October 8, 2003
Cubs

Ah the Cubs, the story that never ends with “and all lived happily ever after.”  2003 was no different.  The Cubs, up three games to two only needed to win once at home and a spot in the World Series was theirs.  And then a fan interfered with a fly ball and……..it’s still to painful to talk discuss.  The hurt only increased in the fall of 2005 when those major league imposters on the South Side of Chicago, the White Sox, became World Champs.  It’s a story all too familiar to Cub fans everywhere, just when you know it can’t get any worse, sure enough it does. 

     1948.  I was nine and baseball crazy.  My Dad took a day off from owning and operating the Village Dairy to make the three-hour drive to Wrigley Field.  It was my first major league game, the Cubs against the New York Giants.  The memory of walking into Wrigley will go with me to the grave.  Oh the outfield grass, green beyond belief and the ivy covered outfield wall, just as I imagined when hearing the words eye view of Burt Wilson “we don’t care who wins as long as it’s the Cubs” on WGN radio.  I also remember the Cubs losing 14-3.  The team of Tinkers to Evers to Chance had become Smalley to Miksis to the grandstand.  “How can they be so lousy?” questioned my Dad, “They were just in the World Series three years ago.”  Little did he know or imagine.

     The nineteen forties gave way to the fifties.  But the Cubs, even with the addition of Ernie “Mr. Cub” Banks became best known for their annual “June Swoon” that lead to a summer after summer in the cellar of the National League.

     Then came ‘69.  With Billy Williams and Ron Santo leading the way August found my Cubs 13 1/2 games up on Tom Seaver and the Mets.  The Cubs backup catcher Gene Oliver, a friend from Moline, Illinois, was quoted, “If we blow this lead I’ll jump off the John Hancock building.”  In late September, on their way to O’Hare airport after sweeping the Cubs, the Mets stopped at the Hancock and were photographed looking skyward as the front page of the Chicago Tribune blared, “Ollie where are you, the Mets are waiting.”  The impossible happened as the Mets became “Amazin’” and the Cubs returned to their role as lovable losers.

    Fifteen years later, in ’84, the Cubs made the playoffs and had to win but one game in San Diego to play in the World Series.  But they gagged two in a row and the Padres went to the “Fall Classic”.

    Two major events occurred in ’89.  The Cubs won the division under Don Zimmer and I turned fifty.  As a present Jan sent me to Chicago where I watched them battle the Giants of San Francisco.  In the 4th inning of a cold October night at Wrigley, on my 50^th birthday, the Cubbies trailed by a run.  Pitcher Greg Maddux (yes that Greg Maddux) after getting two out allowed the next three Giants to reach base.  Zimmer visited the mound as Giants slugger Will “The Thrill” Clark approached the plate. “Take him out, take him out” I screamed.  Zim didn’t listen.  He returned to the dugout leaving Maddux in.  Moments later the shoulders of Cub fans everywhere slumped as Clark took a Maddux offering into the night and over the right field wall onto Sheffield Avenue.  The Cubs never recovered.  Neither did I.

     1994 was the year I made the seamless transition from the Cubs, those loveable losers, to the Colorado Rockies who, it turns out, with the exception of Todd Helton, are not the least bit loveable, just losers.

    In 1997 our radio stations hosted the Rockies Caravan.   Don Baylor and Don Zimmer came to Junction beating the drums for the upcoming season.  We had an afternoon break and both men were hungry so it was off to the Blue Moon.  I could stand it no longer; pitching to Clark had been on my mind for almost a decade.  “Mr. Zimmer” I said, “Can I ask you a question.” “Sure”, he replied but then blurted, “As long as you don’t ask about pitching to Will Clark. I’m so damn sick and tired of that stupid question, I thought we could get him out.  Why in the hell else would I leave Maddux in?  Anyway what did you want to know?”

    Startled, I heard myself mumbling the dumbest of questions, “Uh why do so many great ballplayers come out of your hometown Cincinnati?”  Zim stared at me, raised his eyebrows and grunted, “Beats me”.

     The nineties witnessed little change.  Sammy Sosa lead the ‘99 team to a wild card berth in the playoffs but in Atlanta the Cubs were two and out.

    Now hope again has sprung eternal, new century, new manager, new team.  Atlanta has been exorcised and all that stands between the Cubs and the World Series are the Marlins.  Let’s “squish the fish”.  Not that I am emotionally involved.  I’m a Rockies fan now.