It’s time.  It’s time I talk about the Cubs.  There’s a Gale Sayers book with the title “I am Third.”  The title refers to Gale’s life priority system – “God is first, friends are second, and I am third.”  I kind of wish I would have had some forethought and named this blog, rather than WonderfulToday, “Cubs are Fourth.”  I don’t mean fourth place in the baseball standings, although most years that would be an improvement, I mean fourth place in my heart!  I kid you not, I love them Cubbies.  Some of you are reading this statement thinking “I do not get this.  Nutsoid.  Get a life.”  And some of you, sports fanaticals yourselves, even if you don’t root for the Cubs, you get me.  You and I speak the same language.  Either way, have you heard?  THE CUBS ARE IN THE PLAYOFFS!  As we embark on what I hope might be one of the most purely fun months of my life, I’d like to define why I am a Cubs fan.

It’s the late 1960s and I’m pulled up in a chair, feet not even touching the ground, just on the right side of Grandma’s bed, as I’ve done a thousand times before.  To all I have ever known, this bed is where she lives, and only here.  Grandpa’s little twin roll-away sits cross-ways at the far side of the tiny room.  Grandma and Grandpa talk and tell stories and ask all about me.  They make me feel like I’m the most important person in the world.  On the bedside table to Grandma’s opposite side sits a simple radio.  Jack Brickhouse calls out the Cubs game.  Grandma tunes into every pitch, knows every player, cheers and complains.  Win or lose, the Cubs give hope and joy and distraction to a woman imprisoned in her own body.  She is a cheerful, bright, spitfire of a lady and I never ever hear her complain about her life… except about the Cubs.  As it should be.

It’s the early 70s and SweetGuy’s Mom is sick and his parents aren’t getting along.  SweetGuy, even though a little guy himself, wills himself to grow up and be a man way too early.  He copes because of the Cubs.  Even on the days the Cubs are not playing, SweetGuy loses himself in his imagination.  He plays entire games, entire seasons, out in his head.  And guess who the MVP is for each of those seasons?  It’s a stud named SweetGuy.  And if a boy is going to dream, why not dream big.  SweetGuy is a pitcher beyond compare, who can pitch complete game shutouts over and over on two days rest.  And on his off days?  Well, they aren’t really off days.  SweetGuy is the most amazing outfielder, .500+ hitter ever to play the game.  For this little guy trying to grow up too soon, the Cubs are a world of delight and escape.

It’s 1984.  I’m 20 and I am deep in the throes of the most awkward, confusing time of my life.  I’m supposed to be grown up, but I surely am not mature.  I don’t like myself very much.  Hmpphh, I don’t like myself at all.  I don’t fit in.  I see everyone else my age as so different than me, so much more together.  I embark on a semi cross country journey with my brother to attend my cousin’s wedding in South Dakota.  It’s about the last thing I want to do.  To be in a place where it feels so painfully obvious that I don’t fit in.  Amongst people my own age, beautiful successful people marrying, celebrating, dancing, laughing.  Not like me.  The wedding is a blur, except knowing that I feel so not beautiful in what I’m wearing.  But the reception, now the reception, this is a different story all together.  Though I didn’t drink, I gravitate towards the bar where the 1984-best-team-in-40-years Cubs are playing a playoff game.  It is such a relief to watch my beloved Cubbies rather than to wander around the reception eyeing the beautiful people who are not me.  There in those moments, that evening, something magical happened.  The Cubs winning a playoff game?  No, not that miraculous.  But a close second – dozens of college-aged pretty athletic people surrounded that television.  My cousin, the gorgeous bride, donned a Cubs hat complete with white laced veil.  We, they and I, all of us together laughed and yelled and after the final dreadful out danced, commiserated, and rejoiced.  It was a wedding after all.  And the Cubs were in the playoffs.  And we all fit in.

It’s 1989 and often I struggle with being a stay-at-home-mom while SweetGuy is gone so much at school.  But for three hours a day it’s such a joyful breeze for me to be just the Mom I should be to my little guy.  We sit on the floor in our tiny apartment, play with toys, read books, sing songs, and dance together.  Our background music is the Cubs radio broadcast.  I listen to every game the summer of 1989.  And, I’m an attentive joyful Mom.  It is no coincidence.

It’s the summer of 2000 and SweetGuy decides it’s time the youngins in his life behold the beauty of Wrigley Field.  SweetGuy and I, along with Bud, Magoo, Jakester, AUBS!, Emmy, and our semi-adopted son Nick take a road trip to a game.  It is everything it is supposed to be – ivy, bricks, sunshine, hot dogs, bleachers, cheers, foul balls, cotton candy and SweetGuy trying to teach the balk rule to a seven year old who doesn’t even realize there are three outs in an inning.  The day is perfect and priceless.  And perhaps, a few more lifelong Cubs fans have been born this day.

It’s 2003.  I don’t want to talk about it.  The stage is set for the perfect ending of our lifelong Cubs fairytale.  SweetGuy, ever known for his love of the Cubs, has been incredibly generously given a ticket to game 6 of the National League Division Series – win this single game and the Cubs go to the World Series for the first time since 1945.  This is not some upper deck ticket.  He is within a few rows of the field right to the third base side of home plate.  Watching at home, I can actually pick him out of the crowd when the camera zooms in on a right handed batter.  Everyone knows the dreaded story by now, five outs from victory and the wheels fall off.  The famous Bartman game.  A true follower of the game knows it took a lot more than Bartman to blow games 6 and 7.  But, a true follower of the Cubs also knows the sick feeling of “blowing it” all to well.  I am heartsick for myself, more so for SweetGuy, and eventually pretty embarrassed that I turned into spawn of the underworld Mother to my children this night (OK, I yelled a wee bit and made them go to bed early – is that SO bad?  Do not listen to the children’s side of the story, I implore you).  Hey, I am a Cubs fan, which by definition means not all Cubs memories are going to be happy memories.

2008.  Does it make some sense why I get such a kick out of the Cubs?  Do you relate?  Do you commiserate?  Do you get a glimpse of understanding where there was none?  I hope so, because it sure feels good to let my mind wander to those special moments forever linked to my Cubbies.  I know there will be some in the next month too and I get kind of giddy (on the inside of course – I don’t really do giddy) just thinking about it.

Go CUBS Go.