OPINION & EDITORIAL
Keeping the faith alive
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Also by Paul Temple:
- Stop genocide in Darfur (April 28, 2005)
- America turns blind eye to Darfur (December 5, 2005)
- Examining The Badger Herald from outside (January 26, 2006)
- Newspapers must take extreme care in dealing with victim identity (February 2, 2006)
- Editorial on Covenant plan inadequately researched (February 9, 2006)
Related Stories:
- Thanks, dad (September 23, 2001)
- Fair-weather Cubs fans (October 7, 2003)
- Abortion rights activist lacks heart (February 2, 2007)
- Life via justice (April 21, 2003)
- Abortion rarely other than a selfish choice (February 21, 2003)
by Paul Temple
Thursday, October 2, 2003
It was a bright shining day in the life of a seven-year-old. Bikes, toys, parks and lemonade.
But then I came into the house and approached the kitchen to find my mother crying. “Why are you crying?” I asked.
“The Cubs lost.”
I stood astounded — why was my mother making such a big deal about a baseball game? After all, the Cubs always lose. But, of course, I was seven. And naive.
As it turned out, one “gentleman” by the name of Will Clark had dashed the hopes of Chicago Cubs fans the world over by getting a key hit in the 1989 National League Championship Series. The Cubs’ playoff run came to an end and with it the built-up hopes of a nation of oppressed yet faithful people.
Since then, Clark has been as hated in Chicago as the Michigan Wolverines are in Madison. He was booed consistently in the years following the series.
In the life of a Cubs fan, “there’s always next year” is a phrase we have come to learn and love as much as the hot dogs and Old Style the vendors sell at Wrigley Field. The Cubs have been the lovable losers. Not since 1908 have they won the World Series. That’s 95 years.
Let me repeat: your grandparents probably weren’t born when the Cubs last won it all. And the last time they actually appeared in a World Series, those same grandparents (and many pro-baseball players) were fighting the Axis powers in Europe and the South Pacific. (No wonder they made it so far.) So the phrase “there’s always next year” isn’t just something we use to console one another — it’s the essence of being a Cubs fan.
Also, it’s all about Wrigley. For those readers who have never been there, I genuinely feel sorry for you. It is a hallowed, magical place. The scent of hot dogs, perfume from the hottie sitting a row in front of you and various Budweiser products fills the stands as Gary Pressy plays the organ and everyone sings the traditional “Take me out to the ball game.” (Only when it gets to that part about “if they don’t win it’s a shame” we sing “if they don’t win it’s the same.”)
And, of course, Wrigley nearly always sells out. Especially for Friday daytime games. Strange how Cubs games and “sick” excuses for employees throughout Chicago always coincide. (I’d like to thank past philosophy teachers for buying those excuses, by the way. I had an extra Old Style just for you.) To put it into terms nearly every Wisconsinite can understand: Lambeau is to football what Wrigley is to baseball. Get it? Good — now go get some tickets, if you can.
This is why I found myself crying Saturday evening, when the Cubs clinched their own division for the first time since Bush (the first, “prudent” one) was president. I literally bawled in nearly the same way my mother had 14 years ago. Only this time, I didn’t question it. This time they were tears of joy. The Cubs were going to the playoffs, and there was one good shindig going down at Wrigley.
And on this past Tuesday night, I nearly did it all over again. The Cubs fought like David, an underdog with no history of winning the big one, against the Goliath Atlanta Braves, who have won more consecutive division championships than any other team in professional sports.
With the help of strong hitting and pitching by Kerry Wood, the Cubbies won on the road in Atlanta in the playoffs. That has never happened. It’s like the cosmos are realigning, and the Cubs could actually make it to the World Series. That hasn’t happened in my parents’ lifetime, or mine … yet.
So, as I put off studying for this Saturday’s LSATs and that nasty philosophy paper due next Monday, I will continue hoping that this time the Cubs will pull it off. I will watch every pitch, scream at every bad call and wear my ratty 10-year-old hat until they win it all or blow it.
But, hey, there’s always next year.
Paul Temple (patemple@wisc.edu) is a senior majoring in political science and philosophy. He has a shrine to Ernie Banks and Harry Caray.
