I posted the below post on Facebook on Tuesday, November 29, 2016, almost a full month after the fateful night. What I posted then was an adaptation of an email that I had sent to a number of close friends on Friday, November 4, 2016, two days after the Game 7 that led to the ultimate baseball victory. Other than shortening the first sentence (I referenced something I shared on Facebook that would have no relevance here unless you chose to follow the bread crumbs), I have chosen to leave the rest as is.
A few weeks ago, a friend and I drove by Wrigley Field on our way home from a friend’s gig in the neighborhood. It was pretty late on a Saturday night, and the area was still buzzing. Police with whistles directing traffic, citizens walking by and taking selfies, non-selfie pics, and videos. It was quite the scene. The video I have attached only sort of captures the depth of not only the experience from this night, but from the night about a week-and-a-half prior.
What I am about to share is my experience of what transpired from the night of November 2nd going into the super-early morning of November 3rd. For those of you who have known me a while, you can probably imagine how big this was for me. Not just the month of October going into November, but really the entire 2016 season. It was an incredibly long season, and even though I am only 31 years old, my entire journey with the team to date still feels like a very long road. I’ve been a fan really since I was 13 (the year of the Sosa-McGwire home run chase). Like every other Cubs fan, I’ve experienced the highs and lows, and through the years I’ve discovered how personal my fandom has become for me.
One key moment on this journey came 8 years ago. I’d had enough, after the 100-year-anniversary came and went with a sweep out of the playoffs. By that point, I had experienced enough pain and heartbreak that I wanted no more. I even wrote a song about it, a song that took four years to complete.
I found out the result of Game 7 of the world series after midnight on November 3rd, while I was reading in bed. After Cleveland tied the game in the 8th inning, I couldn't watch anymore. So I got ready for bed. I headed to bed at around the time of the rain delay. After midnight my dad came in holding a champagne bottle in one hand, and an empty champagne glass in the other. He exhorted me to come have a drink. He didn't say anything else. He just had this really wide smile on his face. I asked if the game was over. He said yes. I asked who won. He didn't say anything. I asked if we won. He just said, come have a drink.
Moments later I saw the replay video via ESPN.com on my phone. A lot of the grief over years of heartbreak and pain came to the surface. I didn't feel joy for a while. I’m guessing it was at least half an hour before I was ready to accept my champagne and begin to feel this new normal that the Cubs were finally world series champions.
When they clinched the pennant a couple weeks earlier I felt euphoric. In a sense that was like winning the championship for me. But I had a dilemma regarding watching them in the world series for the first time ever: 1.) I could continue my habit of checking online and then only really following, reading, viewing after the game was over; or 2.) I could proactively set aside time to watch the game in real time, with friends. After all, I’d never seen them in a world series before. And I might not again. This was worth celebrating. So I watched Game 3 at a friend’s house, and Game 4 out with friends. Both nights were good times with those with whom I hung out, but both games were also losses.
In the end, I couldn't bear to watch the Cubs lose again in front of my eyes, not after all the pain and heartbreak. So the rest of the series I reverted to my following it on my own, and in waiting for the games to conclude first before reading about what happened. And while I would have much preferred to have shared this with others, there was also this part of me that believed that if what it took for them to win was for me to experience their games on my own, then that’s what I would do. It would be worth the sacrifice to me.
I will say that two days later I started feeling more joyful about it. I saw quite a number of people on the morning of November 4th walking about wearing Cubs-related clothing while on a morning Starbuck’s run. So perhaps it is starting to sink in. And now, I have to ask myself the big question: what has changed? What changes in my life now that, really, a longtime prayer has finally been answered? And even more importantly, what lessons can I learn from these Cubs who fought against their own negative history to win the prize? That’s a next step to take, now that one era has ended and a new one must begin.
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