“The Chicago Cubs have won the World Series! After all this time, the unthinkable has happened! Rejoice Chicago, this day will be remembered for a long while!”
It has been a long hundred years since the Cubs have held the title of World Series champions. Year after year, they sink below the expectations of their fans, who desperately hunger for a title. Too often, they have come so close to making the World Series only to betray their loyal followers. Just when we let our guards down and expect them to finally change their destinies, they break our hearts time and again. Home runs are hit, strikeouts are recorded, spectacular catches are made, but the result remains the same: defeat.
It is certainly not because the Cubs dominate the rest of the league that they have a special place in my heart. Rather, my commitment to the team stems almost entirely from my wonderful memories spent at Wrigley Field and in my living room, watching the Cubs with my family. For nearly all of our lives, my father, brother, and I have been fans of the “North Siders.” The three of us try to catch every Cubs game that we can, constantly second-guessing the manager and discussing other intricacies of the great game of baseball. Some of my fondest childhood memories are of the three of us going to baseball games to watch our team. It may sound silly to call a team ours, but given all the time that my family has invested in the Cubs, it is only fair to claim some rights to them.
My father, brother, and I have contributed a lifetime to following our beloved team despite their annual failures to win a World Series. My father spent his childhood summers in the legendary bleachers of Wrigley Field, lucky enough to watch some Cubs’ greats like Ernie Banks and Fergie Jenkins. My brother is so dedicated to the Cubs that when he studied in Israel a few years ago, he stayed up until the wee hours of the night to watch his team in the playoffs, despite the eight-hour time difference. My family’s passion has carried over to me.
Over the past four seasons, I have worked as a vendor at Wrigley Field, feeling that great baseball vibe whenever I entered the park. Even when better job opportunities have surfaced, I turn them down because I find the “Friendly Confines” of Wrigley Field so aesthetically pleasing that it doesn’t even feel like a job at all. I often look around the stadium, just admiring its beauty.
The freshly cut green grass shimmers in the sunlight like a bright emerald. The brick walls in the outfield are covered in ivy that seems directly delivered from the Garden of Eden. The tan-colored sand is evenly dispersed across the perfectly shaped diamond. The white chalk that coats the lines and bases is the quintessential clean-color of white. Wrigley Field is the immaculate palace, home to my favorite team: the Chicago Cubs.
But as magnificent as the stadium is, it still cannot compensate for the enormous void that exists due to the Cubs’ abysmal performances. The park’s grandeur cannot erase the tears that have been shed by so many. No matter what the excuses are-- Billy goats, black cats, a guy named Bartman—their catastrophic debacles are still gut wrenching. My family, along with the other Cubs fans, finds it hard to support and love something that does not reciprocate the feeling.
The torment of the longest drought in sports history is made even more apparent at the sight of other cities rejoicing at their teams’ successes. In the past few years, the two teams that had the longest droughts in baseball aside for the Cubs, the Chicago White Sox and the Boston Red Sox, won the World Series in consecutive years. This rubbed the proverbial salt in the wound that was our misery, especially when we were witnesses to our cross-town neighbors celebrating over the White Sox victory. But, in spite of the Cubs’ many fiascos and the heartbreak that we have endured, we optimistically see some hope in the future. Rather than being resentful toward the White Sox and Red Sox for winning, Cubs fans view these triumphs as being proof that fate can change, and there is still a reason to be hopeful.
When spring comes around every year, I am in a much better mood. It is partly because of the warmer weather, but it is mainly because I know that baseball season is approaching. Even though the Cubs have failed for nearly a century, I still dream at the beginning of every April, “This year is our year. This year we’ll win it all.” The other fans laugh at the optimistic view Cubs fans’ have, dubbing the Cubs the “Lovable Losers.” Ignoring the ridicule, fans loyally cheer for the Cubs with an eternal hope. No matter what stressful ordeals or chaotic situations people are experiencing, the Cubs are always there as a beacon of hope and potential. The Cubs fan in me gives me a perseverance and determination that can never be vanquished. The Cubs are a source of consistency, something to rely on when nothing else seems certain or definite. Even when tests are flunked, jobs are lost, and even when I lost my mother, the Cubs fans’ spirit that is instilled in me inspires me to retain my optimism and hope for better days. Even when it seems that things in life may never improve, I remain hopeful about a better and happier future. Even when it feels like the Cubs will never win another World Series, my family and other Cubs fans know that they will.
Just wait ‘til next year.
