The Day I Became A Cubs Fan

Three months ago, I furiously started typing in the Manchester Hall computer lab after class. BaseBlog was born that day. I wanted this to be my first entry to show you how passionate I was about the Cubs, and the good reasons why I couldn't help but be drawn in. I hit a writers block and started other entries first, but I finally just finished this one. Why did I wait so long? Just so I could get this picture (which relates to the first paragraph) off my Grandma's fridge to show you how God damn cute I was on my first T-Ball team.

Ever since I could remember, I loved sports. Even before I remember, I’ve seen pictures of myself with a pacifier in my mouth holding a sign that says “GREEN BAY SUCKS” while in my walker.  My dad used to take me to Blackhawks games when he got tickets from his boss, and other little minor league events every so often. At some point, I started to decide where I wanted to go instead of him just taking me places. I would drag him to anything I could think of. We had a deal worked out; a B average on a report card meant one game. I was a good student after that, to say the least.

Through this point, there was never a defining moment of my fandom. I didn't have a  number one team out of the major sports. I just watched what my dad watched. It was just sort of there, and progressed as I watched Sportscenter every day. I learned other teams and star players. Looking back, it was amazing the amount of stuff I knew about the Houston Rockets or Oakland Raiders; teams that didn't matter to me one bit.

One day though, that all changed. I'll never forget how I started my most passionate sports devotion.

I was just short of 11 years old on some day in mid-August when my dad came home and said he had a surprise for me. That was always good to hear, because at this point in my life, that usually meant tickets. Fortunately, I was right. Thanks to someone from work, he handed over 2 tickets to see the Cubs play at Wrigley Field against the Montreal Expos. (I find it both awesome and funny that's who they were playing. Nobody can have the same exact experience I had ever again).

In all my years of sports, the Cubs never interested me more than any other team. I barley watched them on TV. My dad had a game on from time to time, and I would ask who was playing, but that was it. I’m angry my dad didn’t introduce me sooner, because I would then be able to say I was a lifetime fan. At the same time, I'm angry he exposed me to this while I wasn't too attached and could get out scot-free, with no emotional pain.

After weeks of waiting, the day finally came; September 9^th, 2002. What makes this story more amazing is just a few weeks prior, there were serious talks of a player strike. I was nearly devastated. I didn't know a game could be taken away from me like that. I still remember flipping to ESPN when I got home from school in late August, just in time to see the report that a deal had been worked out, thus allowing the rest of the games for the season to be played. Phew.

When the day came, we left right when my dad got home from work. Traffic was pretty bad, and I was again worrying, this time about missing the first pitch. After that mess, we parked, literally, right in front of the house my dad grew up in on Summerdale Avenue. He gave me a quick tour of the neighborhood, pointing out which of his friends lived in which houses, and took a walk down the alley they hung out in. I was friends with his friends too, actually. They always liked to host each other at their houses to watch Bears games, so I knew the guys pretty well. Whenever we're down there now, I still like to hear the stories about the mischief they got into when they were 11.

We waited at the bus stop for a couple minutes and hopped on the 22 Clark heading south, the same route he always took as a boy.

For as sappy as I’m getting in this story, I can’t remember my first vision of baseball paradise. There was no cinematic moment where "a boy was united with the great American pastime". Per the usual, the Cubs were 20-something games out of first place. The stadium was half empty, if you want to be generous. We moved down to aisle 424, row 1, despite what our ticket said.

Not too bad for a first experience so far. 

Dad had the idea to keep score, and taught me along the way. I wasn't too big a fan of it. Why would you want to write some crappy symbols rather than watch the game?  I just didn’t get it. I’m really glad he did, though. It means more and more to me as each year passes by. That's the one piece of physical evidence I can point to when someone asks when I became a fan.

The first thing I remember about being there was looking through a pair of binoculars in the bottom of the first. I was in total awe that my eyes were actually seeing Sammy Sosa at bat.  Matt Clement was the starter that night, my favorite pitcher at the time. My dad grabbed us a bag of peanuts and told me more stories. I liked the one about how he and his friends could get a free ticket to the next day’s game if they flipped the seats in the grandstand into their folded position. My favorite had to be when he would squeeze grapes from the upper deck onto people below and try not to get caught by the ushers. Somewhere in this time, as we were walking back from the bathroom,  we saw a foul ball land right near where we were sitting. Some douche with a Red Wings wife-beater and braces kept it instead of giving it to me. That one was a near miss, but the opportunity was there, so I'll still chalk it up on the "best first game ever" board.

In the 5th, Michael Barrett smacked a homer on to Waveland. I then hear a cheer, after which, the ball got launched back to the infield, something that I wasn’t expecting. My dad explained the unwritten rule, and I took it with a grain of salt, because that’s 2 balls I deserved at this point.

The second rule is the relevant one here.

Fast forward to the middle of the 7th, when the customary stretching began. That’s when the most vivid memories started. David Terrell and Marty Booker had the stretch that night, and I got a pretty decent view of them. At that point I thought this was the most awesome night ever. I specifically remember one of them making a clutch TD reception the day before to give the Bears the win. They were the heroes in Chicago for the week, and I was no more than 50 feet from them.

The game was close the whole time. In the top of the 8th, the Expos tied the game at two with a two out RBI. This was very bad for me. Since it was a Monday, my dad had work the next day. And since it was almost 10 PM, we were going to leave if it went into extra innings.

The most vivid moment, the one I hope I never forget in my entire life, came in the bottom half of the 9th.  Alex Gonzalez, one of the only other players I knew on the team, launched a walk off home run into the night to give the Cubs the 3-2 win. My arms flung into the air as I watched the ball sail into the left field bleachers. I looked down below at the 1/3 capacity crowd to see them jumping and waving their arms just like me.

Thinking back, I can’t believe the night I had for my first game at Wrigley Field. It had history, tradition, and, most importantly, a Cubs win. From that point on, I was hooked. The next year was the amazing and unfortunate playoff run of 2003, and there was no turning back after that.

I've learned a lot in my 10 years as a Cub fan,some things not even baseball related. I always tie a memory or experience to a specific game or a season, so it's almost like it's weaved into my life with everything else.
I don't know what's going to happen in the next 10 years, but I will never give up on my team. There's some down years, but I'll always be filled with hope when another chance rolls around. They'll always be there, at Wrigley Field, playing for me.