I watched some terrific television this week. These “Cubs”—the heroes of a show that has lasted for 140 seasons—pulled off an episode for the ages. I don’t need to tell you; you were probably watching it. I can only hope next week’s episode is half as exciting…
Ha. Ha. We all get it. To talk about sports this week would be a pretty severe departure for this blog and, by extension, me. I’ve often prided myself on my lack of interest in the sportsball* games that show up on the Entertainment and Sports Programming Network of Bristol, Connecticut.
Still, growing up in a family hailing from Chicago, where the Northside Team was the closest thing we had to a religious tradition**, I couldn’t help but be aware of the highs and mostly lows of the Cubs. My baptism*** had to be scheduled around the 1984 NLCS. Had the Cubs made it to the World Series in 2011****, my father’s attendance at my wedding was subject to cancellation, and everyone understood. When the 1998 Wild Card berth fell into sudden danger, it was the only time that my normally level-headed father needed to “walk it off.” To this date, I don’t know what my father shouted in our backyard, but the grass never grew quite right after that.
The Cubs victory over the Indians in game 7 of the World Series has flung me for a loop, although that probably doesn’t begin to cover how Dad feels. My father has followed the Cubs for decades, and that entire time “Maybe Next Year” was as close to a rallying cry as fans ever got.
But what about next year? Well, clearly, the World Series will be a re-match of the Cubs and the Indians, and the Cubs will win it in four. That much is obvious. But what is that next great unattainable? When my father and I discussed it, we figured that the only equivalent for me to the Cubs winning the World Series for him would be if scientists were to discover the secret safe, fun, and affordable time travel. Which, as we all know, would’ve allowed me to make more than a little money on the Cubbies this season.
I have a temptation to make this blog entry conform to themes that appeared in previous blogs, and contort the victory of the Cubs into some plea that society keep itself together for another week, but it seems a little hum-drum to try and equate the election with the Cubs win. Game 7 of the 2016 World Series was genuine magic. We all witnessed it. Did you see Bill Murray’s face at any time in the last week? The election, hopefully, will be fine. If it isn’t, we’ll all be fine. No matter what your hopes are for the days ahead, I do believe we’ll all learn to live with the outcome*****. As in all things, even for Cubs fans, there’s always “next year.”
That being said, if Election Night is anything like Game 7, in lieu of flowers, please donate to the American Heart Association.
*Sportsball is the one with the shoulder pads and the ice skating, right? I mean, it’s not like we have a game called “football” that only intermittently features the use of feet. That would be madness.
**Besides, you know, Presbyterianism.
***Yep. I was baptized. I know. This blog is really going off the beaten path.
****They didn’t, but you already knew that.
*****But seriously, though, folks? Go vote.