Cubbies Gone

No more cubbies.

How can you call those baseball athletes, who gave us the greatest playoff games, greatest World Series games and the greatest Game 7 ever…how can you call them cubbies?

They are the Cubs, God Damn It, and don’t forget it.
Forty Million television viewers will long remember.


CLEVELAND, OH - NOVEMBER 02: The Chicago Cubs celebrate after winning 8-7 in Game Seven of the 2016 World Series at Progressive Field on November 2, 2016 in Cleveland, Ohio. (Photo by Ezra Shaw/Getty Images)

CLEVELAND, OH – NOVEMBER 02: The Chicago Cubs celebrate after winning 8-7 in Game Seven of the 2016 World Series at Progressive Field on November 2, 2016 in Cleveland, Ohio. (Photo by Ezra Shaw/Getty Images)

For One Hundred and Eight years they were the hapless cubbies. I hope that childish name is gone.

Spoiler alert…I’ve never been a Cub fan, even though I saw them play dozens of games when I lived in the Midwest. I liked the White Sox, the South-Side Chicago team. When my Dad and I would make our yearly trek up to Wrigley Field I would root root root for the Cubbies…and then forget about them till the next summer.

Watching the Cubbies at Wrigley Field was like going to the State Fair, the Rock Concert, the Phantom of the Opera, or a family wedding. It was something we did most summers. Of course we also went to two or three White Sox games every summer too.

My close Indiana buddies like Griggs and George lived and died with the Cubs. So did their fathers and grandfathers. Baseball teams are like political parties and religions. You usually grow up with them, drink the cool-aid, recite the correct dogmas and learn to say, “Next Year.”

Moving to Timbuktu doesn’t mean you don’t still root for the Cubs or whoever your “team” is. Brand loyalty can sometimes be a lifelong chore.

Not for everyone. When I moved to Southern Cal, I started rooting for the Angels…went to a dozen games every year. I also enjoyed rooting for the Dodgers and having a National League team to cheer for and see a few games every summer. I didn’t even remember how to spell White Sox. It probably makes me a fair-weather fan, but so be it.

My son moved to Texas and became a Ranger fan. Then I moved to the Bay area and became a Giant’s fan. Also pulled for the Oakland A’s in the American League.

Where a sports fan lives is where the local sports teams inundate the news. TV highlights burn in your brain, local news columnists introduce you to the players and legends, great radio announcers occupy long drives. It doesn’t take long to get into the local vibe, especially if one appreciates the sport and likes to attend games in person.

It also doesn’t hurt to have a winner. When I moved to the Bay Area I started a love-fest with the SF Giants. World Champions in 2010, 2012, 2014.  Even gave the Cubs a few ulcers this year.

Bottom line…a true baseball fan knows how the games should be played. It’s like appreciating the Olympic winners, or a great Academy awarding winning movie, an incredible song or a great wine.

This year’s Cubs were all those things and more.

My great close friend, Ken, was at the last World Series game the Cubs played in 1945. They broke his heart and have continued to try his soul and his patience. But he never faltered in his belief. Even living 2500 miles away in Bakersfield, he loved his Cubs.

When we talked yesterday after the Cub victory he told me, “I kept thinking of my late brother who took me to my first games and made me a Cub fan. I was so happy for me and so sad he didn’t get to see it finally happen. I couldn’t stop crying last night.”


About bakoheat

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