It's pretty rare that the crazy ideas I have for my sports teams comes to pass. I will often talk about moves they should make, and explain the total logic behind why the teams need to do it. I'm passionate about it, and then the team goes in the other direction. On occasion, however, my arm chair quarterbacking aligns perfectly with what the team does. When that happens I can hardly believe it. With the Chicago Bears, in particular, it doesn't happen often. But it did happen on April 3, 2009, when the Chicago Bears made a deal with the Denver Broncos, paying a small fortune in picks, plus esteemed Junior College (Purdue) alum Kyle Orton, in exchange for the Broncos franchise QB.
I had been in a bar with my brother earlier that year arguing that if the Broncos really wanted to get rid of Jay Cutler then the Bears had to make the move to get him. Cutler's numbers thus far had been good, but compared to the junk the Bears had rolled out week ... after week ... after week of my lifetime they looked downright epic. Cutler was coming off of a year in which he threw over 4,500 yards. While the ensuing eight years of NFL football have cheapened that number, it's still a semi-impressive number, and it was even more impressive back then. Cutler played on a team with awful defense, and hadn't been able to win. But the Bears, always seeming to be a quarterback away, would fix that problem for him. They had a great defense, and were only a few years away from playing in the Super Bowl. All they seemed to need was a competent quarterback, and Cutler promised to be much more than that.
The trade was made, and almost immediately upon being announced there was drama. Team leader and future Hall of Famer Brian Urlacher gave the most lukewarm welcome to the team imaginable to Cutler, while praising the outgoing Orton. Word leaked that Cutler had refused to return the Broncos' calls for over a week preceding the trade. There was smoke that perhaps the fire of a premadonna burned deep inside Mr. Cutler. But the Bears had a QB, and suddenly they also had a brighter future. Or so we thought. That future didn't come in 2009, Cutler's first year. An injury to Urlacher in the season opener damped spirits, and the team limped to a 7-9 record. I continued my calls to fire Lovie Smith, calls which went unheeded, much like most of my calls for moves by the teams I root for (see above). The 2010 season was a pivotal one for Smith's Bears, after missing the playoffs for three straight years following the 2006 season which culminated in the Super Bowl loss to the Colts*. The Bears pulled together to save Smith by winning the NFC North with an 11-5 record, and winning in the Divisional Round of the playoffs by ousting the Seattle Seahawks. An NFC Championship Game with the Green Bay Packers loomed ... and Cutler "got hurt." Of course he did. Somehow, it appeared that the Bears didn't even have a backup quarterback on the roster, or any player beyond Cutler who had ever played quarterback. Sure, Caleb Hanie was "listed" as a quarterback, but anyone who watched that game knows the Bears were screwed when Cutler "went down**." He just stood there, on the sidelines ... looking like he didn't care ... as the Packers held on to beat the Bears. The would go on to beat the Steelers in the Super Bowl.
Cutler's career in Chicago since then has been pretty bad overall. His numbers have been intermittently good, and they have been stellar compared with the history of Bears quarterbacks, but the results for the team just haven't been there. All through it, Cutler has pretty much looked like this:
Smokin' Jay Cutler just don't give a ...
The team's defense got old after the 2010 season. Lovie Smith, master of leading an underachieving team, led the team to two more underachieving years, milking out the last two decent years the defense had in 2011 and 2012. The crazy thing is he still almost saved his job in 2012 by getting to 10-6, only to miss the playoffs anyway, in a tie breaker. He was fired, and then came Trestman. That lasted two years, and in came John Fox. Two years into that, and the Bears just finished 3-13. The last time the Bears were that bad? Well, it depends on how you define it, but it's been awhile. The last time they finished with only 3 wins in a full (non-strike) season was 1973, when they went 3-11 (in a 14 game season). The last time they lost 13 games in a season was back in 1969, when they went 1-13 the year before the NFC was even founded. That year was also the last time they had a winning percentage as bad as their .188 winning percentage this last year.
Needless to say, things aren't trending in the right direction. The Bears resigned Cutler before the 2014 season, coming off his best statistical year in year one of the Marc Trestman disaster. It was a huge deal, or at least it was reported to be. Seven Years. $126.7 million dollars. That's $126,700,000. That's a lot of money. Many people have torn into the Bears over signing Cutler to this contract, but let me ask you this: have you ever looked at a list of starting Bears quarterbacks in the last 30 years? No? Well, good news my friend. I'm here to help you. Beyond Cutler, here you go (starting with the most recent non-Cutler starter, going back to the Super Bowl year of 1985):
Brian Hoyer
Matt Barkley
Jimmy Clausen
Josh McCown
Jason Campbell
Caleb Hanie
Todd Collins (Note: from Collins up on this list are the Quarterbacks who have started for the Bears in place of Cutler. Because he's been injured that much. Another factor to consider.)
Kyle Orton
Rex Grossman
Brian Griese
Craig Krenzel
Chad Hutchinson
Jonathan Quinn
Kordell Stewart
Chris Chandler
Jim Miller
Henry Burris
Shane Matthews
Cade McNown
Erik Kramer
Steve Stenstrom
Moses Moreno
Rick Mirer
Dave Krieg
Steve Walsh
Jim Harbaugh
Peter Tom Willis
Will Furrer
Mike Tomczak
Jim McMahon
Mike Hohensee
Steve Bradley
Steve Fuller
Doug Flutie
That is 34 quarterbacks, beyond Cutler, in 31 years. That, my friends, is terrible. And many of the quarterbacks listed above were terrible. In fact, you probably have never heard of some of them. Beyond that, I probably could have made up a name, slipped it in there, and most Bears fans wouldn't be able to tell. In fact, I might have done that. Or not. But here's another way to look at the Bears' quarterbacking situation over the last 31 years. This is the list of seasons in which the Bears only started one quarterback for all 16 games during that time period:
1991 - Jim Harbaugh
1995 - Erik Kramer
2006 - Rex Grossman
2009 - Jay Cutler
And...that's a wrap. Four seasons out of 31. Hold on, I'm curious about something...
1986, 1989, 1993-2009, 2012, 2014-2016
That's the list of seasons, since 1985, in which the Green Bay Packers have started only one quarterback for all 16 games. That is 23 of 31 seasons. Of course, I cherry picked the Packers, due to their stability at quarterback between Favre (he accounted for every year in that streak from 1993 until 2007) and Rodgers (every year in that streak since 2007). But it serves to prove the point: the Bears have had really crappy quarterbacks, and have had to shuffle them in and out to injury and ineffectiveness at a maddening rate. Imagine if there was a major business that shifted managers in and out at that rate. Would we be surprised they had gone 31 years without being the top in their field? Ultimately, that's where the Bears have been.
And that, finally, brings me to my point on this post (I know, I'm killing all 1.75 of you with my long preambles. But I'm writing again!). My purpose in this postis to ask a simple question, and attempt to give a not so simple answer. Here is the simple question:
Should the Chicago Bears keep Jay Cutler or cut Jay Cutler?
That question is valid because of the structure of that huge aforementioned deal. There was $54 million guaranteed in that contract, but now, with the first three years in the past, there is next to nothing left to hit the cap. If the Bears cut Cutler this year there would be $2,000,000 worth of dead money on the cap this year, and $1,000,000 next year. They would save a total of $30,000,000 beyond that against the cap by cutting him. The contract was one of the rare good moves the Bears have made recently because it got them a few more years to see if Cutler would put all the pieces together, all while giving them a great deal of flexibility to move on with next to no dead money on the cap once they got through three years of the contact. And so, from a financial perspective, it could easily be argued that yes, the Bears should cut him.
But the Bears already project to have just over $54 million in open cap space heading into this offseason. That is the eighth most in the league, and plenty of money to do quite a bit without touching Cutler. Because of that I would argue that, at a minimum, they should hold on to Cutler until the last possible moment, before his roster bonus is set to kick in. That gives them maximum flexibility to make the decision.
But it doesn't tell you what decision they should make. Should the Bears keep Cutler for next year? Ultimately, that comes down to what their other options are, and how they rank vis a vi Cutler. If I were to make a very quick ranking of NFL QBs by tier, this is how I would do it:
Tier One: Tom Brady and Aaron Rodgers
Tier Two: Ben Roethlisberger, Drew Brees, Matt Ryan, Andrew Luck, Russell Wilson
Tier Seven: Whatever/Whoever starts for the Browns, 49ers, or Rams, along with Ryan Fitzpatrick and Brock Osweiler
Now, I left Cutler out of there (along with the Matt Barkley/Brian Hoyer pu pu platter). Where would you realistically put him on that list? I feel very confident he's above tiers seven and six. Banged up? He fits in the fifth tier for me, but healthy he easily makes it into the fourth tier for me. And that is where this becomes difficult. The Bears have a tier four/tier five QB on what amounts to a year to year contract, with no long term commitment. They have the money to spend, so it's not like they have to cut him to pay other players. The question becomes can the Bears feasibly get a QB who will be able to play their way into the top three tiers?
Realistically, the best chance they have for that is to draft one. The league is trending younger, overall, and getting a young QB who can become the next Dak Prescott, or even Derek Carr or Kirk Cousins (meaning they would take a few years to get there) is the best direction, if you can pull it off. Teams don't trade franchise quarterbacks, and if they seem like they are about to it's probably a bit of an illusion (in fact, Cutler is exhibit A in that regard!). A name often floated, in the opposite direction, is Tony Romo. But Romo's injury history isn't any better at this point that Cutler's, and his history of winning isn't any better either. Besides that, Romo would cost you more money, plus draft picks Cutler is virtually free to the Bears at this point. Finally, best case scenario, does Romo crack the third tier at this point in his career? History says no. How about paying multiple first round picks for Jimmy Garoppolo? Given how well Matt Cassell and Brian Hoyer (among others) careers have worked out after they left their backup role in New England for other jobs, I'm not willing risk that much if I'm the Bears.
In a weak QB draft, the Bears' best bet might be to bring Cutler back, then, and draft for depth at other positions. Take a swing on a QB in the middle rounds and hope you get lucky. Build the offense around timing routes and Jordan Howard, and focus on improving an already improving offensive line and defense. Until week 17 of the last seasons I hadn't seen the Bears give up on a game. They were notorious for playing tough for a half and then getting outclassed in the second half. They didn't, if I dare say, look that far away. The NFL is designed for quick turnarounds, and Cutler may in fact give the Bears their best chance of that. As long as they don't mortgage their future for that hope, I'm fine with it. And Cutler's unique contract structure makes it so that they can keep him another year... or two ... or three ... or four, without mortgaging anything. And at the end of the day, that's why we should still care about Jay Cutler ... even if Smokin' Jay doesn't ever look like he cares back.
* As an aside, the Bears Super Bowl loss stings less to me now than it did even a year ago. We can all thank the Cubs for that. Thanks Cubs! ** That, in large part, is what contributes to the deep disdain fans feel for Cutler. He just stands there and doesn't look invested. It is the "Smokin' Jay" persona that spawned so many memes. Come to find out, Cutler really was hurt in the NFC title game, asked to go back in and was told an unequivocal no by medical staff. But he just stood there, didn't look like he was in pain, and didn't look like he cared. Inside, he might have been dying. He might have been in significant pain, and been being eaten up by the fact that his team was so close to the Super Bowl and he couldn't help them. We'll never know. Ultimately, however, it was Lovie Smith who screwed him the most by refusing to rule him out in some misguided attempt to confuse the Packers. When your coach is playing games, mid game, with injuries hoping that throws the opponent off their game ... how did we not fire that man earlier? Please, tell me? It's one of the biggest mysteries of my life.
Discussion of the continuum of time is fascinating to me. It is probably one of the reasons that I have been so drawn to physics and astronomy as "down time" reading in my life. In my last post I referenced the variability of history; that is, none of us really know what happened in the past, unless we experienced it directly. Even then, studies have shown that people's perceptions of what happened to them are often times inaccurate even minutes and hours after the event, let alone years after. This is how you end up with two people who were present at the same event remembering vastly different things. History is "set" in that it has happened, but it is very dynamic in terms of the ways it is interpreted, not to mention remembered (consider, for instance, the way that Dwight Eisenhower's Presidency is viewed at the present time (average at best) compared to how it was viewed twenty to thirty years ago (exceptional)).
Today, however, I want to look the other way, to the future. This post is inspired by two books that I recently read. The first book is The Everything Store: Jeff Bezos and the Age of Amazon by Brad Stone. The second book, also referenced in my last post, is But What If We're Wrong?: Thinking About the Present As If It Were the Past by Chuck Klosterman. Both books were good reads, although I would more strongly recommend Stone's book on Amazon and Bezos if you are looking for more accessible, easy reading. Klosterman's book was one that I found alternatively plodding and fascinating, (seemingly) depending largely on which chapter I was reading and if my mind was in a place to contemplate deep thoughts. Ultimately, however, both books were enjoyable in their own ways.
The topic of this post, however, isn't to give you a book review. It is, instead, to springboard off my last post's discussion of the past, and look a bit towards the future. Klosterman's book does this quite a bit, but there was one topic he touched on, ever so briefly, that got me thinking. Towards the end of the book Klosterman, for the first time, touches on the subject of climate change/global warming*. He notes that as he wrote the book and discussed its' premise people would often ask him if he was going to tackle that subject. Klosterman explains:
"Now, I elected not to do this, for multiple reasons. The main reason is that the Earth's climate is changing, in a documented sense, and that there is exponentially more carbon in the atmosphere than at any time in man's history, and that the rise of CO2 closely corresponds with the rise of global industrialization." ~ Klosterman, pgs 239-240 (emphasis is the author's)
Now, Klosterman first tackles this topic in his book by saying he didn't see the need to tackle it because the science is settled**. Klosterman isn't a scientist, so how can he say this? Well, he can proclaim this, I would guess, because nearly every reputable scientist in the world, regardless of culture, religion, political affiliation or anything that typically divides individuals, says that it's real. To just note a few things, I would send you to Slate's Bad Astronomy blog, authored by Phil Plait. Plait writes about all sorts of things, including amazing pictures of the universe which give me (and should you too) a real sense of how small and insignificant we all are. But Plait also does a great job of bringing the reality of our terrestrial existence to the table along side looking up to the skies. And the research he writes about isn't pretty folks. Now, here's the kicker. Not only does nearly every reputable scientist in the world agree that this is happening, and that it is bad, but so does the majority of Americans. That's right, over 60% of Americans, as of March of last year, worried a "great deal" or "fair amount" about climate change/global warming.
Now, that still leaves less than 40% of the population in this country that doesn't worry that much about it. My wife would likely fit right into that 40%. She does, however, acknowledge that climate change/global warming is real, and likely a big issue. She just doesn't worry too much about what tomorrow will bring, let alone 40 years from now ... let alone 400 years from now. She's an "in the moment" person. That doesn't mean that she doesn't care; she is in favor of green initiatives, and supports a clean environment. It just means that, as the Gallup question was worded, she'd fit into the group that doesn't worry about it either a "great deal" or a "fair amount." And I think that not only is that fair, I suspect that a good number of the people in that 40% would fit into her category: agree that it's real, agree it's an issue, not super likely to impact me in my immediate future so I don't worry about it, but I'll do what can to combat it.
So add that up, and I would imagine that you'd have (at least) over 80% of Americans who a) believe climate change/global warming is real, b) believe it is a problem that we should do something about, and c) over 60% of them are worried enough about it to worry a "great deal" or "fair amount" about it. (I am assuming that the 60% plus who worry that much also believe in points A and B, but I think that makes logical sense). Even if it isn't exactly there, even if it is around that ballpark, that's a tremendous majority of people. How often do we have roughly three quarters of our society in agreement on anything? The problem, of course, lies in who constitutes the remaining 20-25% of people.
These are the people who deny that climate change/global warming is real, or believe it may be real, but it isn't a problem and is solely just a normal part of Earth's existence so we can't do anything about it. And, amazingly, there seems to be a hugely disproportionate number of people in the US Government who fall into this 20-25%. They are, disproportionately, Republicans, which is somewhat ironic given the fact that the GOP positions itself as the party of national defense, and climate change/global warming is almost unquestionably one of the most imminent dangers to our national security. (Please take the time to click on that link; it isn't long, but it gives you a good understanding of the complexities of this issue). The GOP likes to hark on the dangers of a nuclear North Korea, Russia (well, this President Elect not so much), ISIS, and the possibility of a nuclear Iran, but it by and large blatantly ignores a coming disaster which is many times more certain to impact our country.
A nuclear North Korea is nothing to ignore; it is potentially dangerous, and certainly takes a great deal of political nuance and energy to maintain safely (or, at least, it should). But, right there, you have the difference: North Korea is potentially dangerous. We can debate the level of that danger, but it is a possibility. Climate change/global warming is as close to a certainty as you can have. We could destroy ourselves before it comes to pass in a way that does it for us, but if we don't start taking it seriously and working to counter its' effects, then it is all but guaranteed to end our way of life, at least as we know it. Ignorance regarding climate change/global warming, a refusal to acknowledge it is real, and a refusal to support efforts to counter it/lessen it should be viewed as placing our national security at significant risk. And we have an incoming administration that, by all signs thus far, is going to do all of those things.
That, finally, brings me to the second book, by Brad Stone about Amazon and the company's founder and CEO, Jeff Bezos. One thing that stuck out to me in the book, among many things, was that Bezos so clearly seems to have been driven to take advantage of the internet to change the way that goods are provided to consumers. He did this to build a huge company with huge value and, ultimately, huge profits. And he did all this, seemingly, to push an agenda. That agenda, one could very realistically argue, is Blue Origin. That company, driven by Bezos's personal fortune, is striving to take humans to space, to explore space, to build a future in space, and ultimately, to survive in space and in other places away from here. Bezos, of course, isn't the only insanely rich person to have this goal. Richard Branson, of Virgin Galactic, and Elon Musk, of SpaceX are both in hot pursuit of similar goals. The common strand between these three men, of course, is their vast fortune. According to Forbes, Bezos heads the trio with an estimated worth of $45.2 billion, with Musk coming in with an estimated worth of $10.7 billion, and Branson's net worth a "distant" $4.9 billion. Within these three there is a huge variance of net worth; Bezos is reported to be the fifth richest person in the world, with Musk the 94th most wealthy and Branson ranking number 286. But these are three billionaires we are talking about, and they are using their wealth and resources to push for the skies.
You don't become a billionaire accidentally, unless you're born into it. For those who build and maintain that level of fortune, competition is a common thread. Bezos is famously competitive, pushing Amazon to higher and higher levels of productivity, striving to become the everything store. I haven't read books about Musk or Branson, but what little I have read in different articles indicate they are much the same. But being competitive alone isn't enough: you must also be a visionary with the ability to evaluate the current environment, project what is likely to come next, and a fortitude to gamble that your projection of what the future holds is going to be right.
Amazon started as an online bookstore, but, based on the book, it was never intended to be that. Bezos drove the company with a goal of being a store for everything, first, and then a technology company, second. But, ultimately, he drove it so that he would have the resources to push to the next frontier: space. He bet big on Amazon by betting that the internet was not a fad, and would, in fact, revolutionize everything about commerce. He was right. He bet big on the concept behind the Amazon Kindle, betting that although earlier e-readers had failed, people would read on a tablet rather than on books alone. He was right. He's not always been right, but you don't become the fifth richest man in the world by being wrong. He's been right most of the time. He's betting on space; the question is why?
And that, ultimately, brings me back to the concept of the future, by way of global warming, and, really, by way of the certainty that mankind will be annihilated. Because we will, no doubt about it, if we stay on the Earth alone. It could be climate change/global warming; betting on that would be like betting on a low yield, safe bond option, because the outcome is pretty likely, it's just a matter of time. It could be a nuclear holocaust, which is more unlikely than climate change/global warming happening, but would be clearly devastating to humanity and the Earth in general. It could be any number of things. The aforementioned astronomer, Phil Plait, wrote a book entitled Death From The Skies, in which he describes the various ways that the earth could be destroyed or, at least, the ways in which mankind could be annihilated, including asteroid impact, gamma ray bursts and, an absolute certainty, the sun expanding as it reaches the end of its' life cycle. The point, at the end of the day, is this: the Earth will be destroyed, or at least humanity will be ... we just don't know when. It could be relatively soon (a gamma ray burst could hit from Eta Carinae at anytime, at least cosmically speaking***), it could be at the end of the Sun's life cycle (roughly 4.5 billion years from now according to best estimates). It could be any point of time in between. But it will happen.
Pushing more carbons into the atmosphere to accelerate climate change/global warming just increases the chances that humanity's end will be sooner, rather than later. It's all probabilities, but I think it's at least something we should be insisting that our leaders take seriously and discuss. President Obama put it best, in his farewell address, when he said (I'm paraphrasing) that this is something we should be debating a response to, not debate about the legitimacy of. Unfortunately, we are clearly stuck in the latter debate, not the former.
So, anyway you cut it, we're screwed. It's just a matter of if we are trying to delay the inevitable or stare down the barrel of ye old gun and say "bring it on." Now, as I bring this post to a close (at least I think I am; way too long again - sorry to my 1.75 readers out there), I have to note one thing: I am, clearly, leaving religion out of this. My religious beliefs are powerful, very meaningful to me, and personal to me. I'm not looking to use this space to push them out to the interwebs, although I'm happy to share them with anyone who asks. But one thing, regardless of your religious beliefs, that is pretty evident is that even to those people who believe in God, believe in the afterlife, and believe in the religious end of the world: none of us really know when it is going to happen. The best we can tell (again, history it is a flawed thing) the Apostles really, truly believed Christ would be coming back in their lifetimes. The next few generations of early Christians did the same. Somewhere along the line that thinking went to "well, it'll happen sometime." I draw comfort from the idea that their is an end game to all of this; I am just not rushing to bring it on through our own actions, or inaction as the case may be. Put another way: if the rapture were to occur tomorrow, I could live with that. But if it wasn't supposed to happen until the year 5297 AD and we, instead extinct ourselves, mostly or entirely of our own doing, in 2297****? Well, that would be a shame, even if I was long enough gone to be blissfully unaware of it.
It probably feels like this has been a pro climate change/global warming science post, but that's honestly not my point. Here is my point: we have to work hard to create the future we want. Yes, that includes working hard to figure out ways that we can slow the rush towards sea levels rising, sea life dying, and weather getting more extreme (to name a few things that plausibly can/will happen via climate change/global warming). But I've already established that I believe, firmly, that science has given us enough evidence to believe that life on this planet will not endure; there are too many variables in the universe above for that to be the case. Because of that, working hard to create the future we want involves people beyond Jeff Bezos, Elon Musk and Richard Bronson getting on board with the idea of space travel. We, as a species, need to diversify our portfolio. We are continuing to put all our eggs as a civilization in the basket of space ship Earth.
For the overwhelming majority of our existence that was the only option we had. Only in the last 50 years, plus or minus a few, have we had other options. Unfortunately, ever since the end of the Apollo program our collective push towards this has been neutered, and that leaves us woefully dependent on the foresight of a few rich individuals to push the agenda. I talked to a person the other day who legitimately looked at me and said that they thought NASA had been completely shut down years ago. This was a very intelligent person who is focused on the here and now, and doesn't think about space. That's how far our own space program has fallen out of the common discussion. That's sad.
If we want to make the future of mankind even possible, then it is time for us as a society to do what we can here to keep perfecting our imperfect existence and to protect this planet, because right now it's all we've got. Simultaneously we need to be pushing hard towards the next frontier, because without the ability to travel comfortably within our solar system, semi-easily to other star systems, and to terraform anything remotely close to workable (Mars would be a good start) ... well, the future is pretty bleak. We have to think beyond our own lifetimes, and the lifetimes of our children and our children's children. To this day we read the works of Plato and Aristotle, we talk of Christ's life over 2,000 years ago, and I think the majority of people just assume that what we (as a society) do today will be reflected in 2,000 years by our ancestors. But we've been on this Earth, as a species, for the blink of an eye on the cosmic timeline. It stands to reason that we could disappear from the cosmic timeline in the blink of an eye as well. If we don't take an active role in figuring out how we, as a people, will get there ... well, if we don't start working hard on it let's just say that I don't like our chances as a civilization. And the thought that all we've accomplished as a species would just go *poof* in large part due to our own inaction and lack of resolve? That's a really, really sad thought to me. So I'll keep buying from Amazon because it has the best deals, but I'll be even happier to do it believing that I'm helping, indirectly, to fund Bezos in his push towards the future of space travel, and his attempts to improve the viability of our species, civilization, and society. The future will not come easily, but nothing in life worth having does.
* Throughout this post I will generally say "climate change/global warming." That is intentional. Both US political parties are guilty of trying to politicize this issue, and the terminology used is a part of that. I, for one, believe that we should push our governmental representatives to depoliticize this issue, so I am going to use the terms interchangeably. It doesn't matter which you choose, at least to me. Just be responsible for learning the facts of this, and for pushing a pro-survival (as in, pro humanity surviving) agenda. ** Later in the two plus page section on this topic, Klosterman has an even more insightful take, when he says of the climate change/global warming debate that "(t)here is no intellectual room for the third rail, even if that rail is probably closer to what most people quietly assume: that this is happening, but we're slightly overestimating - or dramatically underestimating - the real consequence." What Klosterman says here is, in my estimation, extremely true, extremely dangerous, and extremely indicative of our times: as a society America has polarized on any number of issues to the point where the isn't a middle ground. Either you are a climate change/global warming believer (and, accordingly, a liberal hippie who is functionally a lemming), or you are a denier (and, accordingly, a small minded conservative who, is also, functionally a lemming). The middle ground is vast and has room for people who believe that climate change/global warming is real, but not as driven by man as by the natural functions of Earth's geological cycle, as well as people who believe that the Earth is doing its' thing but that man is exacerbating it, perhaps exponentially. I'd probably fit into the latter category. The best defense of the former category I've ever read was written by the late Michael Crichton, in his book "State of Fear." His argument is located in Appendix I, under the header "Why Politicized Science Is Dangerous." Crichton notes the dangerous nature of politicizing science through the example of eugenics. He then makes the connection to climate change/global warming, while specifically noting that he is "not arguing that global warming is the same as eugenics. But the similarities (in the debate) are not superficial." Crichton's main point is to argue that the real argument about the data is being suppressed by the consensus, and that "any scientist who has doubts understands clearly that they will be wise to mute their expression." For evidence, he points to the fact that the loudest opponents of climate change/global warming were retired professors who had little to lose (at least to that point; Crichton passed away in 2008 and "State of Fear" was published in 2004. Needless to say, to quote Stanley Goodspeed, "Kind of a lot's happened since then.") I don't fully agree with Crichton, but one point, made in the book proper, does ring somewhat true in my opinion: mankind has a way of glorifying its' own role in things. I have little doubt, based on what I've read, that climate change/global warming is real, and that man is a major contributor to the warming curve. I also have little doubt, based on what I've read, that the Earth would be on a warming upswing, even if we never existed in the first place. That is what makes the lack of the third rail in this debate so damning in my estimation. *** Although if we don't have the horror of a GRB when Eta Carinae goes boom the supernova will go from being the (likely) end of humanity to a really amazingly cool thing to see in the sky! No reward without major risk, am I right? **** So 2297 feels insanely far out there, right? And 5297? It seems like fantasy, pure fantasy, for most of us I would imagine. But here's the deal: it is now 2017, which means that 2297 is a mere 280 years from now. 280 years ago (1737) doesn't really feel that long ago if you're a student of history. Benjamin Franklin was alive (he was born in 1706; he was even married 280 years ago). So was George Washington (he was nearing his 5th birthday 280 years ago today). But what about the other number? 3,280 years seems like a long time, even for me, a student of history. Through dumb luck (because I did pick these numbers at random) 3,280 years ago was 1263 BC, which is the date commonly cited regarding Moses leading the Israelites from Egypt. In other words, the Exodus occurred roughly 3280 years ago. The point in this, of course, is to point out what's happened in human history as a point of reference for how long ago "today" will be for our distant relatives in the future. I'd be remiss if I didn't point out, however, that on the scale of Earth's history (let alone the universe's history) 3,280 years ago is less than a blink of an eye. The Earth's history is roughly 4,500,000,000 years long, so, yeah, 3,280 doesn't really factor in. And that timeline (roughly 4.5 billion years old for the Earth) is very widely accepted... unless you are a strict creationist who believes that the Earth is less than 10,000 years old. But if you believe that there are probably a number of things you'd disagree with me on, including the entirety of the premise of this post, the last post, and probably most of my posts. In fact, you very likely wouldn't have even made it down to this fourth footnote. Either way, this digression is officially over.
Welcome to 2017! As a part of my "goals" for this year, I'm going to try to write a bit more on here. Nothing outrageous; this blog will still not be a "daily" blog like some I follow, nor even a "weekly" blog, like others. But I am going to try to head out, from time to time, into the world of sharing my thoughts and view points on this world we live in. I also promise that most of my posts will be rather small, at least compared to the five to ten thousand word tomes that I published prior to the end of 2016. Not all subjects require the attention that Trump's victory in the US Presidential Election did, and not all subjects captivate me emotionally like the Cubs World Series win did. So you're safe in that regard.
Today, I'm going to reflect a bit on the impending end of the Obama administration, I think. But wherever this post ends, I'm going to start here, with a quote from Chuck Klosterman's most recent book, "But What If We're Wrong?":
"History is defined by people who don't really understand what they are defining." ~ Klosterman, pg. 91
Now mull that line over, and then compare it to another cliche take on history:
"History is written by the victors." ~ Winston Churchill
Many people probably know the second quote, but I would imagine that the vast majority of people under the age of 40 who know the quote wouldn't know who to attribute it to. Churchill is widely considered right in his take, and certainly the evidence post World War II would indicate that he was right. History texts the world over portray the rise of Totalitarianism in Europe, the rise of Imperial Japan, and the ultimate fall of Nazi Germany, Japan and the Axis nations in a relatively consistent way. They all were power hungry, gained power, wanted more, marginalized (and murdered) people because they weren't "like" them, and ultimately their evil led them to a point of conflict with the Allies, who overtook them and restored the "right" world order. Which is Democracy if you read Western texts. And is probably not exactly Democracy if you read current Russian texts, and assuredly not Democracy if you read Chinese texts. So we get the point; the USA, Western Europe, the (then) USSR, and China prevailed. They not only got to dictate the terms of surrender, but also how things would be remembered moving forward.
This is an especially important concept now, as it relates to World War II. We are at the end of the World War II era. It was years ago that we ended the World War II era actively; George H.W. Bush was the last prominent American leader who served in the war, and his term ended twenty four years ago. Now, we are heading towards the final steps of this era, as that Greatest Generation passes on, and leaves the world to the ensuing generations. The Vietnam generation never got a conclusion the way that the prior generation did; the war in Vietnam "ended," and Saigon fell. Depending on what objectives you believe the US was after we either won, or lost, or neither. But nobody left that era feeling the way (I imagine) we collectively did after V-E and V-J day. The post Cold War generation felt good for awhile, but 9-11-01 brought a collective understanding that in a Uni-Polar world there are far more difficult things to deal with than a Soviet USSR. We are now nearing sixteen years in our longest war, the "War on Terror," understanding that it is a war we cannot win (at least through conventional means), but cannot afford to lose.
So what happens to history when there are no victors? In a sense, I am arguing that the last big piece of major geopolitical history was written in the immediate aftermath of World War II. That history has been seventy one years in the writing, and as the last of the generation who fought in that war and lived in that depression pass on, we will continue to learn from that history. Honestly, we will continue to modify it to teach us the lessons we feel are important at the time, and to make it fit with our active world view. But we, the Western world, feel confident in ourselves as the "victors" of World War II. There are different view points on that war, but none that carry much weight around the world. It is settled, at least for the near term.
The last seventy one years are not so settled. And that leads me to my thoughts last night as I watched President Obama's farewell address, all the while contemplating what the next four years will be like under a man who is (nearly) unquestionably considered the most unqualified person to hold the office of the Presidency in modern times. And that, ultimately, leads me to the first quote, from Klosterman. History may be written by the victors, and there is no guarantee that the victor's history is accurate, but at least it is somewhat definitive and agreed upon. In the modern age, history is never written, but it is defined. And Klosterman's point is frighteningly right: it is often defined by people who don't know or understand what it is they are defining.
This matters quite a bit in this day and age. People are quick to jump to conclusions, and are slow to consider that they may have received bad information, so long as that bad information fits their worldview. We live in an age where whatever it is that makes you comfortable, and that you believe to be true, you can find it somewhere. You can find a website that will make you feel confident in your beliefs, no matter how out of mainstream they might be. You can find a news channel that feeds you the same viewpoints you have, all under the guise of "news." And you can find support to demonize people, institutions, and positions that are different than your viewpoints of the world.
I often hear from people who cannot seem to STAND President Obama. In fact, I would argue that Barack Obama is the most controversial President ever. I don't think that is a function of his actual administration; rather, I firmly believe that it is a direct function of a fully realized 24 hour "news" cycle, always looking for ratings, always looking for controversy to drive those ratings, and, above all, always looking to stir up the people who identify most closely with the view points that the "news" media is presenting. We have fully arrived in an era when the top journalistic institutions of the past century and a half are considered "fake" news. Many people do not believe in the journalistic integrity of The New York Times, The Washington Post, or The Wall Street Journal. They view all three publications as a part of the "liberal media," ignoring the very real difference between the news rooms in those agencies and their editorial boards (which, in and of themselves, vary drastically in terms of political ideology). Many people seemingly don't even understand the difference between an editorial piece and a news piece. Instead, they turn to MSNBC, if they are "liberal," or, more frequently, to Fox News (if they are conservative). If Fox News isn't extreme enough in their viewpoints (which is scary enough), they turn to Drudge Report, Breitbart, or whatever is sent to them via Facebook. When they hear that about "fake news," which permeates (and, indeed, makes up) Drudge, Breitbart and the "news" stories that fill up their Facebook feed, these are the people who agree there is fake news, and then point to the Associated Press as an example. Simply put, these individuals believe in the world as they see it, and anything (news, academia, research) that doesn't fit that world view is instantly discredited.
These are the people who cannot stand President Obama, and who say they cannot wait for his last day. These people often times will agree that Trump isn't perfect, but "at least he isn't as bad as Obama." Here's the key: ask those people to name five things that Obama or his administration has done that has made their lives worse in the last eight years. They will very quickly jump to the Affordable Care Act (they'll call it "Obamacare" because it fuels their dislike more). They might name the Iran nuclear deal. They may talk about taxes. They will struggle mightily to name five things. And they will know almost nothing about the things they do say. If you try to drill down (for instance, "what about the ACA has made things worse for you?") they will deflect and change the subject, or they will spout a Sean Hannity talking point. They will just know in their heart that Obama did it, and it made their life worse. If you try to engage these people in conversations about these things they will quickly try to deflect from the subject, or call you a "liberal," with the same tone they would have if they were calling you the queen mother word. And, if you know anything at all about any of the subjects they bring up, you'll leave shaking your head, wondering how we got to a point as society when feelings and gut instinct became more important and more real than evidence and intelligence.
Donald Trump is the end result of this new age of "understanding." Trump feeds people lies, constantly, and many of them know it. But he gives them hope. That hope is very simple, based on many of my conversations with Trump supporters. They hope that he will take them back to a better day. It's right there in his campaign slogan: Make America Great Again. People who jumped on board with that can't tell you what the Obama Administration did to make America not great. They just know it isn't great. And so they look the other way when he blatantly attacks the press, like he did in today's press conference. They will nod in agreement when he says that The National Enquirer is "real news" and CNN or The New York Times is "fake news." They look the other way when he uses his position, as he already has, to benefit his family, and to benefit his business. They look the other way when he says that he is going to "attack Wall Street," and then puts multiple senior executives from Goldman Sachs into his administration. They, inexplicably, cheer his statement and then don't hold him accountable when he doesn't follow through.
I cannot help but believe that a large part of this is racist in nature, as it relates to Obama, sexist in nature, as it related to Clinton, and xenophobic, homophobic, racist and sexist (among other things, I'm sure) as it relates to everyone from John Kasich, Jeb Bush and to the left politically. I cannot prove these beliefs on a large scale, but it is nearly the only hypothesis that makes some level of sense to me. And, if there is any level of truth to that hypothesis, then Trump is a better option, simply because he's a white male. And, if that is the case, it becomes truly scary because it means that an incompetent (at best), self-centered (at worst) man is about to lead our country wherever he wants. And, if the media tries to call him on it, people will just say it's the "liberal media" saying it, and point to their Facebook news feed for proof.
Here's what I believe about President Obama. I believe that he, like all Presidents before him, was imperfect for the job, a job which with each passing year becomes increasingly complex and increasingly impossible. I believe he is a good man, with good morals, and by all evidence is a great husband and a great father. I believe that he tried the best he could, and did some things well, and others not as well. I believe there are many things he wishes he could undo, and a lot of things that he wishes he could do more of. I believe that he is relieved to leave the office, and as terrified as the majority of Americans are about what is to come. I didn't agree with all of what he did, or all of what he stands for, but I have respect for the man, and appreciated his efforts to serve the country to the best of his ability. I felt a lot better about our country and our future with him and his administration at the wheel than I do with 1/20/17 bearing down on us. I felt a lot better with George W. Bush and his administration too, lest you think I'm a "bleeding heart liberal." If you cannot see the possible disaster that Trump is poised to bring, regardless of who you voted for, I don't know what to tell you. We just must live in different dimensions of the Universe (although, if you blindly believe in Trump you probably outright do not believe in the possibilities of different dimensions ... but I digress).
We live in an era where the people who define what is functionally considered "true" regarding nearly everything ... global warming ... the Iranian nuclear program ... the efficacy of The Affordable Care Act ... are people who are ignorant to actual research, actual evidence, actual facts. That is how we end up with a megalomaniac like Donald Trump as our President, while the same people who cheer Trump demonize a President, in Obama, who led the country out of the worst recession since the Great Depression, gave over twenty million more Americans health insurance, and led the military in executing a mission to kill the man who masterminded the attacks of September 11th, 2001. Those people accept Obama as damn near evil, and look at Trump and celebrate him.
"History is defined by people who don't really understand what they are defining." Indeed.
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.
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.
_________________________________________________________________________________
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.
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.
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.
