A World Series Crisis of Identity

With my hopes and realities of a Cubs World Series crushed, I found myself in a unique position to make the best out of a bad season.

In visiting my family in Florida, we were only a 2-hour drive away from Game 2 of the World Series. With tickets only $10 dollars above face value, you didn't have to twist my arm to go. Yet, I had this strange pang of guilt; the Series was being wasted on an expansion team like the Rays and that was an insult to Cubs fans and fans of classic teams everywhere.

Sure, you expansion team fans may disagree with me on this one, but let's be real: no one wants to see the Marlins, Rockies, Rays or any other two-bit team in the Series...even MLB. It is only when these teams do well that their own fans actually come out of the woodwork to see the spectacle- pretending that they have been there all season long. Well, no one is fooled.

We got into the stadium early and it was utter chaos. People shoulder to shoulder. Concession lines stretching far into the concourse and fan "traffic jams" and bottlenecks were everywhere. We actually stood in line to get on the escalator. I was wondering how a stadium so big could be in such a state of disarray, but then I realized that this must of been one of the few times the team has ever saw this level of attendance. By the time we got to the seats, we were exhausted, hot and pissed.

But, once the game started, it was all the more apparent that Rays fans are as confused and messed up as the crowds of people trying to get to their seats. The team formerly known as the Devil Rays are now represented by a gigantic star with "Rays." The symbol is painted onto the grass and folks have puffy hands with these lone-star-looking symbols that is probably in reference to the sun's rays but fans didn't seem to know. Then, there are the "devil rays" that are lingering around the stadium. In fact, there is a whole tank of these fish that are still a type of mascot. In addition, there is the crazy "official" mascot, Raymond, who is some "SouthPaw"-looking furry thing. Finally, the fans themselves have a love affair with shaving mohawks on their head- another symbol all over the park.

Then... there is the cowbell nonsense. The cowbell is in reference to Will Ferrell's SNL skit-asking for "more cowbell." What was supposed to be a rally call is now another unofficial mascot stunt with fans playing cowbells all game long and people dressed as cows.

With this whole hodgepodge of fan fun, a game at Tropicana Field is both a circus of nonsense and a crisis of identity. Sure, this World Series game was a discount but it was not a sufficient consolation prize for any real baseball fan. The Rays sure are trying but there might be such a thing as trying a little too hard.

RIP Chicago Cubs 2008...A Letter from a very OLD Man

I have a lot of pressure to comment on the the sweep of the Chicago Cubs in the playoffs. In the past few days, after escaping from my self-imposed hibernation, people have hugged me, apologized and offered their polite condolences. They have also been egging me on for some kind of commentary- perhaps a eulogy to the 2008 Chicago Cubs.

I find that there are not many words that can do justice to this crushing loss - although given the shrine at the bleacher entrance of Wrigley Field, I am not alone in coming to terms with the shocking death of the Chicago Cubs' season. On Sunday, I stood at this memorial for meaning and comfort but mostly, I just sensed anger, torn signs and empty beer cans. For some reason, this loss feels different and more personal than years past.

In years past, Cubs fans felt lucky to be in the playoffs so any win was a lucky bonus and any loss was a bit expected. Again, the Cubs were just happy to be there. This year, with talent, luck and a season going our way, Cubs fans hopes were raised higher than ever before only to be dropped to the depths of despair.

On a personal level, it is hard to comment on the emotional toll of this loss. There is anger, sadness and disappointment and no, you can't go to counseling for this stuff. But, to capture the pain and anger of a Cubs loss, I thought that I would publish a note from a very OLD Cubs fans who has been waiting a very long time for a Cubs World Series. This is a picture of Andrew's Pop-Pop during the regular season. He is 86 years old and was optimistic for the post-season. You can see the joy and happiness in his face outside of Wrigley and posing next to his Cubs paver that reads "#1 Pop Pop, #1 Cubs Fan." Now, read the following email that I received just a few days ago.

Dear Andrew and Nicole - tx for note. The straw has now broken the camel's back - the Cubs no longer exist. Just a bunch of bums. How could they be so bad? I hope the air around your house was not poisoned.
Love, Pop-Pop and Poppy

You don't even want to see the new, angrier picture of dear ole' Pop Pop.

Cubs, you have done it again. You have broken the hearts of your loyal fans and in our sick codependency, we come back for more every year. Thanks for the pleasure and the sadistic pain of watching you play.

RIP Chicago Cubs 2008...may you rot with the Bartmans, Black Cats and Goats of our past.

Black Cats, Broken Mirrors and Walking Under Ladders

I didn't want to post this before the first game of the playoffs but I have a confession to make. I felt a small shift in fate and luck in the Neighborhood the night before the playoffs. My prevoius post was on the "luck" of running into the Dodgers as they arrived in Chicago. I got a picture with former Cubs, Juan Pierre and got to see other Major League greats like Nomar, Manny and Kemp. What I didn't talk about was a weird moment that was almost like something out of the movie, The Ring.

I took this picture two times with Matt Kemp and all I got was this messed-up, blurry and cursed image. As a very superstitious Cubs fan, I tried to block it out of my mind but I was a woman obsessed. I went to sleep with a heavy heart-feeling guilty that I tempted the fates and even touched a Dodgers. Kemp's bad luck hex rubbed off on me and I was scared.

Yesterday before the game, I tried to keep my wits about me. I grabbed all the Cubs security items that I have: My favorite hat and rally cap. My ratty radio and headphones. My puffy hand. Then, it started...a button broke off of my hat, my radio went missing and in trying to get to the game, I left my Cubs puffy hand on the floor.

We all know how the game turned out and my lofty notions of five weeks in baseball heaven may turn into a week or so of baseball hell.

So, I urge all Cubs fans to help me out on this one. It is time to temp the fates and thumb our nose at superstitions. Today, I am breaking mirrors, walking under ladders and hugging black cats. I am bringing a fresh rally cap to the game. I am changing my Cubs sweatshirt and changing seats with Andrew. I will not be a prisoner of "luck" or hexes or goats or Bartmans.

Instead, I am wiping our karma clean and saying a prayer to St. Anthony who is the patron saint of lost things...who perhaps is the best way of getting back our regular season magic.

Here it goes: "Tony Tony Come Around...Something's lost, and can't be found...." Since I can't fill the Cubs' Gatorade coolers with Holy Water and they have already blessed the dugout by a priest, I must wait it out tonight and hope for the best. Let's just hope that Zambrano and team is in on this karmic shift with me.

Five Weeks in Baseball Heaven

I have been working ten hour days in preparation for the playoffs.

You may think that is extreme, but when you live next to Wrigley, you cannot take a break from playoff baseball. Not a break for rest, relaxation or even your job.

Bull horns going off at 2am. Garbage overflows from dumpsters from the influx of people. And, the sheer number of baseball pilgrims, who just want to be near the stadium warrants barricades and riot police.

Last night, exhausted from all my pre-playoff work and the terrible anticipation of this week, I wearily got on the El from Evanston to head home. Looking out the West side windows, I saw the bright lights of Wrigley as I passed my house.

Whether it was team practice, pictures, or hanging the bunting, the lights meant that the playoffs were here- officially. As the El stopped at Addison, I saw a luxury bus near the corner of Addison and Sheffield. I knew it was the Dodgers’ team bus so I ran with my camera to check things out.

There they were going out on the town or heading to the hotel after practice. Star after star...Matt Kemp, Manny Ramirez, Nomar, and my personal favorite and former Cub, Juan Pierre. I said to Pierre, "welcome back to Chicago" and he was gracious enough to stop for this picture.

Well, with the start of a new playoff run, we have new hope that this is our year. A year of a little magic, a little luck and maybe a even a few surprises. I mean regardless of how long you live in Wrigleyville, you can’t help but be giddy over a few unexpected celebrity sightings…or maybe even the entire Dodger team greeting me as I got off the train. I can only hope that after they hopped in those cabs that they stayed out all night to party…I surely will imagine them hung-over, and weary at tonight’s game.

But, what is certain is that all the anticipation of a Cubs season will have its payoff in the next few weeks. While the drama and adrenaline of living houses away from history might exhaust me, I can’t deny that tonight I am coming home to baseball heaven- the Cubs in the playoffs with everything going their way. Nothing is for certain, but for the next few weeks, I am living baseball bliss.

The Cost of the Cubs Clinch!

This Saturday, the Cubs clinched the NL Central in dramatic fashion against the Cards. Having attended 26 Cubs games in addition to 8 other MLB games, I needed a break before the playoffs to make it through the homestretch of the season. So, on Saturday, I found myself helping the premier lemonade stand in Wrigleyville for my team’s ice skating fundraiser. Given the high spirits of Cubs fans, donations rolled in. We sold $250 worth of dollar lemonade and treats….that’s like drug money lemonade stand.

Such is the informal economy in Wrigleyville. Anyone can make themselves into a tee shirt entrepreneur by hiding from the police and parading tee shirts through the crowd on a five foot stick. Parking spots behind the house sell for $35 for the regular season but soar to $50 or $60 during the post season. I can’t even fathom the price during a potential World Series. In a city where beer and food specials are part of the bar culture in Chicago…forget finding one in Wrigleyville on game day. You are paying for ambiance and remember, you can’t put a special price on that.

With the Cubs clinching, brace yourself. It’s going to be a wild ride in the neighborhood and for those visiting.

On Saturday night, as I packed up the lemonade stand and escorted my ice skating students to their car, I was horrified to realize that three men had opened it up and whipped it out for a quick piss behind the house. I guess this is all part of the circle of life in our Wrigleyville economy. We gouge the drunk guys to open their wallets; they return the “favor” by opening their pants for a piss. If you ever drive into Wrigleyville, and think that the neighbors got it made, just remember there is a price that we pay. Picture your beautiful, manicured lawn in Buffalo Grove or Wilmette. Now picture a drunk dude watering it. Be happy that you can leave the ambiance and high tail it home on Lake Shore Drive or the Kennedy.

Thugs, Slugs, Opening Day...and The Hooligans Who Make it Suck

The NFL season is a week underway. For the second year in a row, I made it to opening day in true form. Last year, I was in San Diego to see my Bears, unfortunately, lose against the Chargers. This year, I was supporting my in-law's favorite team, the Niners, against the Cardinals. Unfortunately, the highlight of both of these years was the tailgate before the games.

Of course, the loss is always a downer but more recently, NFL hooligans are also a pretty big downer that seem to be getting worse. Last year, this jerk was yelling racial slurs at Bears Fans. At the Niners game, another guy had me yelling "pants up in front!" while I was trying to enjoy the game.

And then, during Monday Night Football, the Ultimate Fan and his dad, watched Raider fans beating each other bloody. An intimidated usher did not even send for help and fans had to take matters in their on hands when cleaning crews merely wiped away blood at McAfee Collesium with water. It took a good samaritan fan to find a supervisor to bleach and disinfect the bloody railings. 

The NFL recently took measure to curb NFL hooliganism which they finally "realized" was on the rise. In fact, in 2003, at a Bengals game, I saw a man so drunk that he fell on a elderly woman in the row in front of him. Of course, her son decked him in the face but he was too drunk to react. I can't help but wonder if it is a little too late. Sure, there are great NFL fans and it is always a vocal and embarrassing minority that ruin it for everyone. But, come on, the NFL is getting so out of hand that you might as well tailgate outside the stadium and corral all the jerk-offs in the stadium. This is truly a new low.

Rally Pants

Desperate times call for desperate measures. If your team is behind in the game, donning a rally cap is the best way to bring some luck to the field. Sacrificing a small part of your dignity in exchange for the possibility of a win is always reasonable.

Being a Cubs fan, I have a lot of experience with a rally cap. And, as you may know, in the past few home games, I have had a lot of practice invoking the rally cap but to no avail. Let's just say that the Cubs have a five game losing streak. As you may have seen, I have tried the rally cap as well as prayed.

But, what I did not realize was that others were getting even more worried and far more desperate than me. At last night's Cubs game, I turned around and saw (to my horror) a man sitting rows above me with a huge tear down the center of his jeans. In addition, he was wearing boxers that were hanging haphazardly and dangerously over all the 'goods.' I instantly whispered to Andrew who confronted him: "Yeah Buddy!...those are some pants ya got there."

The man yelled back: "They're my rally pants."

Has five consecutive losses pushed us to these desperate measures? Have we resorted to rally pants, rally girdles and rally jock straps? And, how far are we bound to go? Rally smelly, we-don't-change-our-underwear?

Let's just hope that we can get out of this losing streak on our own terms...without resorting to depths we might regret.