Wrigley Field Vendor

As We Go On, We Remember

2011-05-23T13:49:00.000-07:00

My time at YU has gone by so quickly, it’s hard to believe that it’s already over. I apologize for the disorganization of this piece, but considering some of the classes I’ve had here, I’d say it’s rather apropos.

I came to YU in the fall of 2008. Believe it or not, coming to YU was my first time ever being in New York. I know to many in-towners reading this, never having been to New York is equivalent to not using oxygen to breathe, but it’s true.

I remember being amazed by these foreign creatures I was not familiar with, creatures that completely blocked your path on the sidewalk, acting as if you weren’t there. I’m not just talking about the French kids… I’m talking about New York pigeons, which have a certain level of chutzpah or audacity that pigeons around the world just don’t have.

I remember one of my first questions about YU was why anybody would want to live in a dorm building called “morgue.”

During orientation, I looked at my class schedule and saw a class called, “Intro to Bible.” I remember thinking, I’m a fan of Tanach; this should be an interesting class. It wasn’t. And it certainly wasn’t Tanach. I’m not really sure what it was or what the purpose of it was. But one thing was certain: I was not majoring in Bible.

Slowly, I realized that one of the major goals of every YU student is: to try to obtain as much free food as possible. No matter how full or stuffed you may be, if there’s free food being given out, students will be there.

Personally, I even get upset when I hear about the opportunity of free food retroactively. My friend told me the other day, “Eli, did you hear they were giving out chicken wings last night?” “Shoooooot!” You could honestly send out a Y-stud supporting Yasser Arafat, but if you tell people there will be free food and that girls will be there, you are guaranteed to have 1000 people there.

There are days in YU when it’s just too hard to get out of bed… most days. But there is one day when all of YU is brimming with positivity: Yom Ha’atzmaut. It’s a day without classes, a day of free food, a day where girls come in droves to the Wilf campus, and the first two reasons don’t really matter in light of the third.

I have been present for some major changes on the Wilf campus in my time, some of which include:

-The construction of the Glueck center and Heights Lounge, which heavily increased Torah learning as well as potential chilling

-The Academic Advising office got blue Dum-Dums

-The “Shoe Store” closed down for some odd reason

-Morg Mart dropped from $7.50 to 7 dollars, and got much less colorful and annoying with their myriad of Y-Studs

-Dougie Doug’s became a new entity known as Chop-Chop

What I’ve learned and thought about over the course of my time here:

-Best Y-Stud- The one that told us because of the slippery ice, we might want to walk like a penguin in order so that we don’t fall on it. And yes, there was a picture of a penguin, in case some of us forgot what a penguin looked like.

-Best Free Food Moment- I came to Furst 501 after a TLN program (some learning thing). Let’s just say the best YU couple is Carlos and Gabby.

-You should figure out what you should take while you’re still in Israel- The YU Israel program has representatives come to your yeshiva or seminary to basically confuse you. You’re handed a million sheets of paper with words like “requirements,” “core,” and “humanities” written all over them. You have no clue what they mean, nor which teachers you should avoid taking. Some teachers are amazing, and some will give you a “B” because you wore a blue shirt one day. Having a good first semester can shape the rest of your YU experience.

-Someone will always be asking for a ride to the 5 towns-It seems like every night, someone just bursts out, “Anyone going to the 5 towns?” Not really sure where the 5 towns is in relation to Washington Heights by car. I just know that you take the LIRR to get there.

-The registrar will be better at Minesweeper than the best computer nerds in the world- Some services at YU may need a bit of tweaking.

-Never eat Golan past 2 a.m.-As How I Met Your Mother taught us, nothing good happens after 2 a.m., especially when it comes to greasy shwarma. Just wait until breakfast. Trust me.

-In-Towners, open invitations are meaningless-This may touch too close to home, but out-of-towners don’t go home that often, so not sure what that’s like. There is a whole forty percent student population that don’t live in New York or New Jersey. Ever wonder what they do for Shabbos? Didn’t think so. Yes, YU has meals and davening and a Shabbos program going on. But it’s nice to go to a house once in a while, if not to just sleep somewhere else that’s not your dorm room. Now many people have told me that they extend open invitations to in-towners. Some of the offers are truly sincere, and some are done to fulfill the obligation of extending an invitation. I assure you that it does not make it feel any less like mooching if WE HAVE TO ASK YOU if we can come for Shabbos. Please if you have the means, we’d love a home cooked meal once in a while.

-Utilize the pool, gym, and workout room- I am currently one of the only 8 people on campus who uses the pool. What good is having this advantage over Stern if guys aren’t going to use it. I do not play basketball in the YU gym because I’m amazing at it and I don’t want to embarrass everyone else.

-Get involved in activities and have some unique experiences-I didn’t realize how much I have accomplished and done until I started making a list of it all. So here’s a list of some of the things that I have done on my fake-Bucket list (thanks to Schwab for the idea). Some are more exciting than others:

-Worked at the Seforim Sale (for solely seforim purposes)

-Started a YU newspaper (TheQuipster.org)- which satirizes day-to-day shenanigans that go on around here

-Developed New Marketing Technique- If you ever want to get people to read something, post it over a urinal.

-Written for the YU Commentator (not just the Purim issue)

-Took a foreign language other than Hebrew-Donde es la biblioteca?

-Had my own radio show- Yes, YU has a radio station.

-Been to the YU Museum- Yes, YU has a museum.

-Taken a book out from the library- Legally, not with the annoying siren going off that tells the security guards people are stealing books.

-Went to the Writing Center not just for free food- I actually got a lot of help from them fixing papers. It’s free, people.

-Got asked by security for my ID while walking OUT of a building- True story. Enough said.

-Lost my ID in a cab- That cab driver was awesome. Not at driving, but at returning my ID.

-Gone to Stern for Shabbos- If this were a secular university, that wouldn’t be a big deal. But since it’s YU apparently it is.

-Performed Standup Comedy at YU- No biggy.

-Sent a Y-Stud- Seeing as these emails are disregarded more than traveling in the NBA, this one’s not that impressive.

-Asked Dean Sugarman For a Favor- It’s a rite of passage to ask the go-to guy when you need something done.

-Talked to President Joel- And it wasn’t even at a Town Hall Meeting.

-Learned in Every Single Beis Midrash- This one comes as a surprise to me as well

-Made a Siyum in YU- Finished Maseches Makkos, which is super interesting also

-Worked for the YU Phone-athon- Making solicitations to alumni to donate money is super fun. Can’t wait to be on the receiving end.

Here are some things that still remain on my bucket list:

-Lived in IHP- I was too comfortable with the dorms to leave. Oh well.

-Worked as an RA- I probably should have done this one since I stay in YU for shabbos a lot anyway. Plus, I’m really good at posting pictures of myself and other random signs.

-Worked in Productions- The 4-digit code for our packages actually is a great innovation

-Acted in a YCDS Play- If rehearsal wasn’t every night for like 6 years, I would have done it for sure.

-Played for a Sports Team- Granted most of me wanted to be on the team for all the free stuff, but another part of me just wanted to play collegiate volleyball or baseball. (By the way, I totally would’ve made it on both.)

Now, even though it seems like somebody who helped create a newspaper-website that almost exclusively makes fun of YU, I am willing to admit that there are many things that I got out of this school, and not just some free pairs of sweatpants and Golan. My time in YU has given me many new experiences and has helped me increase my Facebook friendship to stalker-ish numbers.

Thursday, I plan on going to my YU graduation. From what I’ve heard, these graduations makes going to the DMV sound fun. Nevertheless, I plan on going, partially as a proof to myself that I accomplished something, partially because a person doesn’t graduate college every day—unless there’s a whole Bill Murray Groundhog Day thing going on.

This year, the main speaker is NYU President John Sexton. I made a joke recently that it was YU’s last reminder to us that we should have gone to a different school. Now while that joke is hilarious for many reasons, it’s sad to realize how many YU students related to that statement. Though YU-bashing is a common pastime and fun hobby for many, there are still plenty of positive aspects about the place that are sometimes hard to see through the lazy fog that encapsulates the registrar.

Finishing YU is a bittersweet experience. Half of me is ecstatic about being done with the burden of college, and ready to face the excitement that is unemployment. Another part of me though knows that I’ll miss an atmosphere where people say, ‘Thank you for making me laugh while I was peeing.”

Jon Stewart Leibowitz

2010-01-25T23:15:00.000-08:00

So it's been awhile since my last post, and much has obviously happened in my life. I've turned 21, I got my suit; I won a digital camera (also in a raffle), but that's for another time. Today is about one thing: The Daily Show with Jon Stewart.

I was very fortunate to happen upon free tickets to see the taping today (Thank you again RS). When I get inside after waiting for about an hour and a half (not bad), I was directed to my front row seat. We are told by the audience-prep-guy, for lack of a better moniker for him, that we are allowed to ask Jon any funny question we want.

This is when I think to myself a couple things: I don't know anything about politics, nor anything funny about them, so I figured I'd go a unique route. I knew that Jon Stewart's real name is Jon Stewart Leibowitz (spelled differently, but who cares). So I figure I'll ask him about it. I planned on asking if we were possbily related.

Anyway, when Jon gets out to talk to the audience and take our questions, he calls on me in the front row. I say, "You know my name's also Lebowicz."

He responds, "NO WAY! (in a funny sarcastic way) That makes us... Jews." He then asked me where my family (grandparents were from) and he told were his were from. He told his family moved to Brooklyn and were the "white trash Jews (his words, not mine)."This just made the adventure of the day that much cooler, and made me realize I should ditch class more often. My 2 minutes talk with a celebrity, as well as the very fun afternoon experience of seeing a taped TV show were well worth missing that one Psychbiology class today. My friend told me he fell asleep for the whole thing. Me-1; that guy- 0.

8 Years Later

2009-09-11T13:32:00.001-07:00

It's been 8 years since 2 planes flew into the World Trade Center. Think about how surreal that sentence would have sounded 8 years and one day ago. In that one fateful day, everything changed. The world before 9/11 was a kind-hearted place, a place where nothing so catastrophic could happen instantaneously. There were problems in other countries sure, but our generation was oblivious to this. We grew up in the 90's, and weren't alive for the Vietnam or Korean Wars. Our world was peaceful (in our eyes). That Tuesday morning changed all that.

Before September 11, 2001, America was in a blissful ignorance, aware that many other countries despised us for our ignorance (and arrogance), but indifferent to it nonetheless. There was terrorism going on around the globe, but it didn't really have an impact on the average American. Suddenly, the spear of violence and bloodshed was thrust into the heart of America. For a week straight, all the basic TV channels showed nothing but the rubble, and countless of replays of the crashes and the subsequent collapse of the Towers. It was all we could think about. We didn't know how we were going to move on from this tragedy. But we somehow managed to move on.

Aside for the previously mundane rendition of Star-Spangled Banner at sporting events, I never really considered this country to be that patriotic. Suddenly, when the ballad was sung at baseball games, all that you saw were countless faces drenched in tears by the end of the song. On porches and cars all you saw was red, white, and blue. The colors were everywhere you went, as if they served as a constant tribute to those who lost their lives. The country, and it seemed that humanity, had been unified; all it took was a horrendous act of destruction.

The defining moment of my parents' generation that everyone henceforth asked, "Where were you when x happened" was Kennedy's assassination. My generation's moment is 9/11. I remember where I was when 9/11 happened. I was in my seventh grade classroom wondering like the rest of the class where the teacher was. Then he walked in slowly and told us all the grim news. My immediate reaction was: "What kind of joke was he trying to pull?" He wasn't joking, as my 12 year-old-brain realized. When I eventually saw the wreckage on TV, I shamefully admit that thought of how nonchalantly I would take the news when I heard of suicide attacks in Israel. I realized that terrorism had hit this country, and whatever impenetrable shield we thought we had to stop these things from happening, was gone forever. One memory from the whole scene that juts out from my mind is how during a (what was supposed to be a worldwide) moment of silence for all the brave souls who perished in the tragedy, some countries were celebrating with singing and dancing. They were celebrating because thousands of people were dead. The audacity to do something like that is unfathomable. I can't believe how cruel and heartless those people were. Well for those of us that have hearts and still feel the loss of human life even after 8 years, let us remember those who died on that day so the rest of us could live.

Don't Cry Over Spoiled Milk

2009-07-06T23:46:00.000-07:00

I know it's been a while since I've written a blog, but this funny story prompted me to document the funny/ random things that are happening to me recently that I might soon forget. So consider this for my memory's sake and your entertainment's. So, I was at Dunkin Donuts tonight with Avi and Bentzy (I dunno if I should use their real names but who cares) and I buy a "feast" of sorts (by Dunkin Donuts standards). This mini-meal consisted of an egg-and-cheese on an onion bagel, a strawberry-frosted donut, and... a vanilla-chocolate combo milkshake. That part's important. So I eat my delicious egg-and-cheese, as well as my bagel. Now's the time I'm glad I got a drink. I start taking a large sip from my milkshake, eagerly anticipating the deliciousness of the drink. As I finish my first sip, I say to my two friends, this milkshake tastes funny. (Avi had also noted how funny his chocolate milk had tasted; a eerie coincidence. But he managed to finish his drink, not willing to admit that something was amiss.) Anyway, after one more sip that tasted more than off, I asked Bentzy to taste some just so I didn't think I was crazy. After he drinks from his straw, he almost does a spit-take as the taste hits his lips. "Oh G-d, that's awful," he quickly remarks. That being enough for me, I patiently wait back in line until I can talk to the lone Dunkin worker, who tonight was the Supreme Court of the place, having full power to honestly do what he wanted. Once it's my turn, I tell the guy, "I don't know how to really say this (so shocked by it all), but this milkshake is spoiled." His response, still even now, a good 90 minutes after the story, confounds me: "Well that's what happens when you mix two flavors together." He then asks me to move aside to help the next customer. Not wanting to make a scene yet, I decide to oblige, and wait for the last customer to leave. Now all that's left is me and him. It was the most intense showdown I'd been involved with in quite a while. It seemed clear that neither of us were backing down. After the last person leaves, I asked for him to try it. Naturally, he refused. I then said that it doesn't taste normal. Again he refers back to his ridiculous answer of mixing two flavors. He then suggests to add more ice cream. This man clearly did not understand the whole idea of pasteurization, I tell you that. So as he proceeds to add more ice cream, I tell him that it is just wasting more ice cream. He doesn't care. He adds more ice cream. He then asks me to try it again. To appease him, I took the bullet, and tried a little more. Unsatisfied as I knew I would be, I immediately pushed it back in his direction. I said, "Can I please get my money back?" I might as well have asked him to give me one of his limbs. He ignored me and walked away, making himself some coffee. He then serves someone at the drive-thru. As they pulled up to the window, I told them not to order a milkshake. After he's sufficiently done ignoring me, I ask him to speak to the manager. He tells me that the manager wasn't coming in until tomorrow morning. At this, I was ready to stay there all night if I had to. No way was I going to let this guy win. So after a few minutes of him still refusing to grant my refund, someone I know pulls into the parking lot. I said, "I'll be right back and motion for this guy to help me get my refund. The guy in the van tells me he wasn't planning on going inside, but apparently my assertion for him to help me did the trick. After I come back inside, the guy whips out my $5.29 so fast, I almost forgot that I had waited fifteen minutes for this. My friends told me that my signaling to the other guy must've scared the clerk. Not knowing what a bunch of frum Jews were capable of doing at 12:30 at night was enough to make him give me my money back. Lebowicz 1... Dunkin Donuts... nothing.

Public Speaking

2009-03-27T00:00:00.000-07:00

I'm taking a public speaking class this semester. For the people in the highly-acclaimed and challenging business school, it's a requirement; it's not a requirement for me. I am currently a psychology major, but when the matter of career paths is pursued further, I usually give a sheepish, "I don't really know what I want to do with my life." I actually get upset, when there are so many people my age who say they know exactly what they want to do with their lives. Is it because their assurance magnifies my uncertainty? That's probably it. It could also be that they have the clear motivation, that I seem to be lacking, and really wish I had.

But I digress.

So as I said, public speaking. Now I signed up for this class, not just because I heard that it was an easy "A," but more because I regret not taking it in high school, and feel that it's a very important skill to have. Naturally, always wanting to build my ego as each day passes, I join this class.

The teacher is-- for lack of a better word-- a chiller. He understands the annoying stuff about this school and truly empathizes with us, since he went here for hsi undergrad too. He told us at the beginning of the year, that hopefully we will be able to find out what our biggest fears are, and who we really are as people. Always feeling a constant hesitance about who I really am, I was excited at this prospect.

A few weeks ago, we were given an assignment to give a speech to inform. The speech had to be interesting, relevant to the audience, and more importantly, presented well. Over the last few years, I've started feeling less embarrassed about things that I do, which is sometimes good, often times bad. I was happy to give a speech; I enjoy public speaking, if it's about a topic I enjoy and the group is small enough. Luckily, I just finished reading a book about detecting body language in others. A highly-interesting read. I decide to share some of the tidbits from the book to the class in my speech.

It took me a while to actually sit down and write out what I wanted to say, but I was able to do it.

I knew what my selling point would be: Find out when girls like you. Women, who apparently are much more attuned to reading body language than guys, drop several nonverbal signals before making things more obvious with verbal ones. If the guy is too slow, she might figure he's not worth it. Also, guys desperately see a pretty girl somewhere, and think maybe they have a shot. They engage her in conversation, not noticing, the several uninterested looks she gives (fake smiles, crossed arms, etc.). So my point to the gentlemen in my class was: Wouldn't you like to know how to read some of these signals?

When I gave my speech, which I had practiced about 5 or 6 times (the teacher recommended 8), I felt confident I knew what I wanted to say. I made eye contact with people, rarely reading directly from my sheet, and most importantly, I got people interested. My teacher gave me an "A" on the speech, which I was thrilled about. Also, not only did my classmates and teacher tell me I did a great job, but I felt like a did a great job on it, too. I've also signed on to do a stand-up comedy routine at an event for charity on Sunday. Hoepfully, things will go well.

Now...

If only YU had a speech major?

Eli

A Night Owl

2009-03-24T23:57:00.000-07:00

Why is it that my sleep schedule is so screwed up? I don't really get it. It's not a matter of not being able to fall asleep (thank G-d I don't suffer from insomnia). But, it's I just decide to stay up late. I don't even do anything worthwhile with my time. I usually go to sleep some time between 1:30- 2:30 am, but I'm not doing homework, like most of my friends who are pre-med; I'm wasting time. I check facebook a lot, definitely the biggest waste of time on this planet, but like TV it has so much popularity. So I look at the top of my computer, mesmerized how the clock can tick by so quickly, and realize that I need some sleep. Of course silly enough, I wake up every day feeling quite tired, while the Jiminy Cricket in me is yelling, "I wonder why, moron!" I seriously either need to find a hobby that gives me something valuable to do with my time or just force myself to have a bed time.

Probably signing off two hours too late,

Eli

I Have Mixed Feelings about January

2009-01-14T23:11:00.000-08:00

I Have Mixed Feelings about January

I think most people like the month of January. It starts out with a perfect legitimate reason to get plastered, and from that point on, everyone can start out with a clean slate. People hold this image of New Years as being this magical day that gives everyone the ability to start things over because, after all, the calendar is starting over, so why can't they. I don't really buy into the whole New Years resolution concept since most people end up breaking their resolutions after about a week. But New Years aside, January has a certain uniqueness that separates it from all the months. A paradoxical battle rages in my head when it comes to how I feel about the month. On the one hand, it is my favorite month; on the other hand, it is my least-favorite month.

The reason it is my favorite month is because it was the month I was born in. I came into this world on the 11th of January, 1989. Although I never saw a time when jean jackets and scrunchies were popular, I was technically born in the 80’s.

As I was saying, I was born on January 11th. When I was younger, I often would be worried that my gifts from Chanukah would be melded into birthday gifts. Birthday gifts had to be distinct, separate gifts that I was entitled to, regardless of when Chanukah was. Why should the celebration of my birthday be tarnished because of a certain holiday that can't make up its mind if it wants to be at the beginning, middle, or end of December? So I would always look forward to this day honoring my entrance to the world..

I used to have these big elaborate parties when I was younger, usually accompanied by classmates, who I may or may not have been friends with. After all, when you're six, how many people do you really dislike? Through time, when society declares that a person is too old to have the traditional birthday party, it sort of evolved into a dinner with family and sometimes friends.

The gifts also changed with time. Initially, like most kids, I was asked what I wanted for my birthday, or parents' intuition took over and they had a good sense of what to buy me. Throughout the years, the whole element of surprise and excitement about the gifts dissipated. Parents would have less time to find that perfect gift that would light up their child's eyes. And let's not forget how hard it is to really make a teenager happy or even content. So, naturally the concept of a birthday gift evolved into a particular sum of money that would pretty much be consistent each year. Through this evolution, I slowly started feeling less excited about my birthday, knowing that it was just a day where I'd receive some nice money (which don’t get me wrong, I am grateful for), but it has lost some of its sentimentality.

I have trouble pinpointing which of my twenty birthdays stands out the most as being once I can call my favorite, mostly because I don’t remember half of them. But one stands out in my mind as being the most dear to me. This was my 17^th birthday. That January 11^th jumps out to me more than any other because it was the first and (I think last) surprise party that I was thrown. The day went on routinely like many birthdays, me telling every teacher that it was my birthday with the hope of getting some special excuse from not taking a test or going to class. The scheme never worked, and the day carried on. Once school ended my mother picked up me and my friend, B, from school, as was the norm. Instead of driving him home the normal route, my mother was driving in a different direction and she was speaking to B, in a manner that seemed pretty suspicious. When I asked what was up, B told me that they had called a few friends and we were going out to my favorite pizza restaurant. As we got into the restaurant and I sat there sitting with some of my closest friends, and I saw how much effort had been done on my account, I was touched with a sense of happiness that I know should encapsulate every birthday.

That birthday stands out most in my mind as being the happiest and saddest in the most bittersweet of ways, and explains why January is my favorite and least-favorite of months. You see, just a mere six days after that wonderful memory filled with elation and joy came a day that was filled with sorrow and mourning. On January 17^th, my mom died.

Now, as I look ahead every year in the calendar toward January 11^th, I think of how important birthdays are. Those of you that know me know I have this amazing ability to remember friends’ and relatives' birthdays (don't worry, everyone thinks it's weird). I try calling anyone whose phone numbers I have to wish them happy birthday. The reason I do that is because I know how important a birthday is to someone. It’s a day that belongs to the honoree and everything takes a backseat to him. I feel so passionately about birthdays that part of me still has the child inside of him that needs to stay up until midnight specifically to see the clock turn 12:00. I realize how special that birthday was, how special it was to have that great memory of my mother, and to cherish that memory that embodied her kindness.

When January rolls around, I feel the excitement of my approaching birthday, but a great portion of my heart still thinks of that last birthday I spent with my mom. A month that used to be reserved entirely for celebration now has to be shared with the opposite feeling of grief. But every January that comes, I try to think of the positive things that I can learn from my mother's selflessness and generosity, and incorporate her into my daily life.

Just Wait Til' Next Year

2008-12-13T22:18:00.000-08:00

“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.

A Century's Not That Long, Right?

2008-10-04T23:38:00.001-07:00

Well it happened again... I got swept up in the hype; the Cubs got swept in the first round. Despite my best efforts to avoid it all, I couldn't get away from the excitement. I was so hellbent on the magic of the 100 year anniversary, that all rationalism got pushed aside. I stubbornly chose to ignore my friends who told me that the Cubs would choke and naively thought, "This is definitely the year." It wasn't. Being the arrogant, obstinate, unrealistic fan, I got sucked into the atmosphere. It happened in '98, it happened in '03, it happened in '07, and it just had to happen this year. I was mesmerized by the comebacks, the big rallies, and even the ambiance; I should have known better.
So many Cubs' fans believe in a curse. I don't. I personally think that G-d has much better things to do with his time than put a hex on a baseball team. So, once people get over their theories of curses, they look for scapegoats, or even regular goats (the pun just fit). People lay blame on these symbols just to ease their sorrow, whether it be a billygoat, a black cat, or some guy from Northbrook (Bartman has since moved).
This time there wasn't anything to say except that we simply played terribly come playoff-time. During the regular season, they played phenomenally, winning 97 games. But the team that walked off the field September 28 was not the same team that walked on it October 1. They forgot a lot of things in a mere 3 days. They forgot the crucial nuances of baseball and keys to the game that helped so much this season. They forgot that a playoff team can't walk people. They forgot that a playoff team can't make 4 errors in a game and expect to win. They forgot that a playoff team can't strand 9 runners on base (4 of them in scoring position). They simply forgot that the playoffs is different that the rest of the season; gameplay needs to be precise and mistakes are irrevocable.
I feel frustrated not because the team let me down in an abysmal playoff performance, but more because I allowed myself to believe that this year would be different than other years. I chose to believe that somehow this year had to be the year. I feel like I was on a hidden-camera show where everyone else knows the truth, and I'm the only sucker oblivious to it. I feel frustrated that I got duped again, despite the myriad of previous failures. But the most depressing thing of all is that I invested so much time and energy into the long baseball season, when all that resulted from this great Cubs' season was a schedule being extended to 165 games, instead of 162. If I had the choice between this year's season and a regular, average season, I choose the latter. That way my heart can stay calm right where it is... instead of being ripped out from my chest.