Go Cubs Go!

As the end of the regular season approached, it set in. We had won the division easily. We were moving on to the playoffs with home field advantage. There was a REAL chance that we would make it to the World Series. 

I have never been a shit talker; that's a lie. I have never taken shit talking further than I thought was appropriate. When my sales guys gave me trash about the Cubs losing a game, I would simply screen shot the standings and send the picture to them. It got to the point that they knew the picture was coming any time they said anything. So, I guess, if you call that shit talking, I am guilty. However, I have always been guarded, because sticking your neck out with talk you can't back up never ends well. 

As Cub fans, we are used to disappointment. It is a standing joke. Long suffering. There's always next year. We are rebuilding. The Goat. Bartman. 

This year felt different from the start. Still licking our wounds from the spanking we got from the New York Mets last year, we felt confident that this was, in fact, the year. We had some experience. We knew what kind of pressure the playoffs brought. We were ready. 

I did not miss one single game this year. Not one. At first it was really nonchalant. Oh, hey, did you know that I have not missed a single game this year? Cool. Then, as the potential of the playoffs got closer, it became an obsession. What if the fact that I had not missed one single game, actually had something to do with the season they were having? It was like the fear of God. I would not, I could not, miss a game from here on out. 

We were on the road in August, traveling through an area with no signal. I became a madman on the highway; yelling at Jim to "find some f*$%ing signal somewhere". Did he not understand how important this was? When we were at the Warrens Cranberry Festival, there was absolutely no signal. We could make sporadic phone calls, but data was non-existent. We couldn't even take credit cards. I called Emerson; he would turn the game on and put the phone up to it so I could hear. We had a super important business meeting this summer. SUPER IMPORTANT. Of course, I am always prepared for meetings, and part of being prepared is bringing my iPad. While everyone else was talking about super important chips and salsa stuff, I had the game on on my iPad, under the table, on my lap. When we left the meeting, I commented about a play that had happened. As the words came out of my mouth, I wanted to reach for them and stuff them back in my throat. Jim stopped walking, looked at me, and said, "You had the game on in there, didn't you?" Busted. I was like a addict doing whatever I had to do to for my next fix. 

Every single game of the playoffs was an emotional roller coaster. The wins were tremendous. The losses were like crushing blows straight to my soul. Eat at home for the home games. Eat away from home for the away games. If they win, you wear the same clothes for the next game WITHOUT WASHING THEM. If they lose, you do not wear those clothes for another game. Period. If you put socks on before the game, you absolutely cannot take them off during the game. Peanuts MUST be eaten at some time during every game, home or away. 

When the Cubs found themselves down 3-1 to the Indians, Jim started to lose heart. He was ready to give up. I think that is a defense mechanism for him. I, on the other hand, proudly declared, "They are going to win Game 5, and right now, that is all that matters." One game at a time. How many times during the regular season had they won three games in a row? Eighteen times. We can do this. When they won a nail biting Game 5, there were only two more games to win. But they were both in Cleveland. The good news? We are good on the road. How many times had we won two games in a row this year? I don't know, but it was a lot more than 18. And right now, we just needed one. And we had done that 103 times during the regular season alone. Game six was insane. We couldn't sit. We couldn't stand. But we could win. And we did. 

As Game 7 loomed on the horizon, I did what I always do for a big day. I prepared a menu. Foods from Chicago, made famous in Chicago, symbolic of Chicago. 

Everyone gathered in the living room for the game. Emerson, who really isn't interested in baseball, but sports the Cubbie hat because he loves me, sat in a dining room chair, asking legitimate baseball questions. Finley, who wore her Heyward shirt all day, sat in my chair, her eyes going from her iPad to the tv, then back to her iPad. 

A first inning home run started it off for us, and we got a little comfortable. It only takes one run to win the game. But it takes a helluva lot more to make a Cub fan comfy. No one blows a lead better than the Cubs. The Indians tied it up pretty quickly. Then the Cubbie bats came alive. Run after run. We had a comfortable lead. 

The Indians started mounting a comeback; they tied the game up in the eighth. AYFKMRN?

I searched the room. Had someone taken off their socks? No. Hats on? Yes. I told everyone to turn their hats inside out. Why? JUST DO IT. Then I saw it. The unopened Sara Lee Pound Cake. I opened it in a frenzy and cut a slice for everyone. "What is this?" asked Finley. JUST EAT IT. She did. I cut another slice for everyone, shouting at the same time, "Keep eating!!!"

Extra innings. 

Rain delay.

What fresh hell is this?

Then I felt it. That feeling you get. This was their regroup. This was it. It was happening. 

The rain delay was over. Finley had fallen asleep. Emerson started to shake her awake. Jim stopped him. "Dad. She should see this." It was like a charge of electricity through the room. It was like magic. And we all knew. 

Top of the 10th.

So there we all sat. Well, Emerson and Finley sat. Jim and I paced. And yelled. And swore. And then it happened. Ben Zobrist. Two runs scored, giving the Cubs a two run lead. This was it. Three more outs. Three more outs. THREE MORE OUTS.

Bottom of the 10th. 

"Come on, Carls Junior!" (that's what we call Cub pitcher, Carl Edwards. Endearing, right?) He sat two guys. They brought in Montgomery to finish it. 

And he did. 

My apologies to the neighbors. 

What a night for baseball. 

What a night for Cub fans.