I was completely unaware of how he and our new friends were intently staring at me as I poured over ticket options on my phone. John had one rule: he wasn't paying for standing room only; everything else was fair game. In my mind I wanted decent seats, and knew we'd never be able to afford them. Then, roughly an hour and a half before the first pitch, some seats in the lower level popped up at roughly the same price I had observed Standing Room Only tickets having gone for not long before. I thought of how generous John was being, willing to front much of the cost. I sent my wife a text: "On a scale of one to divorce, how upset would you be if I spent "X" on World Series tickets?" My wife quickly responded: "oh."

Now, my wife has been fully educated as to what it means to be a Cubs fan. From my prior writings, at a time before we were even engaged, I wrote this of a time sitting with her, watching the ESPN 30 for 30 documentary on scapegoats, which prominently featured the 2003 Cubs and Game Six of the NLCS:

"ESPN recently did a documentary on the Steve Bartman game, and the phenomena of "scapegoating" when teams lose. As I watched the documentary with my girlfriend, a Tigers fan, I had to explain what it is to be a Cubs fan. I explained Bartman, but also Gonzalez. I explained the sin that Dusty committed by waiting far too long to come out of the dugout to calm Prior down. I explained the sinking feeling, and what it's like to just know that it isn't going to work out for your team because it just can't. But above all else, something took her by surprise: 2003 was the first playoff series win that the Cubs had since 1908. Think about that."

What that blog post didn't say was that she looked over at me, as the documentary reached game six and started recapping it, and simply asked "are you alright." I responded that no, I wasn't really, and that watching this documentary was reliving something that wasn't very pleasant. By the time I sent her that text, then, she was fully aware of what the Cubs meant to me, even if she didn't fully "get it," as she admitted in her wedding vows to me. So when her second response came in, it was simply this: "I will let you make the decision. Love you." A few texts later, and this came: "Go ahead and do it if you want. I know this is important to you."

And so, as John and our new friends from Louisiana watched eagerly, I finally pulled the trigger on two tickets ... and received an error message. A groan came up from John and our friends as I told them that it didn't go through. I went back and looked: the tickets went to someone else. So I tried another set. Error. Another set. Error. I reentered my credit card information. Error. I tried John's credit card information. Error. It seemed that it wasn't meant to be. I settled in, confident that the good Lord above was simply intervening to save me from divorce. But then another sign came, as my phone rang with an 800 number popping up (as an aside, thank goodness my phone was on in that moment, as most of the afternoon had passed with it on airplane mode to conserve battery life).

The call, of course, was from Bank of America, wanting to alert me to the fifteen attempted purchases in varying amounts around the total of ... well, let's just say it was a lot. I thanked the gentleman, explained I was trying to buy tickets to the World Series, and he happily said "not a problem sir, just give it a few minutes and you'll be good to go. Magically, as I waited, the best seats I had looked at in our price range opened up, and as I clicked purchase, and the purchase went through, we ended up with seats 103 and 104 in Section 201, Row 3. Or in other words, we ended up here:

Outside of my first time taking John to Wrigley field, these were the best seats I'd ever had. And they went to us for less than standing room tickets were selling for an hour earlier. You see, John (the lifelong As fan) fell in love with the Cubs and Wrigley after our first game there. Now, here we were, going to game four of the World Series at Wrigley. I still can't say enough how amazing it was and is still to have stood here...

...as the Cubs took the field, at Wrigley, for the World Series. Of course, the Cubs lost, but as Dexter Fowler hit a home run off of Andrew Miller I left thinking that it was okay, because we had gotten to their bullpen, proving they were human. I thought that would be important, and I reminded myself more so than ever that the Red Sox had to be down to their last game in 2004 as well. That we only needed to win three in a row, and they had needed four. And that this team had won three or more in a row many other times through the year, and could do it again. Strangely, I left to return home on Sunday feeling ... optimistic.
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How do you sum up an experience of a lifetime, and one that you had convinced yourself might not come. You see, that's where I had been as a Cubs fan. Sometime after 2003 I came to grips with the fact that I could very likely have the existence my grandfather did, living and dying a Cubs fan, and never seeing them win the World Series. Going to Wrigley each year became a pilgrimage of love and passion. I took solace in the words of authors, and musicians, to guide my thinking. The Eddie Vedder song that I put in this post twice above holds a special place in my heart. As I mentioned above, I don't think that anything can fully describe what it was like to be a Cubs fan before this year better than that song. And, as I mentioned above, I wonder how I'll impress those things onto my son as he grows as a Cubs fan? How will I help him to understand? The lyrics take you, one step at a time, through an existence that is unlike any other sports fandom imaginable.

"Don't let anyone say that it's just a game, for I've seen other teams and it's never the same."

The Cubs are more than just a sports franchise: they are an extension of family. They are, in some cases, the glue that holds families together. There are no other franchises like this, and the writer I quoted above says it well: we don't share this existence with the Red Sox or White Sox fans, nor would we trade our existence for that of the Yankees fan. The Red Sox were probably the closest, but even they never felt the 71 years between league championships. The Yankees fans? Well, let's just say that they will never experience a high as high as a true Cubs fan just did.

"Whether we'll win, and if we should lose we know someday we'll go all the way. Yeah, someday we'll go all the way." 

That hope, that belief, drove generations of Cubs fans, while simultaneously driving some mad. It led my mother's father to cheering for hated rivals in the hopes of feeling a part of what it would be like for the Cubs to win, all the while lamenting that he would never see the Cubs win it all in his lifetime (he didn't either, joining my dad's dad, the grandfather I wrote about above, in that regard). Each year there was hope. Each year hope was squashed. Other fans laughed at us, but we endured, reminding ourselves that nothing in life worth having comes easy. And the Cubs winning it all? That was far from easy, and more worth it than anything else in the world of sports.

"We are one with the Cubs, with the Cubs we're in love. Yeah we hold our heads high as the underdogs. We are not fair-weather, but foul-weather fans. We're like brothers in arms in the streets and the stands." 

I love this series of lines, perhaps most. The love between the Cubs and their fans cannot be replicated. True Cubs fans embraced the journey, the pain, the doubt. Each summer you go to Wrigley, and you make new friends. You love the atmosphere. You mutually love the team.

And so, game five approached, and I was cautiously optimistic. I really believed if we could just win this one we could take games six and seven in Cleveland. Appropriately, the man singing the seventh inning stretch for this game was none other than Eddie Vedder:

The Cubs would win, and would take the show to Cleveland. Then, in game six, they took care of business, winning nine to three. Game seven loomed. History, for both clubs, was in the balance. For the Cubs, 108 years. For the Indians, 68 years. One game to decide which team would finally celebrate it all, and which fan base could experience what generations had been waiting for.

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I'm not really sure how I made it to work and through work on the day of game seven. I remember that I went to work, and made the decision to watch the game with my friend Dave, because Dave and I had not watched a loss together in the playoffs this year. We discussed where to watch the game and settled on my house. I settled in for the first pitch, alternating between my couch and pacing back and forth from my living room, into the kitchen, and back again. Dave arrived late, so he missed the lead off home run by Fowler. Once he arrived we began to ride the roller coaster, but it really was surprisingly good, as the Cubs gave the lead back in the third, but climbed to a 5 to 1 lead by the bottom of the fifth,

(At this point I will briefly interject that I did not understand Maddon's moves throughout some of the postseason, and especially in the World Series. I didn't understand the pitching changes, the decision to call some of the bunts and other moves he did, and if the Cubs had lost the Series that would have been a major story, if not the major story. That said, they won, so I'm setting those decisions aside as what they are, which is a footnote to history.)

Heading into the bottom of the fifth I had this feeling that this was going too easy; Dave felt the same. The wild pitch, bouncing off of Ross's head, scoring two runs managed to drive that point home. Lou Piniella used to refer to things like that as "Cubbie Occurrences." Well, let me tell you, that was a grade A example of a Cubbie Occurrence. That said, Lester regrouped, and then in the next inning Ross, in his last at bat of his career, got one back. Six to Three. Twelve outs... then nine ... then six. Suddenly we were in the bottom of the 8th, the Cubs were moving right along, still holding steady, up three. I will admit, I started thinking about going to get the whiskey bottle.

You see, during the NLDS I found a bottle of Jack Daniels Sinatra Select at my local liquor store. I asked my wife if I could buy it, and told her it was only going to be opened to celebrate one thing: a Cubs World Series victory. She laughed at me, told me to buy it, and I didn't. Finally I made the decision to go get it as the Cubs moved on to the NLCS, only it wasn't there anymore. Come to find out, my wife had gone minutes before me to buy it for me, because she was afraid I'd back out of it. If you didn't know before, you should now know: I have an amazing wife.

So I am thinking about going to get that bottle of whiskey to be ready to open it when the Cubs win. But I stop myself, thinking that I don't want to jinx it. Now, I kid you not, no sooner did I think that then this happened:

If it doesn't load automatically to that point, go to about the 1:40 mark. Suddenly, it's six to four. But I'm not feeling great. Of course, then this happened:

I was crouching between my couch and ottoman when Davis swung... and I fell over the ottoman and laid there silently. Dave sat on the other couch, silently, My wife tried to stir conversation, saying things like "I can't believe that happened," but it wasn't happening. We knew what had happened; we just couldn't believe that we had been within four outs of winning the World Series when it did. Four outs. The questions ran into our heads: would this be something we would remember for how close we got, or would this be something we would remember because it was the last moment our hope was tested?

The Cubs couldn't make it easy. Suddenly we were heading towards extra innings, and they were projecting a rain delay. It was late. Dave and I both had to work. He made the understandable decision to go home. My wife offered to stay up with me, but I told her it was fine and to go to bed. I needed to face this, whenever it was, on my own. I watched the end of the 2003, 2007, 2008 and 2015 playoffs by myself, facing down the demons and reality of the situation by myself. So I waited, and then the tarp came off. My dog, Tinsley, came back downstairs to join me, and we went into the 10th inning together. No longer sitting, but pacing violently through the kitchen and living room, Schwarber led off with a hard single through the shift. Aggressive base running by pinch hitter Albert Almora Jr. led to an intentional walk of Anthony Rizzo... which led to this:

Moments later, another run was in:

Just like that, up two runs. We'd later find out about how down the Cubs players were heading into the rain delay. How Chapman was crying over blowing the game. How uncertain everyone was. And how Jason Heyward, who had struggled offensively all year (although with good enough defense and base running to make him a valuable contributor nonetheless), pulled the team together. How he gave them a brief talk, and fired them all back up. Theo Epstein later said that his worry faded away after he walked by that weight room and heard Heyward fire them up. We didn't know that at the time, but in those moments, during the rain delay, Heyward earned every penny the Cubs have and will pay him.

Of course, being the Cubs, it wasn't easy. It never was going to be. They gave back one run in the bottom of the inning, but it all came down to this:

And this, in case you wanted to hear the call by long time radio voice of the Cubs Pat Hughes:

And back in my house, I was in front of the TV soaking it all in. My wife had been trying to fall asleep, but was watching the updates on her phone, and came down to celebrate. She found me, as she has told a number of people, "Shawshanking" on the floor in front of the TV. While she was kind enough to not take a picture (I think), you all should know what she's talking about:

"United we stand and united we'll fall down to our knees the day we'll win it all." ~ What Andy Dufrense was saying here (probably)/Eddie Vedder

And, yeah, that sums it up pretty well. She asked me if I was laughing or crying. The answer was both. Honestly, when I really think about this all today, as I work towards finishing writing this post, I find myself between laughter and tears. Part of me can't believe this happened, and another part is so ecstatic that it has made much of the pain of 2016,if not go away, at least subside.

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Just look at that crowd, and then breath in these lyrics, again from "All The Way":

"Keeping traditions and wishes made new

A place where our grandfathers’ fathers grew

A spiritual feeling if I ever knew

And if you ain’t been, I am sorry for you

And when the day comes for that last winning run

And I’m crying covered in beer

I'll look to the sky and know I was right

To think someday we’ll go all the way"

Yeah... but it was this year we went all the way. 2016 was a rough year for our family. It started with a great deal of excitement, as we were planning on bringing two new little ones into our family, but that excitement quickly ruptured to sorrow as at a routine appointment there were no heartbeats and my wife had to deliver our twins into their date of death instead of their birth day. The first few months of the year had me in a funk, no doubt about it. The Cubs? They helped to pull me out of that. They gave me something to focus on, something to look forward to, a distraction from the real world. As the Cubs did better and better, as they met the crazy high expectations placed on them from the start of the year, I started to feel better. "Time will pass so quickly, but time will heal the wounds. The memories will last forever, and the pain will leave you soon." Time is, indeed, the only remedy for pain, and the Cubs gave me a great gift in making the spring turn through summer, and to fall. My wife is pregnant again. All things are new again. And the Cubs helped carry me there, while delivering one of the things I most hoped to experience while on this earth:

"In a world full of greed I could never want more, then someday we'll go all the way. Yeah, someday we'll go all the way."

That's why sports is great, isn't it? I wrote it above, from an email I sent to my family, but sports transcends everything, all the "bullshit" in this world, and gives us the chance to be like children again. It gives us the chance to feel a part of something bigger than ourselves. Look again at the last video I put above, feel that crowd, and ask yourself one question: don't you wish you were a part of something like that. Something that pulled people of different races, spiritual and political beliefs together, hugging, crying, and just being? That IS a spiritual feeling if I ever knew, and that is why,  I feel sorry for people who aren't fans of this team, who don't get it.

So maybe, as I enter fully this next portion of my life, this was a fitting bookend to my prior portion of my life. The greatest mountain, as far as sports is concerned, has been vanquished. I was there, on my knees, "Shawshanking" through laughter and tears, soaking it all in. I opened the Sinatra Select. I sipped it and savored it. I spoke to my Uncle on the phone. I stepped outside and heard loud cheers and watched fireworks go up into the night sky like it was the 4th of July. And I thought of those who had gone before who had not seen this, and what it would have meant to them. I thought of laying on my grandfather's floor, watching Mark Grace rip another single. I thought of Steve Stone doing the color on games. I thought of Mark Prior, who had thrown the first pitch of game four of the World Series. I thought of Kerry Wood, and his passion for the team. I thought of Ron Santo and Ernie Banks, two legends I had the good fortune to meet, and who had as great a passion for a team as can be. I soaked it all in, savoring it for hours after the final out, not caring that I had to go to work the next day (in my Santo jersey and hat!).

There is no more someday. Being a Cubs fan has fundamentally changed, and people who are not Cubs fans will never understand it. But for those of us who do get it, we will never forget. And we will always remember what it was like before this team, before the first pennant since 1945, and the first World Series Championship since 1908. And we can forevermore look to the sky and know that we were right to think that someday we would go all the way.