Every April of my life has brought the birth of a new season. Baseball, that is. Having been born and raised in Chicago, and a Cubs fan, April has also meant the beginning of a long slow path leading to elimination and loss.
For those not familiar, the Chicago Cubs had not won a championship since 1908, enduring the longest “dry spell” in American sports history. Being a Cubs fan was hard of course. We lost all every year in every way. Losing became synonymous with our team. But at the same time there was a sense of pride. We were part of something bigger. Generations of Cubs fans grew up with the same struggle, shared combat scars so to speak. My father for instance, was born, lived 80 years, and died without ever seeing his beloved Cubs win a championship. You could go anywhere in the world and if you met a Cubs fan they would nod knowingly at you. We were, in a strange way, all a part of the same dysfunctional family.
I use the past tense proudly because last November the Cubs ended that streak, winning the World Series in spectacular fashion against the Cleveland Indians. If you’re a fan you know that Game 7 of the 2016 Fall Classic will go down as one of the best baseball games in history.
Of course as with all professional championships, there were celebrations, citywide parades, and much gloating by us fans. We bought memorabilia, swapped stories of our favorite moments of the playoffs, and basked in the unfamiliar glow of victory.
And then, winter set in.
Off-seasons in sports often bring change. Players retire or are traded, stadiums are upgraded (or demolished completely in favor of shiny new ones), and even uniforms are restyled. By the time April comes again fans have to adjust to this year’s version of their favorite team.
Change is hard for many. Some will call themselves “purists” and will bristle and bark all that’s new. Fans will miss their favorite player traded to another team, or that veteran catcher, weary from thousands of games crouching behind home plate, now finally retired and will be missed by all.
In the life of a family, one season leads to another. There are years of mundane .500 records, where life seems to just go along. You might even have several losing seasons (hopefully not 108 in a row like the Cubs!), then suddenly you win a championship and all is right in your world.
And then winter will set in again.
Ecclesiastes tells us that, “To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven.” Having faith challenges our own sense of timing and demands we believe in God’s timing.
It was 11:55 pm on a Wednesday night in November, in Cleveland, Ohio.
And it was raining.
While that may sound bad to some, it was in fact one of the most memorable and magical nights of my adult life.
I grew up in Chicago. One of four children, we all loved the Chicago Cubs baseball team. Going to Wrigley Field was always special. It was beautiful. The team played only day games back then so the Sun bathed the crowd in summer warmth, the ivy in the outfield contrasted perfectly with the red brick wall and the perfect blue sky.
The team of course was always terrible. If you know anything about baseball you know that the Cubs last won a championship since 1908. You read that correctly. 108 years. The longest “dry spell” in American sports history. But we went to see them play anyway. Why?
I heard it put this way once… “It’s not the team, it’s the yard.” Meaning, while we all said we loved the Cubs, we really came to games not for the team (because they were always a band of misfit toys!) but rather we came to see Wrigley Field. “The yard.” And we came to reconnect with the Wrigley crowd. The collection of believers in our extended dysfunctional family collectively known as Cubs fans who would reconvene every summer knowing their hearts would be broken once again. But come they would anyway.
I believed for a long time that it was about the Yard and not the team. Wrigley is exceptional. And it made sense to me. It’s like going home to your parent’s house. When we grow older we still come home but not always just to see family. Many of us have families that are, well, also a band of misfit toys. Families, as they get older, can be weird and embarrassing, always seeming to let you down when you need them the most. (Like the Cubs) But the house? Mom and Dad’s house was always a place you wanted to go. Your old room, the kitchen table, and yes, the yard… Going back home sometimes actually did seem more about the yard than the team.
But now here I was, in Cleveland, to see the Cubs in Game 7 of the World Series. Yes this year the Cubs went all the way to Game 7. And I was fortunate enough to be there. But I wasn’t there alone. I was there with several of my oldest friends; guys who have moved in and out of my life for 40+ years. Without them, Game 7 would be an empty experience, because “the Cubs” is really about family. The generations of strangers who are all related. Brothers and sisters. Warts and all. Misfit toys each and every one of us.
The Cubs were leading by two with two out in the 8th inning. They only needed to get four more outs and they would win it all. The Indians’ center fielder hit a home run that tied the game and sent Cubs fans (like me) into a familiar depression. The collective thought was that we had found a way to lose again.
The ninth inning came and went with no further scoring. So it would be extra innings. Only five Game 7s have ever gone extra innings. Indians fans celebrated, thinking they had the momentum (and good luck) on their side. Cubs fans stood silently stunned.
And then it started to rain.
Normally that would be yet another bad sign. An omen from above foretelling yet another year of loss. What no one knew, while we waited in the November rain, was that Jason Heyward, the Cubs center fielder, was gathering his teammates in the locker room for a team meeting. He told them he loved them. He had faith in them. That they had won 113 games together through thick and thin and this game wasn’t over yet. He lifted them high and gave them permission to believe in themselves again.
The Cubs came out and won the game, and the Championship, in the 10th inning in spectacular fashion. Afterward, my friends and I walked out of the stadium in delirious joy. A baptismal rain washed away the sins of our fathers, and of former Cubs players and we simply smiled and got wet.
It’s April again and a new season has begun. The Cubs championship was “last year”. It’s time again for fans of every team to gather, and cheer, and dream, and struggle. Win or lose, we will be together. Because remarkably we’ve grown to realize that it turns out, after 108 years, it wasn’t the Yard after all. It was always about the Team.
