Friday, November 4, 2016

Go Cubs Go!

This goes deep.
My Grandma, Mom, Aunt, Dad and Nephew.

My Mom and her fellow Cubs' fans, in the 1920's.
This goes very deep.

I remember exactly where I was when the Cubs lost the chance for the 1984 pennant. I was pumping gas at the NW corner of Eastern Avenue and Arden Way in Sacramento. Yes, this goes incredibly deep.

With both parents from Chicago and bigger brothers in Little League, I was pretty much born to be a Cubs fan. Born to be disappointed, year after year after year. But it didn't matter, I would never switch loyalties. When the Padres are happy, my husband is happy and that's fine. And sure, I'm glad when the Giants are doing well, but if we catch a game in SF and the Giants are playing the Cubs. Fogetaboutit. It's blue and red all the way.

How did I survive this run-up to the Cubs winning the 2016 World Series? The first part was a blur. My Mom was very sick, then she was dying, then I was on a plane flying back East, then she died and when I came to the Cubs were serious contenders. They beat the Giants and they beat the Dodgers. Wow, this was happening!

I found out that I'm not cut out for winning. Because winning in baseball takes losing some games, being behind some innings, making some errors, and the horror of all horrors, the other team scoring.

My typical routine through this was: miss the first few innings until my husband came home from work and have him tell me gently what that score was. Then and only then could I even look at the TV, but more likely I was too stressed out to actually watch. I could barely listen on the radio. I got lots of housework done, even ironing some shirts.

Wednesday night, if you had a video of me in our house, you might have been tempted to call the men in the white suits. I was ironing, I was dusting, I was doing the dishes, I was taking not one bath but two baths, thinking the lavender scent would soothe me. I was pacing. I was inside, I was outside. I could not sit still. Watch the game? Ha!

When the Indians tied it 6-6, I was a goner. I was on the porch in my pajamas, I was rocking madly on the futon, I was in bed in a fetal position, I was on the floor in the TV room, curled up in a ball plugging my ears yelling at my husband to tell me what was happening. I couldn't take it, so I finally went to bed for good.

Then I heard clapping, lots of clapping coming from the TV room. Hope? Would life go on? More clapping, but I still stayed in bed. I came out to peek, but couldn't take the pressure. So there I was, in bed when the Cubs got the Indians out in extra innings to win. I ran out in a blur, jumped up and down screaming, opened up the front door and screamed some more, drank champagne, screaming the whole time.

The Cubs won the World Series in 2016, three and a half weeks after my Mom died. It was not bittersweet in the least. It was very, very sweet.

"As long as these are bear cubs and not big cat cubs,
I'm willing to be humiliated."