FanPost

Diary of a Cubs Fan: The Dissection of a Loser's Brain.


A quick warning: The article you are about to read was written by a loser.

"Lovable Losers", they call us. The phrase itself is a loser on its own. It's an almost good enough expression to be an oxymoron, but not quite. It's a fun, happy adjective preceding a negative noun in its subliminal attempt to cast a shadow on it's true meaning. The difference between being a loser and a loveable loser is 0; ironically the most prominent number you could associate with losing to begin with. And somehow, to those of us in the Cubs fan base, this is acceptable. We are losers, and most of us have been ok with that for decades.

I feel like I need to start this article by introducing myself. My name is average joe, and I am not an aspiring writer, columnist, or blogger. To be honest, this is the first time I have ever sat down to write something like this. I am a thirty-six year old nobody that spends the first moment that I wake up searching the web for articles on the Cubs, reading every one, before I even have gotten out of bed and plugged in my average coffee pot to have my average morning coffee. I love every article that mentions the Cubs. I love 1908. I love goat curses. I love statistics and players and home runs and everything baseball. But what I hope to impart to anyone who reads this article is none of that; my goal is to explain what it is like to be a loser - albeit more specifically - how it feels.

The hard part about writing an article like this is attempting to describe the difference between what it is like to love the Cubs and how it feels to love the Cubs. These things are two of the same, yet so far different that it is hard to explain to someone who doesn't bleed Cubbie blue. What it is like is great. What it is like is easy to associate with any fan of any team in baseball. What it is like is having the best baseball stadium and the most magical place on earth to visit whenever I want to escape my average-ness. It is Wrigley Field. It is hot dogs and nachos and beer and the biggest Jimmy Buffet party you could imagine where even non-baseball fans will never forget if they get the opportunity to visit. It is a euphoric atmosphere where the only difference between going to a game to watch a 100 loss team and a game with a 100 win team is the hit on your wallet. It is perfect anytime, for Cubs fans or not. It is the reason we sell out day games at the end of a losing season. It's fun. It's perfect. The typical outsider (and south sider) will accuse of us not paying enough attention to the baseball game. We are drunks and bums and not "true" baseball fans. In a lot of ways, they are right. In a lot of other ways, they are completely wrong. However, I am sure that baseball fans from New York to San Francisco can relate to this. What it is like is great. But the likeness is probably no different than it is for other fans of anything to go watch something you love - baseball or not... That is what a fan is, after all.

The thing that is so incredibly hard to explain about being a loser, is how it feels. To attempt this, I will have to invite you into my personal life. I will have to talk about family, and more family, and family that isn't really even family. The easiest place to start is by discussing:

My mother. A 73 year old ball of fire who will tell you how it is and does not care if she hurts your feelings doing so. She will invite you into her home for coffee or dinner even if she had only met you minutes ago. She will talk to you about politics, church, crafts, cards, or anything and everything for 20.5 hours of the day during the regular season. The other 3.5 hour is reserved, and there will be no talking at her house. There will only be watching. I cannot remember an inning she has missed of Cubs baseball.

This is a woman who drinks a case of Pepsi every day. Last weekend - I invited her over to carve pumpkins with my children, and specifically went to the store to make sure I had her drink of choice before she got there. After hours went by, and game time approaching - she had to cut out early on our pumpkin adventure because she wanted to be home before the first pitch and be in her bed with her Pepsi. Forget that I have a 70" flat screen and she has a 36" box Zenith TV. Forget that I had already bought her 24 Pepsi's to entice her to stay - because not one of them had the Cubs logo on the can - and no way in hell would she open that can on game day, against her superstition.

This is a woman who lives in a small town and hates the city, the traffic, and the people. She would rather watch the game in her bed than go to Wrigley - something unfathomable to my brother and I. Yet on her 70th birthday, we forced her to ride the train to the city with us and sit in the bleachers, where the most rowdy of fans sit. In the sixth inning of the game, just after the whole left field bleachers sang happy birthday to her which contagiously leaked into the right field bleachers to the point my father even heard it watching the game from home- a warm up ball tossed into the bleachers from Alfonso Soriano six rows in front of us was given to her as a birthday present from the gentleman that caught it, because that is how Wrigley Field is, and it still sits on a shrine in her living room and is the first thing you will see if you are ever in the area for morning coffee with her and :

My father , who of course - did not get to hear the happy birthday chant until the day after. Another victim of not missing an inning of Cubs baseball, albeit will never watch the game live on TV. He will not even tune in to the game until after the game is over, and after someone, typically myself or my mother, has told him whether or not the Cubs have won or lost. His two previous heart attacks will not allow him to possibly suffer another. He can't stomach the suspense of whether the team wins or loses. He wants the Chicago Cubs to win so badly, it could detriment his health to worry about it. He wants them to win not just for himself or his wife but his Dad and his Dad's Dad that never got to see it. Rather than watching the game this weekend, he dug up an old jar of dirt from Wrigley field so that he could deliver it to the family of

Grandpa Bob. So maybe you don't have crazy Cubs parents that you can relate too. Maybe you just have that one friend or family member that is crazy devoted to their favorite team. Like - a Grandpa Bob. For as long as I have been alive I can remember running into Grandpa Bob in town, always wearing his Cubs hat - always wanting to talk about how bad the team was, how good the team was, or how many months, days, and minutes it was until opening day. Grandpa Bob was not even my parents parent. But he was everyone in a thirty block radius's Grandpa Bob. Grandpa Bob bled cubbie blue until the day he passed, a few weeks ago, where he lay in his Cubs coffin with his all blue resting clothes. The ultimate Cubs fan, who even made me look like a bandwagon fan. I can't even say I was close enough to him to know his secrets, his past, even his present - but I know how much he loved his Cubs team and how he spent his whole life waiting to see his team win the World Series.

The thing with Grandpa Bob is, everyone has a Grandpa Bob. Everyone knows someone who wanted something so badly and did not get it.

It makes no difference if you watch every inning. It makes no difference if you watch zero games all regular season and just got your Cubs jersey out of the closet for the playoffs. It makes no difference how much you like the Cubs or watch the Cubs or visit Wrigley or crack an Old Style or even know the story of flying the "W".

Most of us, the losers, want this more than anyone could ever imagine. The addiction to this desire is so unfathomable to most people it can't be explained in words even close in an article or a blog or whatever you would label this write-up.

It's not just about our favorite team winning. It's about our parent's favorite team that have been let down so many times. It's their parents who never got to see it. It's the reason I cried on Saturday after hearing the call "The Cubs are going to the pennant". It's the reason I have tears in my eyes on this average Sunday just writing about it.

It's more than baseball. It's seeing the wishes of so many people, living and past, finally come to see their dream right there in front of them. It's for all of the Grandpa Bobs.

And maybe, just maybe... This is the year we will no longer be losers. We will be winners. And everyone before us that waited and missed this moment will be remembered. It's special. It's magical.

It is bleeding Cubbie blue. It's how it feels. And right now - It feels really, really good.

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