Beginning
to miss being the underdog
When the Cubs finally win a World Series, it's going to be bittersweet.
With this year's team winning the National League pennant and making it to the Series for the first time since 1945, I expected to feel more euphoric. As a lifelong Cubs fan, I'm happy they've come this far.
But I wondered why I wasn't more giddy about their current accomplishments and potential future success. As I thought about it, I realized one of the reasons I cheered for the Cubs was because they were always underdogs.
Once they become champions for the first time since 1908, that goes away.
I feel a melancholy sense of loss, as if I'm experiencing the death of someone I've known since childhood.
One of the main reasons I grew up liking the Cubs back in the 1970s was because they were special. In addition to the Cubs having the longest championship drought in professional sports, Wrigley Field was the only ballpark that didn't have lights, and the Cubs the only team that honored the tradition of playing baseball in sunshine during the day.
The team's record didn't matter, so long as there were bright spots. I cheered for individual players. First baseman Bill Buckner was one of my favorites. During those lean years, you could still turn to the agate page of the Chicago Tribune sports section and find Buckner among the National League leaders for hitting doubles.
Wrigley Field was accessible and uncrowded back then. Average attendance was as low as 10,672 as recently as 1981, according to the Baseball Almanac.
The emptiness of Wrigley Field in those days is recounted by Joseph Epstein in his 2014 book, “Masters of the Games: Essays and Stories on Sport”:
“When the comedian Bill Murray was substituting for the then-ill Cubs announcer Harry Caray, Murray told of his memory of repeatedly rushing home after school to catch the end of the Cubs game only to hear Jack Brickhouse reporting yet another Cubs loss while off in the cavernous background of Wrigley Field he could hear the sound of kids stomping on empty beer cups.
“The dolorous echo of those stomped-upon cups, the unconvincing cheerfulness of Brickhouse's voice, anyone who heard Murray that afternoon who had grown up in Chicago knew precisely what he was talking about.”
That atmosphere was captured by playwrights Joe Mantegna, Josephine Paoletti and Dennis Franz of Chicago's Organic Theater Company in their 1977 play, “Bleacher Bums.” The description by publishing house Samuel French outlines how the cast of characters in the play bet on the game they are watching.
“The Cubs inevitably blow it in the ninth and the villainous Marvin, who always bets against the Cubs figuring he can't lose, cleans up. The bleacher bums remain undaunted they will be back tomorrow to root for the home team,” the description reads.
Cubs manager Lee Elia famously ranted about the bleacher bums in a 1983 expletive-laden tirade.
That's the Cubs organization I knew, the one owned by the Wrigley family and later, the Tribune Co. I understand why people criticize this type of fan, the ones willing to tolerate the “lovable loser” Cubs. Wrigley Field was a great place to watch a ballgame. It was cheap, it was wholesome and it was fun.
Things started to change in 1984, the year they made the playoffs for the first time since 1945. They went up two games to none against San Diego in a best-of-five series. I was excited then, at age 19, when it seemed the Cubs were going to the World Series.
Then they blew it, and the Padres won three straight. Much was made of how the Cubs had to forfeit home field advantage because Wrigley Field didn't have lights and Major League Baseball insisted games be played at night for TV ratings.
Four years later, lights were installed at Wrigley Field.
I didn't mind. Lights were necessary in order for the Cubs to win a championship. I enthusiastically cheered them during playoff appearances in 1989, 1998 and 2003. I didn't feel stung by the franchise's futility to advance to the World Series when the Cubs played in the postseason in 2007 and 2008.
These were still the Cubs, after all. For me, the best part of being a Cubs fan was the anticipation of knowing that someday they would make it to the World Series and win it all. It's tough to describe the emotion. It's like how looking forward to a vacation is sometimes better than the trip itself.
Being a Cubs fan was to experience the ultimate delayed gratification.
I knew things would change when the Ricketts family became owners of the team in 2009. That, for me, was the beginning of the end. When Theo Epstein came aboard in 2011, I knew it was just a matter of time. They hired him because Epstein had ended the drought in Boston and delivered championships for the Red Sox.
I know it's only a matter of time until the Cubs win a championship. On Friday night, the Cubs host a World Series game for the first time in 71 years. The ballpark will be packed, and the area around Wrigley Field will be mobbed with people wanting to be close to the action.
I have no desire to pay $250 just to get in the door of a Wrigleyville bar to watch the game on television. My excitement about seeing the Cubs play in a World Series is tempered by a profound sense of sadness that after they win a championship, I'll lose one of the biggest reasons I cheered on the team in the first place.
Being a Cubs fan meant rooting for the underdog, but that's changed forever. This year, they were favored to win the World Series from day one, and so far they've met expectations.
I long to root for the underdogs again. I want to be different, to stand out from the herd. Maybe after the Cubs win the World Series, I'll become a White Sox fan.
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